Old West Road Trip - Oregon Coast

Cape Foulweather

This is a photo-based chronicle of my October 2015 road trip.  Why old west?  The forces that created the "old west" were the frontier and the conflicts that were common to it - there was mining, farming/ranching, railroading, the Oregon Trail experience, the Mormon experience; these are some of the things I saw and thought about on this road trip to the Oregon Coast and the beach.  In addition, WWII (and coastal defense) played a role in some of the things I saw and visited.

[As always, clicking on a photo gets you a larger version of that photo, and clicking on THAT photo advances you through all the photos, albeit without captions.]

States visited: Arizona, Nevada, California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, & Utah. My route began in Phoenix, AZ and followed US 93 and US 95 through Kingman, Las Vegas and Reno.  From there, I followed US 395 into northern California and eventually to Klamath Falls, Oregon, across the Cascades to the coast at Newport, and on up US 101 to Rockaway Beach.  I spent a few days along the northwest coast (as far north as Cape Disappointment and Ilwaco, Washington anyway), and then returned home on a meandering path via Crater Lake National Park, the Wallowa Valley, I-84 across southern Idaho and into Utah, past Salt Lake City and south along what used to be and in some places still is, US 89.  The final leg home was Flagstaff, Arizona to Phoenix on I-17.

Day 1 Route

The first day was Phoenix to Hawthorne, Nevada.  I got out of town a little after 8:00 AM.

US 93 - Arizona

This first shot is along US 93 north of Wickenburg, Arizona. I didn't actually take this photo on THIS trip, but this shot was last April on an earlier trip.  But it still looks the same!  This is one of the west's Joshua Tree forests.

Lake Mead

As you approach Las Vegas, if you take a short detour you can still visit Hoover Dam (Still only because the highway by-passes the dam on a nearby bridge).  This is a shot of Lake Mead with the dam just out of sight to the right.  Out west, civilization and progress was all about water.  Still is, and the west's water problems still dictate what we will be able to do and what we won't be able to do.  A day of reckoning on water usage is swiftly approaching.

On the 2nd day of the trip, I drove from Hawthorne, Nevada, through Reno and all the way to Oakridge, Oregon.

Walker Lake

Walker Lake. I spent my first night on the road in Hawthorne, Nevada, and after grabbing my breakfast from a grocery store, headed north toward Reno.  This huge lake sits in a spectacularly bleak basin.  I expected it to be a rather typical Great Basin dry lake -- and was surprised to see that it really is a lake - with actual water!

US 395 - Nevada

Map Reference 4: US 395 just north of Reno, getting close to California!

SR 139, North of Susanville, California

 Map Reference 5: In far northeastern California, you could perhaps visit the small community of Susanville. I expected the area to be grassier than it is.  This area is of interest because the Lassen Cut-Off (on the California Emigrant Trail) ran through the area.  It's trailblazer, Peter Lassen, was later murdered (in 1859) and is buried at Susanville. The Lassen Cut-Off was "sold" to forty-niner emigrants who didn't know better as a "short-cut" to the California gold fields - it wasn't, and the misinformation was extremely costly for those that tried to take it.

Tulelake Marker

Map Reference 6: One of the tragedies of American history was the internment (that's a fancy, sanitized word for imprisonment) of thousands of Japanese-Americans during World War II.  One of the California camps was here at Tulelake, along SR 139 almost to the Oregon border.  The area is bleakly pretty, and still in the middle of nowhere just as it was then.

Odell Lake

Map Reference 7: This was not my first visit to Odell Lake (although I have never actually stopped there). The Amtrak Coast Starlight runs down the far side of the lake, so I'd been there before!  This lake sits astride the Willamette Pass, between Chemult and Eugene, Oregon.  My destination for Day 2 was in between those two towns, on the western slope. Day 2 ended just a few miles up the road, at the Blue Wolf Motel in Oakridge, Oregon.

Day 3 brought me to my destination, Rockaway Beach, Oregon. The first miles took me alongside the headwaters of the Willamette River to Eugene, then up the valley on I-5.  I took US20 through Corvallis to the coast at Newport, then drove US101 to Rockaway.

Along the Willamette in the early morning

Map Reference 8: This is one of the rivers that join downstream a few miles to form the Willamette River, which waters the valley that brought the emigrants, whose presence secured the land and wrested it from "foreign" influence and control. Remember the phrase "54-40 or fight?"  That all started here.

Entering the harbor at Depoe Bay

Map Reference 9: The photo is taken from the US101 bridge in "downtown" Depoe Bay. Behind me is the small harbor.  The boats "line up" with the harbor entrance and then make a run for it.  If they aren't "proactive" about it, they get dashed on the rocks!

NAS Tillamook

During WWII, the US Navy used blimps to patrol our coastal waters.  Some of them were based here at what used to be two large hangars near Tillamook, OR.  One of the hangars burned a few years back, but this one is still there and now houses an aviation museum. The photo doesn't give you a true sense of the hangar's immensity -- you could put seven football fields under its roof.

Megler Bridge

Over the next several days, I drove farther north along the Oregon coast - and across the Megler Bridge into Washington.   The bridge is over four miles long and has elevated portions on each end to allow ship traffic to pass under it.

Cape Disappointment Light

I visited Cape Disappointment (near Ilwaco, WA) and took a hike to the lighthouse.  There are the remains of coastal-defense gun emplacements all around the mouth of the Columbia, dating all the way from frontier days to the end of WWII.  Some of the guns there were 16 inch rifles, capable of firing a projectile of more than a ton some 20-25 miles out to sea -- and accurately enough to hit something as small as a fishing boat if they needed to.  The concrete foundations for some of those weapons can still be seen at Cape Disappointment (and other locations in the area).

Small coastal defense gun at Fort Columbia, WA

I also visited the Columbia River Maritime Museum.  It is very much focused on the dangers of the Columbia River Bar, shipwrecks and the air-sea rescue services there.  I got on board the last Columbia River lightship - which was still in operation when I was young.  The ship was always anchored five or ten miles or so off the mouth of the river to mark the entrance for shipping -- good weather and bad, the twelve-man crew bobbed out there like a cork.

The Columbia - and a CG cutter!

Alas, it eventually came time to start for home. The first two days of the return trip were spent bopping about Oregon - I wanted to see two things in particular - Crater Lake National Park and Chief Joseph's Wallowa Valley.  From there, it would be a direct route across southern Idaho and south through Utah and home.

Return Trip Day 1: I got an early start down the coast and over to I-5, then south to Eugene again and SR82 over the pass to Chemult and then to Crater Lake.  After completing the rim drive at Crater Lake, late in the afternoon, I drove back north on US97 to Bend, OR for the night. 

Lowell Covered Bridge

Along the way: most people probably don't know that a covered bridge served a purpose in protecting the longevity of the bridge itself -- with the wood protected by the roof, it lasted longer.  Protection from the elements for those crossing it was just a side benefit! This one is along the Willamette River above Eugene, Oregon, on Dexter Reservoir, near the town of Lowell.


