by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 23, 2011 | Uncategorized
The day started off rather well, but that lasted for about ten minutes. From that point until about noon there was a very distinct feeling of picking up speed on a slide down a steep embankment with nothing to break my fall but the cesspool at the bottom.
I am an old farm boy and as a result have little need for an alarm clock. At some point between 4:30 and 5:30 the eyes pop open, the feet automatically hit the floor, and the mind begins compiling a list of things that need to be done before returning to the sanctuary of the bed.
This morning was no exception. There was a hint of daylight in the eastern sky as I made my way down the hall, started the coffee, and before sitting down to read a chapter or two from my favorite book, checked on an elderly member of the family (a cat) that has been rather ill as of late.
That was when I noticed water running off the roof. Well, it does rain in Kingman and in fact it rained just over a week ago. This wasn’t rain. The float on the swamp cooler had stuck.
So, I slipped on my jeans, pulled on the boots, and went to investigate.
Well, the ground was wet, very wet, but not just where it was running off the roof. This was at the corner behind the house.
Now it is full daylight and I am playing gopher with pick and shovel. The cracked pipe that was seeping became a geyser with a little prodding from the pick.
Water is running off the roof and spraying from a hole in the backyard a mere one hour before I needed to leave for work. The main shut off valve is stuck tighter than a pig in a prom dress so I resort to turning the water off in the alley at the meter.
There is now a small pond in the back yard, and I have yet to shave, shower, or eat. The idea of calling for a stand in at the office passes from my mind quickly as there wasn’t one. The idea of calling a plumber passes almost as quickly when I calculate the coast of the fuel pump on the Jeep, two weeks ago, the cost of the refrigerator, this past Saturday, and the cost of the dentist on Monday.
One advantage of being financially tapped is that it presents the opportunity to learn something new, to familiarize yourself with an old skill, or to remind yourself why you work hard enough to be able to afford the luxury of calling a plumber at times such as this. In this, the modern era, folks are often quick to reach for the plastic with little thought of the double noose they are braiding for themselves.
The first is debt. The second is the fact nothing is learned and as a result, dependence slowly erodes independence.
At the risk of sounding like an old codger, it was financial adversity that led me to rebuild a carburetor and install a motor, two wonderful events that convinced me I was not cut out to be a mechanic. It was being so broke that if steam boats were ten cents a piece I could only tell people about the bargain that resulted in my learning how to install a light switch, and how to make sure the electricity was off.
Well, I cut out the broken piece of pipe, ate some breakfast with my dearest friend, wolfed some coffee and set out for the office via the hardware store looking like the morning had been spent wrestling hogs after a hard night of drinking. I picked up the need supplies, opened the office, got dependable Bill, a part time employee at the dealership, to hold down the fort, drove back to the house and made the repairs.
Then it was back to the office where I took care of customers who seemed shocked to see a homeless hog wrestler behind the counter. Then came one more trip to the house to turn on the water and check for leaks.
Meanwhile, back at the office, the rest of the day was spent fixing trailers and similar activity. So, now it is time to fill in the hole, fix the cooler, pick up tools, get a much needed shower, and squeeze out at least one hour for the new book.
Long ago I learned on days like this you can either laugh or cry. I also have learned along the way that the choice is often ours.
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 21, 2011 | Uncategorized
It may come as a surprise to learn that it was the bicycle, not the automobile, that spawned the modern highway system that manifested in Route 66, and later, the interstate highway. A good argument could also be made that a key foundational element for the rise of the American automobile industry was the bicycle as many early manufacturers, including the aeronautical pioneering brothers Orville and Wilbur Wright, began with the production of these simple two wheeled wonders.
|
| A 1906 Christie built front-wheel drive racer |
During the closing years of the 19th century the nation was swept with bicycle mania. There were clubs in most every city, champion bicycle racers were the super star athletes of the day, and tours that covered hundreds of miles were all the rage.
The powerful political clout of organizations, such as the Wheelman, representing the bicyclist were the driving force behind the early good roads movements. These groups served as the template for the creation of organizations such as AAA.
