It began in 1959. This morning at sunrise while working in the garden, thoughts turned toward what I wrote in part one of this series. And then I began writing part two in my head. Enjoying a sweet treat from Czechia provided by friends from the Czech Route 66 Association, a cup of coffee, and the stunning sunrise fueled my thoughts about the lifelong connection to this iconic highway.

In retrospect it all seems rather surreal. Back in the summer of ’66 while pedaling my bicycle along Route 66 to my job at Ed’s Camp, I could never have imagined that this ribbon of asphalt would one day take me to Czechia, or Germany. And if someone had said that a statue of me would one day stand along Route 66, even as a kid I would have thought them insane.

It Began In 1959, Part Two

I closed out part one with a hint that an incident that occured while hauling hay from Fort Mohave was life changing. Well, even though I wasn’t old enough for a drivers license, as with most kids in the valley I had been driving for a couple of years.

One of my weekend chores was to take the water truck, a WWII deuce and a half tanker truck, down to the site of Fig Springs station. Hauling water was a short drive, about two miles each way, most of it on the old alignment of Route 66. And once in a blue moon, dad would let me use the pickup to drive to Ed’s Camp.

Dad and I were hauling hay from the Colorado River Valley on a hot summers day when my drivers education was given a boost with real world experience. We were a few miles from the old mining town of Oatman when the ancient Studebaker stakebed began overheating.

That was a pretty common occurence on the steep grade in 110 degree temperatures. The usual fix was to pull onto the shoulder, wait for a bit, and then add water to the radiator. This time was different. The water pump had locked up tighter than a drum.

The Long Drive Home

Even though it wasn’t quite noon, we walked into town under a blazing desert sun. At the Mission Inn we used the phone to call Bud Gist, the only person in the valley that we knew with a phone. Then we sat in the shade eating ice cream and sipping a cold soda while waiting for Bud.

We got back to the house, and took the pickup into Kingman where dad bought a water pump. And then we drove to Oatman for some roadside repair.

Imagine my surprise when dad jumped in the Chevy, tossed me the keys to the Studebaker, and said he would see me at the house! Then he drove off in a cloud of dust leaving me standing along the road. I was not only going to be driving a truck over Sitgreaves Pass with the steepest grades and sharpest curves on Route 66, I was going to drive an ancient overloaded truck.

Fortunately in those years you could count the cars that drove that bypassed alignment of Route 66 on one hand, and have a finger or two left. Still, it was one wild and scary ride made with one pit stop at Ed’s camp.

Detour

While living in Arizona, every year we made a pilgrimage east to vist family. The route followed to northern Alabama, and Chattanooga, to vist mother’s family varied. But the return leg of the trip from visiting with my grandmother in Michigan always included many, many miles on Route 66.

Shortly after the long ride home, dad sold the house and we relocated to southern New Mexico. So the trips to the deep south were across Texas, but the return drives were always along Route 66 to Tucumcari, Santa Rosa, or Albuquerque.

And there were the occasional drives back to Kingman. That was always north on US 180 to Holbrook, and then Route 66/I40 west.

Even though I no longer lived on Route 66, that old highway still figured prominently in my life.

In part three I will share the story of how Route 66 was intertwined with the formative years of my early adulthood – a short lived career as a truck driver, the dawn of my John Wayne period, and meeting my dearest friend, now my wife of more than 40 years. And all of these connections would eventually become the foundation for Jim Hinckley’s America.

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