I had no idea what a sublimely beautiful place Crater Lake is. There were lots of low clouds hanging about,

Crater Lake National Park

and so at the one place where I could have gotten an all-inclusive photo of the entire lake - I couldn't.  All I could see from the top of that mountain was... fog. I planned to stay the night there in hopes the weather would clear by the next day and I could see better, but the lodge had closed for the season.  I drove all the way around the rim drive, and also took a hike to The Pinnacles, a geologic feature associated with the volcanic formation of the lake and its surroundings (very much worth round trip drive of maybe 25 miles and the short hike).  It was a beautiful day and I certainly agree that Crater Lake deserves to be a national park.

On leaving the park late in the afternoon, I drove back the way I came and stopped overnight in Bend, Oregon.  I had supper in Chemult -- a piece of meat they called "Prime rib" but that in no way was "prime" anything -- while it tasted good, it undoubtedly originated from the oldest and toughest steer that had ever lived. That boy ate nails for breakfast, that's for sure.

Return Day 2

On Day 2 of the return trip, I drove north from Bend to the Columbia River, then followed I-84 east to La Grand, and SR82 from there to the Wallowa Valley.

Wheat Country

Central Oregon (where I was at anyway) is semi-arid and they grow a lot of irrigated wheat there.  It is high desert, and there were several training airfields that were used during WWII for training bomber crews.  Had I had a little more time, I would have expended some effort trying to find traces of those old airbases.  It was quite a long drive north to the Columbia and I-84, and the morning was another rainy one. That day and the next two were all like that.

Near Rufus, OR

This photo near Rufus is one of my favorites from the entire trip. The road is getting very near a downgrade through a cut (which you can see in the photo) and a quick descent to I-84 and the river.  From there, I followed I-84 east along the river until the two parted company, the river swinging north into Washington and the highway veering off to the SE toward Pendleton and La Grand -- following the same general route as did the Oregon Trail.

River and road

Along the way, I stopped and took a photo or two of an original US30 highway bridge.  I also stopped at Emigrant Springs State Park, on the top of the Blue Mountains, which had been a favorite camping spot of the Oregon trail wagon parties after they had made the long climb to the top of the range.  There are two trail marker-memorials there, one placed by President Warren Harding, the other by Ezra Meeker - who commemorated his trip over the trail in frontier days several times in his old age by doing it again -- stating that the history of the trail should never be forgotten as it made us who we are.

Old US30 bridge

I went out of my way to visit the Wallowa Valley.  That's pronounced wa-LA-wa, with "Short" a's by the way... I asked a local. 

The Nez Perce were nomadic, but stayed in the same places every season as they moved from winters to summers and back.  They typically wintered along the Columbia, trading with other peoples there for fish. The Wallowa Valley and the glacial lake nearby was one of their favorite summer places.  In the 1870s, they resisted the government's orders to move them off of it and let settlers move in -- and now that I have seen it, I can see why.  It's an alpine paradise.

Father of Chief Joseph lies here

Wallowa Lake

Of course, the settlers and the government won and the Nez Perce were forced out -- that history is famous for their "run" and its associated battles with the Army in 1877 - when they made the US Army look like a bunch of incompetents.

Of course, in the end, freezing weather and attrition brought about their surrender near the Canadian border and Chief Joseph's famous, heart-breaking surrender speech.  By the way, the Niimipu (their name for themselves) never pierced their noses (when named by the French, they had been confused with a different people).  Chief Joseph the Elder (Chief Joseph's father) is buried near Wallowa Lake.  Until 1877, the Niimipu had never fought against the USA or its people, even from the first encounter with Meriwether Lewis and William Clark in 1804.  I found myself resenting the people who live there now.  Everything that's righteous says that the Wallowa Valley is Niimipu land.

Near Minam

I drove the one hundred miles or so to Baker City for my overnight -- scene of the filming of Paint Your Wagon back in 1968-69.  I was living with my father in Portland at the time -- and they advertised in the Portland papers for "extras" for the movie.  I wanted to go and couldn't understand why Dad couldn't drop everything and run over to Baker.  (And why would he anyway? They are no 14 year old extras in that movie!) All along I-84, I kept watching for markers commemorating the Oregon Trail -- the two roads generally follow the same route from the Snake River to the Columbia.

Return Trip Day 3

Weigh Station at Malta, ID

The last two days of the trip were "speed runs."  Meaning, not too many stops for anything but food, petrol and photos.  On the 3rd day, I didn't take very many photos -- and the one or two I did weren't focused properly.  It was an especially rainy day.

This photo of the weigh station near Malta, ID (on I-84) was deliberate - I have experience there...  In 1978, I was driving for North American Van Lines.  We had a permit book for most states, but Idaho charged (expensively) by the mile and each trip -- so the company only paid for permits when you actually drove across it.  The drill was, you'd stop BEFORE you drove onto a scale, go in and buy the ton-mile trip permit, and then only drive onto the scale when the officer told you to.  Problem was, I had picked up an unauthorized passenger down south of Salt Lake, and was going to drop her off at the Shoshone Ice Caves.  She was a Danish girl, hitching across the US, visiting people she knew.  Aaron (my brother in law, riding with me) met her in a Utah truck stop. She was looking for a ride and he wanted to take her with us -- so I'd been riding and talking to her all day (Aaron couldn't get a word in).  Shoshone was out of our way (we were heading to Spokane) and the road was not a suitable route for trucks (twisty, narrow mountain roads).  So when I told the officer my route, he said "that is no road for a truck, why are you going that way?" So I told him.  It would have been no big deal to get her "authorized," since it was my own truck - but you have to actually do it.  I hadn't, and that conscientious weigh station officer took almost every penny I had for the "fine." We couldn't leave her out there in the middle of nowhere, so she got back in the truck after we crossed the scale, we dropped her off at her friends' at the Shoshone Ice Caves, and we went on to Missoula and Spokane.  Maybe it was no road for a truck, but it still remains one of my favorite roads ever that I drove in the truck. Except for the "fine." This weigh station, on the other hand, is NOT one of my favorite places.

The speed limit on interstates in both Idaho and Utah was 80 mph.  That's too fast for me -- so I tried to stay out of the way.  I went as fast as I was comfortable with and stayed in the right lane.  I would find it interesting to see if the fatality toll has risen on those highways.  Most folks have no training and little ability to drive at that kind of speed -- automobiles do not handle the same way at 80 as they do at 50 or 60.  Everything's fine until something happens -- you blow a tire or a deer jumps in front of you -- and then you're toast.  Drivers who are not experienced in high speed driving tend to over-correct.

I made it to Nephi, UT for the night -- a 546 mile day.  The next day would also be another long one, but home was at the end of it.

Return Trip Day 4:  I got up early, and got on the road as fast as I could.  I knew this was going to be a long day (560 miles).  I headed south on SR28/US89.

I stopped for breakfast at Mom's Cafe in Salina.  It's a famous old place in its own mind and the food there is good.  It doesn't look like much right now -- someone ran their car into the front of the building I think, but don't let that fool you.  It's a GREAT road cafe!  I had scrambled eggs and ham with hash browns and well-buttered sourdough toast.  That's more breakfast than I'd had in a week.