Still, the dramatic evolution of the automobile, as well as supportive infrastructure, quickly outpaced the good roads movement. In 1896 the Barnum & Baily Circus gave a Duryea motor wagon top billing over the albino and fat lady. By 1903 automobiles were being driven from coast to coast on grueling 90 day adventures. In 1906, a steam powered Stanley set a new speed record of nearly 150 miles per hour at Ormond, now Daytona, Beach.
And yet the roads beyond the city limits were little changed from the era of the National Road and the Oregon Trail. It was a time when the world stood with one foot on the throttle and the other in the stirrup
Racers crossing the Gobi Desert were left stranded until camel caravans could provide them with gasoline. On the Senator Highway in Arizona automobiles shared the road with stagecoaches. Photos in the classic work by Emily Post, By Motor To The Golden Gatehttp://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=1968adventurer&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0786419407&fc1=000000&IS2=1<1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr, published in 1916, capture the surreal image of an automobile obscured in the dust of a passing wagon train. As late as 1919 it took almost two months for a motorized military convoy to traverse the nation.
With the birth of the federal highway system in 1926, the dream inspired by the bicyclist of the 19th century became manifest. And yet it would be 1936 before U.S. 66 was paved in its entirety and 1952 before U.S. 6 was completely paved.
Fast forward ninety years. The glut of automobiles has cities building bicycle paths. Automotive manufacturers are wedding the modern technology of the microprocessor with that made manifest in the Woods Dual Electric, a hybrid built in 1917.
The oil companies that freed us from the restraints imposed by electric cars and the complexities of steam cars (take a look at what Jay Leno goes through to takes his Stanley “steamer” for a drive) are now the villains. Route 66, once deemed antiquated and replaced by the sterility of the interstate, is now the stage of choice for the display of hybrids, CNG cars, and solar cars.
A half century ago, who could have imagined that the past and future would collide on Route 66? Twenty years ago, who could have guessed Route 66 would be the salvation for towns condemned to a slow death resultant of America’s quest for the generic? Five years ago, who could have guessed I would be taking to legendary 66 in a hybrid?
That, however, is possibly, a story for another day not so far in the future.
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 20, 2011 | Uncategorized
On more than one occasion I am left with the impression that my life is a never ending Route 66, with a few detours, adventure. Today is one of those days.
Yesterday ended with another couple of hours spent working on the Route 66 encyclopedia in the valiant effort to make up for the three months lost at the first of the year. The day started with the composition of a list detailing information still needed for that project, answering correspondence pertaining to previous requests for information, and making a diligent effort to keep the October road trip from dominating my thoughts.
This was followed with a drive to work, on Route 66, and, during my lunch, adding the print of the month feature to the blog. The print for each month will be displayed as the header for the blog. Of course, the print purchased will not have the words Route 66 Chronicles sprawled across it.
Tonight, I will work on the encyclopedia and begin serious planning for the October trip. The challenge is going to be the need to photograph several hundred locations, visit with my dad who lives 200 miles east of Chicago in southern Michigan, attend several book signings, meet with Joe Sonderman to discuss the use of his collection for illustrations and a possible joint project, sit through a few interviews, and conduct a bit of research at several archives within a very limited amount of time, possibly a mere ten days.
Still, the worst day cruising Route 66 is better than best day at work. Besides, the trip will provide us with the opportunity to visit the Mueller’s, the new owners of the Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari, Connie Echols at the Wagon Wheel Motel in Cuba, Buzz Waldmire, and a few dozen old friends such as Laurel Kane at Afton Station, Melba at Four Women on the Route, and Fran at the Midpoint Cafe.
Even though the schedule will be tight, we are seldom to busy to lend a hand in regards to assistance in promotion or fund raising. So, if we may be assistance to your endeavors in either of these areas, please let me know as soon as possible.
Counted among the many exciting aspects of the pending adventure is the chance to photograph Route 66 locations with a hint of fall color as a backdrop. This prospect opens a whole new world of ideas.