Sevier River, Utah

One of the "main" features of this old Utah route is that it follows the Sevier River for quite some distance.  Watching it, I got confused about which direction it was flowing - which was north at the place I stopped to take a photo or two.  It just seemed like it should have been flowing the other way. But it's a beautiful river in a beautiful setting.  There's no prettier place in the country than south Utah. It was raining when I took the photo.

There was a lot of fog along the first few miles on this day -- but it always seemed to be across the valley from where I was.  South of Salina, I picked up I-70 for a short distance, then got back off onto the two-lane for the remaining distance to Arizona. I stopped for a nap somewhere south of Circleville - for about 30 minutes. Then it was down through Panguitch and Kanab and into Arizona at Fredonia.  The main US89 route to Page and south is faster, but US89A through Jacob Lake and along the Vermillion Cliffs is much, much

Vermilion Cliffs and House Rock Valley

prettier - and it runs through one of the most beautiful places in America in my opinion. It takes you up over the Kaibab Plateau and down again across House Rock Valley - a maybe 1,500 foot climb or descent at each end, with the added bonus of the wonderful Jacob Lake lodge at the top. The other route is scenically "meh."  I stopped here and there for photos, for coffee at Jacob Lake, and always at the scenic overlooks.  Got into a nice storm at the top of the plateau - with freezing rain while I was at the Jacob Lake store (the elevation there is about 8,000 feet).  The road to the North Rim was still open, but I am near certain the Lodge wasn't, so there would have been no services there.  They close up in October each year, and reopen the next May. I hate driving that road without a visit to the North Rim, because I don't get up there that often.

Near Lee's Ferry

You reconnect to the main road of US89 over by Lee's Ferry and Marble Canyon, and from there it's about 120 miles or so down to Flagstaff, across the Navajo Reservation, past Tuba City and Cameron. I always stop at Cameron - at Speedy's.  I always get a deep-fried green chile burrito there, which always turns out to be a beef and bean burrito when I get back in the car.   They keep the two products in the same basket. And there are ALWAYS panhandlers there working the guilty white tourists.  And yet, I cannot pass the place, low-rent as it is.

The San Francisco Peaks

Getting close to Flagstaff, I stopped at the Wupatki turn-off to get this photo of the Peaks.  The San Francisco Peaks are the highest point in Arizona.  I just made this trip in October -- crossing some high country in California (near Mt Lassen), Oregon (the Cascades and Crater Lake NP), as well as the Blue mountains in eastern Oregon.  Yet, it was Flagstaff, Arizona  and only there, where I saw any snow.  Flagstaff (historically) has always been one of the places in the lower 48 that receives snow first each Autumn.

Horsemen Lodge

The last event of Bob's Roadtrip 2015 was a stop for supper at the Horsemen Lodge, my favorite steakhouse, where I ate part of a 16 oz T-Bone and its assorted trimmings.  The rest, I brought home.  It was a two and one half hour run down I-17 to Phoenix -- I was home at about 7:40 PM. It took me two hours to unload the car -- today, I need to wash the road off of it and start thinking about my next road trip.  Perhaps the Shenandoah Valley in the Spring?

Keep it between the fence posts!  ~Road boB 

Riding to Sturgis, 2005

Monument Valley

I don’t like crowds.  But I do, however, like motorcycles and road trips.  My friend Linda and her family owned a motel in Deadwood a few years back and I thought it would be fun to go up around “rally” time and see if I could help out at the motel with the “rush” and ride around the Black Hills a bit.  Since I don’t like crowds, I went the week before the rally and left before it really got going.  It was still busy of course, but not like it would have been had I gone during the Sturgis events themselves.

I should tell you… I don’t ride a Harley or a v-twin any more.  I like them well enough for what they are – I owned an XL1200 a few years back – and I always thought I might like to have a Soft Tail Deuce or a Fat Boy.  But since about 2003 I have been on Kawasaki machines – I like the power, the speed and the smoothness.  So I rode to Sturgis, probably the premier v-twin rally in the WORLD, on a rice rocket – my little Kawasaki ZR7-S.  Yes, I did.

The bike didn’t have bags – I have a two-deck magnetically attached tank bag, and I also have a smaller (helmet-sized) tail bag that attaches to the seat surface behind me.  So I was limited in creature comforts to what I could carry – basically one change of clothes, basic rain gear, water, maps, camera and a RON kit.  I shipped a box of clothes and other items UPS to Linda just ahead of my arrival date – and shipped the box back home again for the return trip. 

Church Rock (Monticello, UT)

I didn’t intend the journey to be an iron-butt ride.  I took it very easy.  The first day was a good distance – Phoenix to Moab.  Second day was Moab to Rawlins.  Third day was across Wyoming and into Deadwood.  What would be a two-day trip by car I stretched to three.  It was still physically demanding – for the trip home I purchased a pair of bicycle pants with gel cushioning to make the “ride” a bit less painful.  This helped, but didn’t really solve the problem.  I did have a more comfortable Corbin seat than the OEM seat – I couldn’t have done the ride without it.  Even a short trip on the OEM seat would cause such pain and numbness that I couldn’t walk for days.

Moab's Apache Motel

First morning, the route was I-17 to Flagstaff, US89 north to US160, then through Kayenta, Mexican Hat and Blanding to Moab.  It was a great ride with plenty of quick stops along the way.  The highlights of the day were riding along with a Navajo guy on a Yamaha 1000 (an R-1 maybe?).  We rode together from Flagstaff where we met, up onto the res – maybe Tuba City or Tonalea (can’t remember exactly).  His bike was a lot faster than mine, but he wasn’t in any hurry.  Then, as I got farther out toward Kayenta, I got into some rain storms and had to get out the rain gear.  That didn’t last long enough to get nasty, and I dried out quickly once it stopped and the sun came back out.  These are great motorcycle roads – especially the ride from Kayenta to Mexican Hat and Blanding – just twisty enough to add some fun and interest, and the beautiful Utah red-rock scenery all around.  I stopped in Blanding for supper, then continued on to Moab where I had a reservation at the Apache Motel.  It was John Wayne’s choice of motels a couple of times when he was filming in the area – the clerk had worked there as a youngster and she told me some stories about meeting Duke when he stayed there – he had been really great to her.  I also stayed in the same room he preferred which was a treat for me.

Next morning, I had a quick pancake breakfast and headed on down the road – I took the river road (SR128) northeast until it connected to I-70, then east to around Rifle, Colorado, then north on skinny little SR13 through Craig and Baggs, WY.  I ran into a lot of wind along I-70 which makes for uncomfortable bike handling, and rain along the route from Rifle to Baggs – but again, like the first day, it was of short duration and sunny otherwise so it wasn’t a bad day.  I got a room in Rawlins, had a good supper at a restaurant next door, and got an early start the next morning. 

Pathfinder Res.

My route through Wyoming was a lot of two-lane road – north to Muddy Gap, SR220 past Independence Rock and Pathfinder Reservoir and over to I-25, north just far enough to catch 387 and 450 into Newcastle, and from there into the Hills on US85.  Along the way I passed the “first cabin” in Wyoming, killed 10 million bugs, and took the opportunity of the remote, isolated and little-used highways to “let the ponies run.”  It was the fastest speed I ever sustained for any length of time on a bike – and I knocked off a lot of miles really quickly. I’m not going to say exactly how fast… but I did this until I saw what it did to my fuel mileage (reduced it 35-40%)… I also started thinking about tire blow-outs at high speeds... and then I got a little more conservative, really quickly.  I collected so many bugs, I had to stop occasionally, take the helmet to the nearest water source, and wash them all off.  My jacket was completely saturated with bug juice and guts as well.  It was awesome.  It was kind of a hot day, so I wasn’t very comfortable unless I was riding – but it wasn’t bad in the wind.

I also stopped at Pathfinder Reservoir early in the day to watch people fish (and have a snack), and at Independence Rock.  I climbed around a little at the Rock to see if I could find some of the places where the Oregon Trail pioneers signed their names on the rock, and thought a lot about what a July 4th celebration might have been like there.  It was about where the wagons would be around the 4th if they left Independence at the proper time in April/May.  So a lot of July 4th parties took place there during the Oregon Trail years.  Another Oregon Trail landmark I passed by was Emigrant Gap.

As I got closer and closer to Sturgis, I noticed that riders were not acknowledging other motorcyclists like they usually do.  When a motorcycle passes another motorcycle, the custom dating back to before I was born is you “wave” (even if subtlety, because, after all, one must remain “cool”).  But as you get closer to Sturgis at rally time – you are passing hundreds, if not thousands, of bikes – and after the first 50 or so, NOBODY waves anymore.  I had to laugh.  I didn't get "waved to" again until I was on my way home again – and at least 500 miles out of Deadwood.  I eventually gave up trying.

Ready to ride

On arrival at the motel, Linda and Merrill put me up in a room behind the office they were in the process of converting to a “suite.”  It wasn’t finished yet, but was still nice quarters for me, especially when you consider the “price.”  I stayed several days – and tried to get them to let me help around the motel, but they wouldn’t.  I think Merrill might have let me help him with the pool one morning – but other than that, they must’ve thought I was unreliable because they wouldn’t let me do anything.  

The rally attendees were already starting to arrive, and the motel was booked.  There were Harleys everywhere – bikes, trailers, etc.  The Harley riders were pretty funny.  They don’t respect foreign bikes much, you know.  But my scooter was parked over by the office, and the big tough Harley biker dudes would slowly walk by it, stand and look at Linda’s flowers planted underneath the office windows, and slyly check out the ZR7 out of the corner of their eye.  Harley owners are not allowed to look at a Jap bike, you know.  Would hurt their image.  The other place I had fun with them on this ride was there around the Hills.  There’s a lot of great twisty roads there of course.  I had to ride over to Rapid City to get a tire replaced for the trip home, and coming back I took the “scenic route.”  Those roads cry out to be ridden fast on a bike that can handle – and not all Harleys handle real well; they’re too big and fat, and their riders are sometimes in that same state.  So they tend to “saunter” around and through the twisties.  I, on the other hand, on that nimble little 750 which handled like a feather, whipped through the turns at a good clip, having nothing but fun all the way.  It was the most fun when they tried to keep up – but found they couldn’t and had to give it up after just a short distance.  In short, my bike handled like a sports car – and their big old Harleys handled like Buicks with leetle tiny motors.

Like this one, only newer...

While I was waiting for the tire installation at Black Hills Motorsports, I got to talking to the sales department and they had a Yamaha V-Max there for sale – it was used so they let me take it for a test ride.  I had heard they were really powerful and I enjoyed the experience quite a lot.  They also had an “Eddie Lawson” 1000 (a special edition Kawasaki) that I always liked and thought I wanted. That one was new and I didn’t get to test-ride it.  I came away thinking that Black Hills Motorsports in Rapid City was a great place to get service – but I don’t remember specifically why now.  I’m old and my memory isn’t as sharp as it used to be!

At Mt Moriah Cem.

While I was there in Deadwood, I took a ride with Linda up to Mt Moriah (cemetery) and communed with the spirits there.  Or a deer or two anyway.  I saw Calamity Jane’s final resting place, Wild Bill’s and Seth Bullock.  That skull orchard sits up high above the city in a wooded area, a very beautiful setting.   

After a few days, the time came to start for home…  The route home was a bit different – I rode west to Yellowstone National Park, then south through Utah.  Most of the riders I passed were all heading toward the Hills as the rally was just getting started, not too many were going my way at that point.  I rode up across the Bighorn Mountains, stayed the night in Buffalo Bill Cody’s hotel in Cody – I can’t remember the name of the place but it was represented as a hotel/restaurant he had owned. It was definitely of frontier vintage and rustically elegant.  I headed northwest from Cody toward the Park, and went in on the north side and made a big circle around and through the area, then out of the Park south toward Jackson.  I checked out Yellowstone Falls, Yellowstone Lake, Old Faithful, Mammoth Hot Springs, and uneasily passed a group of tourists who had stopped their cars to watch some bears; I did not stop.

Up and across the Bighorns

I made it down past the Grand Tetons to Jackson for the night, walked around town to find some food that evening, then got an early start the next morning.  I didn’t do much loitering that day – rode down past Bear Lake and Logan into the Salt Lake area and on south.  I made it to Fredonia, AZ before I quit for the day.  I did a quick tour through Bryce Canyon NP in the rain, and got so cold I stopped on the way out to get some hot soup and coffee.  My friend Gen had told me about a quirky motel in Fredonia (The Crazy Jug Motel) and I made sure I stayed there.  The whole place, furniture and all, was made of knotty pine. The other thing I remember about the ride was there was lots of road construction in the north part of Utah, in between Logan and SLC.  There was quite a bit of rain in the later afternoon and I was soaked by the time I got to Fredonia.

Crazy Jug and the Yellow Streak

The Crazy Jug had its own café next door, and I went over there to eat.  The cashier didn’t know how to work the credit card machine (or was having trouble with it), and ran my card three or four times.  I made a point of asking to make sure I wasn’t being charged three or four times, and they got kind of huffy about it.  So when I got home, imagine my surprise to find I HAD been charged for the meal three or four times.  The credit union fixed it pretty quickly and charged it all back to them, but still.  I think that establishment has since gone out of business – sad because I really did enjoy the motel itself.

The last section was across the Arizona Strip to US 89 south of Page, and home to Phoenix via Flagstaff.  It rained a lot on that stretch also – but I didn’t care – it was summer, and I knew I'd be home at the end of the day to wash off the grime.  Keep it between the fence posts!