Initially, my idea was take this photographic safari in January. I felt that the stark winter landscapes, and possibly a dusting of snow, would really add some new perspective to familiar Route 66 sites. Perhaps fall colors will suffice.
The list of sites we hope to photograph is a lengthy one that grows longer with each passing day. Just last evening I added another dozen locations; Art’s Motel, the Padre Canyon Bridge, the brick road near Auburn, the Dazy Motel, the Eagle Hotel, the Pierce Wagon & Buggy building in Afton, Bridgeport, the new Pontiac Museum, Ozarks Trail obelisk, Palms Grill, and Becky’s Barn.
When I stop and consider that my first trip on Route 66 took place shortly after my first birthday, and the fact that this trip will take place half way between birthday number 53 and birthday number 54, and that for the foreseeable future all projects will center on this road, there is little doubt that my life is just one long Route 66 adventure.
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 19, 2011 | Uncategorized
I suppose we should start with something new. We will continue to sell the limited edition, numbered and signed prints through the Lile Gallery in Amarillo (see tab above) but we will now be offering a monthly series through the blog.
The theme for these prints will fall in one of two categories, the desert southwest or Route 66. Professionally printed and signed, each print will be offered for one month only.
Some will be of scenes from books published or magazine articles written. Others will be original works. In either case they are sure to brighten any room, office, or den and inspire many day dreams of road trips. The cost is set at $9.95 each. Of course there will also be shipping and tax.
If this were a television advertisement at this point notation of the recent announcement that I, along with Kerrick James, are the recipients of True West’s 2011 Best Photographer of the Year honor would flash across the screen. The accolades are real but this isn’t television.
The next item pertains to something old. In plotting our fall Route 66 tour I discovered something else that makes this old highway unique. It is also something I sort of suspected but with just a bit of homework the suspicions confirmed.
Route 66 may be the only highway left in America where it is possible to drive from one end to the other and never have to accept generic chain motels or restaurants. Even better, you can experience the pre generic age in your travels and not have to sacrifice quality or comfort.
The old highway is truly a three dimensional time capsule. Now, if I can just close the deal on that ’56 Rambler station wagon …
Now, lets talk about something else, something just a bit off the general topic of Route 66. To be more specific, I need to vent.
In the past week or so I was given a refresher course in just how much times have changed in the past forty years. As a result of these issues my growing sense that much of the progress of recent years wasn’t really progress at all has leaped to the forefront of my thoughts again. In fact I might go so far as to say it is a form of enslavement masquerading as progress.
Our ’98 Jeep Cherokee is one of the best vehicles yet owned. It is durable, practical, rugged, and relatively trouble free. Last week, after 120,000 miles of use in all manner of driving conditions, the fuel pump gave up the ghost.
Now, a Chrysler dealership is the parent company where I work so parts are obtained at a sizable discount. My cost for the fuel pump was $315.00.
Let me put that in perspective. The fuel pump for my 1968 Dodge truck was $55.00 and for my son’s ’78 Olds, $40.00. This is double what I paid for similar items a decade ago.
I installed them myself in less than one hour. For the Jeep, the cost for installation exceeded $200.00.
Usually when I get to this point in my arguments references are made to pollution and fuel economy. Our Jeep runs down the road delivering around 22 miles per gallon. A 1954 Dodge pick up truck with 241 c.i.d. V8, under strict AAA testing, delivered 21.75 miles per gallon with a driver, passenger, and 500 pound payload on a drive from Bonneville in Utah to Pikes Peak in Colorado.
I will readily admit being spoiled. Nowhere is this more evident than in the enjoyment I derive from turning on the air conditioning when crossing the desert in July. Still, our 1973 Olds had ice cold air and the parts to keep it blowing cold were cannibalized from a 1972 Impala for a cost of less than $100.00.
The point is this, there is a very high price to be paid for an illusion of progress. Now, one more rant. This one is about customer service and the ring in our nose that is used to pull us along with the herd.
The long version of a short story begins with the death of our refrigerator, a twenty year veteran, on Saturday. So, we drove to the nation wide chain appliance store and row upon row of refrigerators awaited our attention; three doors, various colors, touch pad controls, ice makers, bottom drawer freezers.