~Road Bob

Northern Arizona Road Trip



The Route

When you get cabin fever in April, there’s only one thing to do.  I planned an almost 800 mile journey through northern Arizona, a “big loop” that took in desert (all kinds, and both “painted” and otherwise), rim rock and canyons, high country and forests.  My route was from Phoenix, northwest on *US93 through Wickenburg to Kingman, northeast and east from Kingman on Old 66 as far as Seligman, then I-40 to Williams.  That ended day one.  From Williams on day 2, north on SR64 to Valle and the Grand Canyon National Park, then out of the park at Desert View and on to Cameron, Tuba City, Old Oraibi and the Hopi mesas, then south on SR87 all the way back to Phoenix. 



Interstate

*Note: Some international readers who have not visited the United States may not be familiar with our highway nomenclature:  An "I" preceding the number indicates a controlled-access "expressway" or "freeway," an "Interstate."  This is the "fast" road to take between points A and B. and equates to an "M" motorway in the UK. Drivers here often call it the super-slab, " which term is not generally complimentary. 

US Highway

A "US" highway prefix indicates a federally-maintained main highway, can sometimes be divided but just as often isn't and is equivalent to an "A" road in UK.  It runs through towns and cities, so it adds time to your journey, your average speeds and elapsed times will be slower, although not always significantly.

State Highway

Finally, an "SR” (at least in my writing) means it is a state highway, as opposed to a federally-maintained highway, or in application, a “lesser” route.  This is similar to a “B” road in the UK.  We also have county roads, which are more local in nature.  In its heyday, "66" was a US highway, these days it is a state route where it still exists; it is not complete and continuous anymore, although you can locate and drive many portions of it.

On maps (see the graphics!), an Interstate highway is identified with a blue, red and white "shield," a "US" route by a black and white shield, and a state route with that state's choice of sign -- often some motif involving that state's flag or geographical shape.  In my state, for example, we use a sign shaped like our state's outline, in black and white.  Now back to my story...

The purpose of this trip was the driving itself – but that’s not to say there weren’t interesting things to see and do along the way. My original plan was to meet some friends in southern Utah for a day of visiting, but that fell through for the present.  So instead, since I was not willing to stay home and was really excited at the prospect of doing some driving (which I haven’t been able to do for a while), I thought this would be an ambitious alternative for a two-day adventure (in reality, it was a day and a half).

SR51

10:30: There are two ways to get out of my end of Phoenix to the northwest – one, use Grand Avenue and beat your way through traffic for 25 miles until you get out of the business congestion of Peoria and Sun City, or you can drive north about 15 miles and take SR74 west past Lake Pleasant and across the desert to its junction with US60 west of Morristown.  I usually go that way – so this time I took the more congested route.  Call me crazy.  But I drove the Loop 101 out to Bell Road, then used that to go the last miles to Grand Avenue (US60). 

Up until the 1970s, Grand Avenue and US60 was the main route from Phoenix to Los Angeles.  It was very common for us to leave Phoenix in the evening, and drive to Los Angeles overnight to beat the summer daytime heat. The stretch of I-10 from Brenda (out by Quartzite) into Phoenix was the very last section of I-10 to be completed, so we had to use the old two-lane blacktop out to that point in far western Arizona.  From the northwest end of Phoenix, this old two-lane road is still a preferred route for me, since it is more scenic and the pace is slower.  I followed that as far as Wickenburg, where my route for this trip (US93) split off toward Kingman and Las Vegas.

Hassayampa Rest Area and Palo Verdes

11:00: On the highway southeast of Wickenburg, the Hassayampa River makes a brief above-ground appearance in a “wash” on the south side of the highway. The Nature Conservancy has created a lovely little rest area there.  The Hassayampa is an underground river for most of its length, and you only see water in most of it when it rains heavily. I used to stop here on my way back into Phoenix from central California when I was driving trucks – and I would run out of “steam” (and driving hours) just before reaching home.  It was a great place to stop for a nap.  The river creates a very green and lush riparian habitat for a brief distance in this very special place – like an oasis in the Sahara -- and it is always quite unexpected in the otherwise arid Sonoran Desert environment that you’ve been driving through.

Horse Shoe Cafe

12:00: I stopped to eat in Wickenburg at the Horseshoe Café.  It is a typical small-town restaurant (in terms of menu), and plays on the “old west” theme in an “old western” town.  The fare was almost completely fried foods.  I got a salad and a burger and onion rings – it was all good as far as it goes, but the portion sizes were very large and I wasted a lot of the food.  There’s no way I can still eat the typical “American-sized” portions a lot of places serve.  I guess that’s a good thing, as I abused myself in that regard for so many years.  The salad could have been the best (at least healthiest) part of it – a large plate of iceberg lettuce and onion, and some other things, maybe carrots…  But they did not spin the salad or otherwise dry the greens after washing them – so the result was that it was very watery on the plate.  So C+ for the first lunch of the road-trip.

US 93

13:00 – 15:00: The Highway of Death. The next leg of the drive was on one of the most dangerous highways in the United States (US93 between Wickenburg and I-40).  There are others like it in the country, but this is one of the worst – and still is on the sections that have not been divided and widened.  A few years ago, the state highway department erected little white crosses at each location along this road where a person was killed in a crash.  Each death got memorialized with a cross. They took many of those crosses down a few years back as part of the recent (and still ongoing) modernization and widening of the highway, but before they did I had someone else drive while I sat on the passenger-side and counted those white crosses.  Perhaps erected over ten or fifteen years, there were at least 337 of them along this 100 miles of roadway. 

There are several things that contribute to the extremely unsafe nature of this highway.   First, (before the current improvement project) the road and its foundations were designed and built in the 1930s.  It was designed and constructed for automobiles with expected highway speeds of 40 or 50 mph, maximum.  It was narrow and shoulder-less, with very little thought given to grades and banking in terms of safe driving. They built the road, but it was up to each driver to drive on it safely – a novel concept, eh? It’s what I call “personal responsibility.”

You see, we didn’t used to have the "Nanny State" that we have now.  In the latter half of the 20^th Century, we drove this road at speeds of 65 and 75 mph (not that this was legal), whether it was safe at those speeds or not (It wasn’t.)  Along with that problem, the drivers on that highway are mostly headed to the gambling and drinking holiday meccas of our area – Laughlin and Las Vegas.  When they get there, they drink and they don't sleep, and most are in a hurry to get there or to get home afterward. So you have impaired drivers from both fatigue and chemicals, and you have a large number of drivers who exhibit great degrees of impatience – resulting in high speeds and unsafe passing. 

When you mix all of those things together on what already was an outdated and poorly designed road (in terms of modern road design, anyway), tragic results are completely predictable.  What remains to be seen is whether the recent improvement projects and widening (& dividing) of the highway will have any positive impact on the death rate on this road.  As it is, even today, I often go a different route to avoid it, or choose a time when some of the other drivers mentioned above are not as likely to be “out there.”  It saddens me whenever I think about it that many Americans are nothing but rank amateurs when it comes to driving.  There are so many unthinking and ignorant fools out there.

Joshua Tree

13:30: The highway just north of Wickenburg passes through one of only about three Joshua tree “forests” in Arizona.  I’ve driven this road so many times, and always enjoy passing through the area and seeing the very unique Joshuas, but I never thought much about why they inhabit that particular stretch of desert. So I looked it up. Noah Aleshire wrote about it on Arizona Scenic Roads and since he said it so well, I will quote his words here:

Running for 54 miles along US Route 93 northwest of Phoenix between the historic mining town of Wickenburg and the tiny town of Wikieup, the Joshua Forest Scenic Parkway crosses the blurred boundary between the Sonoran and Mojave deserts in western Arizona. Hardy creosote carpets the desert, while ocotillos thrust their straight barbed arms to the sky like a spring of thorns, frozen in midair. Saguaro cacti, the signature plant of the Sonoran Desert, thrive at the beginning and end of the drive, and great cliffs and canyons loom to the east and west.

At the heart of the parkway stands one of only three Joshua tree forests in the state. Joshua trees are to the Mojave Desert what saguaros are to the Sonoran – huge, perfectly adapted endemic plants that live nowhere else in the world. On this route visitors can see saguaros standing next to Joshua trees, the breathtaking union of two harsh, lovely deserts. When driving through the Joshua forests, remember that these plants aren’t trees but yuccas, and members of the lily family. Enduring temperatures between 30 and 125 degrees, thriving with oppressively little rainfall and living for as long as 300 years, these giant lilies seem to have little in common with other members of their family, abandoning the grace and fragility of lilies for resiliency.

Instead of thick concentrations, the first giant yuccas stand alone, popping out of the saguaro-dotted desert. Standing like grizzled sentries, Joshuas prefer the slightly higher and wetter parts of the desert, and so mark the edge of the Mojave. Thick, treelike trunks support the many chaotic forks of the Joshuas. The frenzied branches erupt randomly and in ungainly exuberance. Sharp green leaves bristle at the top and shaggy, dried-out spikes from years past cling to the branches and trunk. Early settlers looked at the yuccas and saw a plant brimming with hostile weaponry, calling them "dagger trees." Mormon pioneers, however, looked at the forked branches and saw the Biblical Joshua’s outspread arms. From March to May, the Joshua trees put out clusters of creamy-white blossoms and their lily heritage emerges, inviting pollination from yucca moths.

Most pollinators go from flower to flower to feed on pollen or nectar, thus inadvertently fertilizing them. The female yucca moth doesn’t eat pollen or nectar — she has different motivations. The moth intentionally collects pollen from one Joshua tree flower and deposits it in another, then lays her eggs inside the pollinated flower. By fertilizing that same flower, the moth guarantees that when her larvae hatch there will be developed seeds to eat, assuring the survival of the moths and the Joshua trees. http://www.arizonascenicroads.com/north_central/joshua_forest_article_1.html

The Joshua “trees” are so unique, you can’t help but notice them as you drive along this parkway.  I didn’t know that they inhabited that interface between the Sonoran and the Mohave deserts, where the elevation is getting higher (rising from 1000-1500 feet MSL to 3,000-4000 feet MSL) making the conditions in this corridor “just right” for them. They add to the scenic beauty of this area – which was once rife with “dude ranches.”  They make the area beautiful and perfect for trail rides, hay rides and cowboy campfire suppers, and you can do that today if you want; there’s still a few of those places left.

Heading north through the Joshua trees, you pass Nothing, AZ.  While there used to be a couple of roadside service businesses there, today it truly is “nothing.”  There’s not much left – it doesn’t even look like anyone is living there anymore.  Add it to the list of Arizona ghost towns.  I don’t have “nothing” more to say about it (except that the name fits...)

Burro Creek Camp

14:00: Burro Creek.  As the highway starts to climb you’ll find a little campground along Burro Creek as it passes underneath a high steel bridge.  I decided that on this trip, I would actually drive down the short paved road to the campground and the creek (which I had never done before) – and was surprised to find a lot of water there.  This was spring - there might not be quite so much water in the summer. But it would make a nice place for a winter, spring or fall desert camp.  It’s about 120 miles from my home in Phoenix. There is a fee for camping there – I believe it was $20-something.  The nights here would be much cooler than Phoenix!

Aquarius Mountains, north of Wikieup, AZ

14:30: A few miles up the highway I came to Wikieup – which is not very compact and stretches for a few miles along the highway as it travels through a long valley.  The only place of note (unless you need gas, a tow or a mechanic), is Lucha’s, at the far north end of the community, after you’ve passed everything else.  If it is open when you come by, Lucha's is a good place to eat if I remember correctly and there are some high-dollar curios that you can purchase.  These qualify as art rather than as trinkets, I’ve been told.  I haven’t been there for a long while, so I cannot vouch for that and it was closed this time as I passed so I still don’t know.  By the time you get this far on US93, most of the drive is behind you – the junction with I-40 is only about thirty more miles and then Kingman is just seventeen miles or so west of that.

Where the planes were parked

15:30: Having mixed it up with the rude truck drivers for the last few miles into Kingman, I took the first exit and connected with the old Route 66 roadway and turned eastward out of town.  I wanted a good picture of the aircraft boneyard as I passed the airport – but I couldn’t get a good vantage point from which to take a photo of the several jets waiting there for the scrapper’s blade.  There were several old DHL cargo jets waiting for the death blows. 

My interest in this place stems from its role after WWII as the final destination of many of the aircraft that served in the overseas theaters – I knew a pilot, a Canadian and RAF combat veteran, who flew in the Battle of Britain and later with the RCAF, and at the end of the war, he soloed B-17s to the Kingman airport (from Newfoundland) where they were stored temporarily and then scrapped, by the thousands.  Having seen Arizona, this man liked it so much that he chose to live here. When he applied for a US pilot's license, the government refused him, saying he didn't have enough "verifiable experience" to qualify for it.  They issued him a "student" certificate and he flew on that for the rest of his life, as far as I know.  It was just Higgins' way of telling the government to "stuff it."   Anyway, I never saw the stored planes there – they were all gone by the time I was old enough to drive or fly.  But I did get a photo of the area where those old planes had been parked in the nearby desert as I passed by the other day. 

Along Old 66

I always enjoy the famous old highway across northern Arizona – the Mother Road – old US 66.  Route 66 figured prominently in one of our mass migrations as a nation – during the Great Depression, many hard-luck Americans packed up what little they owned and left when their farms and businesses failed. They followed US66 to California from the Midwest and the Dustbowl. Route 66 was the “highway of hope” leading them to the "land of milk and honey." Overall, you may know that the route started in Chicago in the east, and ended on the beach at Santa Monica, California. Even when I was a kid, people still drove it when they moved west seeking better climate or better opportunities -- or both.