To save the salesman a bit of time I explained that what we wanted was a refrigerator, something to keep food and beer chilled and ice cream frozen. Judging from the look on their face, there was grave disappointment that the well rehearsed pitch was not going to be put into practice.
Like a homely girl at the prom stood a plain, white refrigerator nestled amongst the gleaming, decked out models. I should note at this point that the price was almost exactly half of one with ice maker, two doors, etc.
The somber atmosphere at the check out counter grew darker as we politely said no to service contracts, wine racks, and other options. Then came the defining moment, delivery and disposal.
Delivery fee – $50.00, haul away the old unit- $20.00. Of course as it was Saturday the soonest they would be able to delivery would be late Monday or early Tuesday. It is at this point in the story that I should let you know that on a windy day I can spit and hit the back of that store. We live three blocks down the street.
So, I countered with a request to use their lift at the back of the store for loading the new unit and no charge if the old unit was delivered to them. With reluctance, they agreed and the manager even was kind enough to help load the new unit even though it was a terribly hot day, and his back was bothering him, and there is so little profit to be made in plain refrigerators.
I wonder what happened to customer service? I wonder when it became an embarrassment to only buy what the budget allowed? I wonder if I am really becoming an old fart that starts far to many conversations with, “When I was a kid …”
by jimhinckleysamerica | Jul 17, 2011 | Uncategorized
Long ago Route 66 transcended its original purpose to become a larger than life American icon, a ribbon of asphalt that links the past with the present as well as the future. In recent years it has also become a bridge that links the international community with the heartland of America.
|
| 1961 Renault from Norway |
Chillin on Beale Street in Kingman, Arizona, an event held on the third Saturday evening of every month between April and October, is a delightful celebration of community, of the American love affair with the automobile, and the magic of Route 66. It is also an event that exemplifies the international nature of this storied highway.
Last evening the vehicles on display spanned more than four blocks, lawn chairs lined the sidewalks, and crowds ebbed and flowed along the street taking in the cars, listening to the music, visiting with friends, and watching the endless parade as low riders and vintage T-birds, Model T Fords and rat rods, battered old trucks and vintage military vehicles, cruised back and forth under a starlit desert sky. Smack dab in the middle of this all American celebration were a pair of 1961 Renaults from Norway.
The owners were unaware of the event but just happened to be in Kingman on a cross country jaunt. Curiosity led them to follow the parade into the historic district where they received a very warm welcome, and an opportunity to enjoy real western barbecue at Redneck’s.
This little, informal event, in a little dusty town on the fringe of the great Mojave Desert, made famous in a song about a highway recorded more than a half century ago presented a perfect picture of what Route 66 has become. It has become the portal that allows small town America to experience Europe, or Australia, or Japan, and it has also become the portal for international visitors to experience the real America, the heartland.
Yesterday while waiting in line at Walmart, I had the opportunity to talk with two young men from Germany that were on holiday seeking the wonders of Route 66 and the sites of the great southwest. This evening I will meet with Wolfgang Werz from Germany as he motors west on America’s most famous highway, and in early August, we will have another opportunity to share a dinner at Redneck’s with Dries Bessels of Holland, a friend, and his group. To live along Route 66 is to experience international travel vicariously.
The appeal of this old road never cease to amaze me. However, the most amazing aspect of all is its ability to bridge chasms of language and culture.
As a final note for this mornings post, I would like to call your attention to the international Route 66 festival of 2012. The exact date has yet to be set but hints, including a few from Michael Wallis of the Route 66 Alliance, are that it will be huge with a tie in to Disneyland and the opening of “Radiator Springs.”
Details will be posted as soon as they become available but the host city is Rancho Cucamonga in California. Amazingly, reservations are popular Route 66 motels, such as the Wigwam Motel in Rialto, are already being made.
You might also want to add Chillin on Beale Street to your list of destinations, especially if you are unfamiliar with the magic of legendary Route 66.