Arizona’s stretch of the storied road is one of the longest stretches still intact. It was superseded by I-40 in the early 1960s (and farther east, by I-44) and many waypoints and towns just folded up and died. Those that survived now glory in the road's history and the associated nostalgia, especially among those of my generation. They’ve even put up some facsimiles of the famous roadside Burma Shave signs to entertain those of us who treasure American highway kitsch. You can still see some of the old places that served the people and travelers along the way – the most recognizable are the old gas stations with their distinctive shapes and awning-covered driveways, and of course the old motor courts – or motels, mostly in ruins now.  I wonder if someone could make a killing by building a new, modern motel along this stretch of road, but in the old art-deco "motor-court" style, and with plenty of neon lighting. There are ranches here and there and one of our busiest transcontinental railroads (the BNSF) follows the same route.

Peach Springs

16:30: In between Kingman and Seligman, you pass through the Hualapai Reservation and its capital, Peach Springs. It’s a beautiful stretch passing through a very scenic part of Arizona.  When I was a student, probably in college, I remember reading in a literature class an account of a young school teacher’s arrival by train in post frontier-era Kingman (perhaps 1890s or early 1900s), and her journey by wagon to her schoolhouse in a Hualapai community. It recounted as well the warm greeting she was given by the locals upon her arrival; a new school teacher was a cause for celebration. (I wonder how long it took some local cowboy or business man to marry her (?); women were very scarce here at the time.  Anyway, I have tried to find that story again but haven’t been able to locate a copy of it – but I watched along this stretch of road for old schoolhouses.  There is one at Hackberry and I wondered if that was the one where she had taught all those years ago. It might have been the one, but I don't remember now where she was destined. 

I drove along in the late afternoon, stopping frequently to take photos; the light was gorgeous. I was in no hurry at all, running maybe 60 mph, but others were flying past at 70 and maybe even 80+ in some cases.  The only reason to drive this highway is to enjoy and soak up that history (if you’re in that much of a hurry, you’d take the nearby Interstate, right (?).  I don’t understand why others would be in such a hurry here… you can’t even read the Burma Shave signs at those speeds!  So I just moseyed along.  I did my own speeding later on…

In the middle of Peach Springs, you can stop at the tourist agency and get a permit to drive Diamond Creek Road – which leads to the Colorado River at the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  It’s the only place along the entire length of the canyon where you can do that (you can drive to the water's edge at Lee's Ferry, but that's not actually in the Canyon itself).  This road (while dirt) doesn’t normally require four-wheel drive, although it runs through the waters of Diamond Creek at the end.  Don’t bother if you are riding a motorcycle though – the Hualapai don’t allow bikes on that road. I argued about that, but I lost of course.  I figured if my uncle could get there in a Ford Escort, I could easily do it on a motorcycle. As little as ninety years ago, the road didn't exist even in primitive form - it was nothing in those days but a trail.  Emery Kolb (famous entrepreneur and adventurer at the Grand Canyon) used the Diamond Creek trail to get to the Colorado River when he searched for Glen and Bessie Hyde, a now-infamous couple who disappeared along the River while boating through Grand Canyon on their honeymoon in a home-built scow. They were never found, and their story is laced with intrigue and mystery, and some say perhaps even murder.

The road to Hualapai Hilltop and Supai

East of Peach Springs a few miles, you’ll pass the junction of Indian Route 18 – the road to Hualapai Hilltop. If you’ve planned ahead (and made reservations with the Havasupai Tourist Agency, you can drive about 60 miles north on Indian 18 to Hilltop.  From there you can hike about 10 miles (each way) and visit the Havasupai on their reserve and see the cold beautiful turquoise blue waters of the several falls on Cataract Creek below the community of Supai; and swim in them.  Don’t hike without reservations – they won’t let you stay if there’s no room and there often isn’t.  When that happens, those folks are forced to turn around and hike the ten miles back to Hilltop. But if you’ve thought ahead, it’s a great Arizona memory to experience and have. I’ve been down there about ten times. If you'd like to read about that, just follow the link!

Back on Route 66, a few more miles and you’ll pass by Grand Canyon Caverns.  I don’t usually stop – but it’s worth a look if you’ve never seen it before.  I took the guided tour through the cavern once when I was staying at their motel the night before a hike to Supai.  Seligman is about twenty miles farther.  I always look for the building that housed the Texaco station that Andreas Feininger photographed back in the 1940s – and on this pass through town I think I might have finally spotted it.  It is no longer a gas station, if what I saw was the correct building, but I saw a block building that might possibly have been the one.  Seligman doesn’t look a thing today like it did in 1947 when Mr. Feininger took his famous photo.

Seligman, 1947 by A. Feininger

16:05: The last few miles for the day were along I-40.  I encountered some extremely rude (and dangerous) truck drivers along this stretch of highway, which should not surprise me at all.  I remember when many drivers were “knights of the road” and were true professionals. I see many these days that don’t even come close to that – I suppose that mirrors our society in general.  The national CDL licensing standard was supposed to increase skills and professionalism in the field – how ironic that it seems to have had the opposite effect. Rudeness has become very common – even considered admirable by some. 

The trouble is, when you are in control of where a thirty-five ton truck is pointed, that rudeness is dangerous and often kills innocent people.  A 72,000 lb semi, for example, driven at 65 mph, is carrying the equivalent of over 700 tons of "crash force." My suggestion to other drivers is to give the jerks plenty of room so they can’t surprise you. Some of them think absolutely nothing about changing lanes in front of a vehicle moving 75 mph while they are only doing maybe 25 mph on a grade, and they don't care at all if you wind up in the ditch, or dead.  Never drive in close proximity to a truck – if you need to pass, do it carefully and as quickly as you can.  There’s more than one good reason for that.

18:35: I arrived in Williams, my destination for the night, at about 6:30 PM.  I had a reservation at the Canyon Motel and RV Park.  It was among the least expensive places in town and was still highly rated in reviews that I read.  I found it satisfactory in most regards, although I did not like the bed – it was obvious it was fairly new, but it was not very comfortable – one of those foam mattresses I think, given its consistency and shape.  The place was clean though, and inexpensive compared to some other places around town.  One of the attractions is that they have several old railroad cabooses that you can rent as motel lodging – which might be fun, especially for kids.  Or train buffs!  My biggest gripe was that they mounted the televisions high on the walls – next to the ceilings.  I had taken a DVD player and a couple good western movies – and I couldn’t connect the player to the TV because the wires weren’t long enough to reach the TV way up there by the ceiling!  I asked for a different room, because I had really looked forward to the movie-fest, but they didn’t have any others available.  I was hoping there was still a room or two with a television “mounted” on a table; alas, there was not.  So anyway, I was a bit torqued about that.

Canyon Motel Respite

I got settled in, fooled around with my laptop computer and wi-fi trying to upload the day's photos to the Cloud, failed at that, finally thought maybe I’d better go find something to eat before everything closed up.  In Williams, I always seem to end up at Rod’s Steakhouse for supper.  I don’t find Rod’s as good as it used to be, but it’s still OK; the service was friendly at least.  As with most everything else in Williams, it is over-priced.  The merchants in the town are fairly vigorous about fleecing the tourists.  About the only thing I found in Williams besides my particular motel that I thought was totally reasonable was breakfast at the Route 66 Diner (east end of town).  There, I got a decent bacon and eggs breakfast for about $7 plus tip.  I could complain about how my eggs were cooked, but they obviously didn’t care and I ate them anyway, so why bother.  I am very picky about my fried eggs… 

20:30: My dinner at Rod’s was a generously-sized slice of prime rib of beef, even though it was the smallest cut.  I think it was called the "princess" cut... They served it at the right degree of doneness, but it was still very heavy and dry (too lean).  I shouldn’t complain about a piece of beef being too lean – but the fact is that prime rib needs to be a little fatty for the flavor.  I ate some of it, sliced the rest into thin strips and took them out in a box for my next day’s lunch.  I bought a package of pita breads at the local grocery, snatched some mayo from the deli and had pita-pocket prime rib sandwiches for lunch at a picnic area in Grand Canyon National Park.  And served that way, there was nothing to complain about.  About ordering the “ladies’ cut” of prime rib?  The server raised her eyebrow at me in disdain, but I told her that I really was a macho-man, just not a very hungry one at that specific moment.  Even worse, I was cold, and there was no way I was going to drink coffee that late in the day – so I ordered hot tea.  And with that she knew in her mind that I really was a big wuss; there was no redemption after that.

Before going to bed, I tried to watch a DVD program on old ghost towns on my PC, but got sleepy very quickly, gave up and went to bed.  I awoke at 0800, got myself together, got everything EXCEPT my Bluetooth earpiece into the car; didn’t find out about that omission until I got a call from the motel once home.  They wanted $15 plus shipping costs to mail it back to me, so I invited them to keep it.  Which is what they probably wanted all along.  I've already replaced it with one that cost me $12.

09:00: I got my breakfast, then headed up the road toward the Grand Canyon.  This is another stretch of road where everyone seems to be in a hurry – the tourists who rent cars (and probably many of the locals as well) think the proper speed for SR64 must be about 95 mph, because that’s how fast a lot of them go.  At least on that road, there isn’t much else to see until you get to Tusayan, so maybe I can understand their impatience a little more than I do when it's on Route 66... and except for the unsafe passing. They are in such a hurry to get around you that they don’t care how safe or unsafe it is.  It’s a good road for loss-of-control single-car wrecks and head-ons and like US93, lots of fatalities.  These are the same folks you'll see later at the Grand Canyon overlooks -- they look at the expansive vista of one of the Seven Wonders of the World that's laid out before them for all of ten seconds, toss their empty plastic water bottles on the ground and drive on at high velocity to the Park exit. Then they tell all the folks back home they've "seen the Grand Canyon" and how they weren't very impressed.

Planes of Fame at Valle - a Stinson Reliant

10:30: About two-thirds of the way to Tusayan, at the junction of US180 and SR64, you pass through the small community of Valle  (pronounced “valley”).  For me, the only thing of real interest at Valle is the Arizona branch of the Planes of Fame Air Museum, which has moved into a new building in the last few years and the collection is in better shape for the most part than it was the last time I stopped there.  Many of the aircraft look like you could jump right in and go flying. They have three transport-category aircraft there, including a very famous one that played a role in a disagreement between a famous five-star general and his Commander-in-Chief, and there is also a now-very-rare Martin 404.  You don’t see too many of those anymore.  The big C-121 is looking fairly ragged, and I hope they are working to bring it back to an airworthy condition again.  Like the Martin, it's one of only a few remaining examples. Inside the Museum, there is much of interest for any aviation-minded person, including at least one type of airplane that I have piloted myself; it is rather distressing to me that aircraft that I flew (not that many years ago) are now considered museum pieces. I spent most of the time I had set aside for Grand Canyon National Park at the air museum.  I don’t regret it, I can get back to the Canyon anytime I have the time – it is a “destination of choice” for me so I will, as long as I don’t get rubbed out first.

The Big Ditch

12:30: I arrived at Tusayan (the service community at the south gate to Grand Canyon National Park) about lunch-time, so I drove into the Park and found a place to eat my picnic along the East Rim drive.  This took longer than I thought (finding a picnic spot)because more and more of the overlooks are closed to private vehicles now – in order to get to them you have to use the transportation provided by the National Park Service and its contractors. But I finally succeeded, ate my lunch and then drove off down the road.  I stopped at the major overlooks and communed with the vistas, the ravens and one back-country hiker, skipped my customary stop for oohing and awing at Desert View, and went on out of the Park toward Cameron and points northeast. From here on, it was mostly scenery and driving, which is always good for me. I found a small stretch of an older now abandoned SR64 alignment alongside the present road as I pulled off the highway for a photo of the Little Colorado Gorge.  Not in very good shape, but still drivable where I was.

Old Road

14:20: In Cameron, I stopped for gasoline and a Coke, and gave away my entrance ticket for the National Park.  They cost twenty-five dollars and are non-transferable, but I paid in cash and they are good for seven days – so I found someone headed toward the Park to give it to.  Call me a bad man.

Near Hotevilla and Second Mesa

On Indian lands now, driving north on US89, the colors of the Reservation lands were very vivid.  Later in the year, as everything heats up, especially during the middle of the day, the colors get washed out in haze and yellow sunshine.  But this time of year, the sky is Arizona blue, and the colors of the landforms are clear and bright and full of contrast.  This is when people know exactly what you mean when you call it the “Painted Desert.”  It was so beautiful.  I turned right on US160 toward Kayenta, and stopped a few miles down the road in Tuba City.  “Tuba” wasn’t a brass horn, but a leader of the Navajo people quite a few years ago.  I stopped long enough to grab some fast food, as there wasn’t much ahead of me for about 160 miles or so – except highway.  Not even a gas station.  But I drove along, enjoyed the beauty of the land, stopped for photos whenever I saw something dramatic and finally reached the Hopi villages.  I was looking for a refreshment stop but didn’t find one.  I contented myself with my McNuggets and some now-warm bottled water, and drove on. 

Near Teas Tos, on the Dinetah

Coming down off the Hopi mesas, the road stretched out in front of me for mile after mile.  At this point, it was about 60 miles to Winslow and nothing much between the two points (see photo) except the Dinetah and a few sheep and cattle here and there.  There was not any traffic on the road to speak of, and I really didn’t expect to see any law enforcement units on that afternoon.  I increased my speed (slightly, only slightly), set the cruise control and turned up the tunes!  I drove that 60 miles in about 45 minutes.  And for all my pissing and moaning about other people speeding, I enjoyed it.  As I approached I-40 the last few miles, I slowed it down and motored stately into Winslow.  The most interesting thing for me at Winslow is the airport.  It was surveyed and planned by Charles Lindbergh in the 1920s as a fuel and service stop for the early airliners.  They had to land frequently for fuel and oil, and the flights took so long, for the passengers comfort as well.  Winslow was one of the stops along the way from the mid-west to California. 

Crossing the Mogollon Rim

17:00: From this point, it was all about getting home by a decent hour, so I kept on going.  The road south of Winslow goes fairly straight across the Colorado Plateau (scrub vegetation, no trees) for quite a distance, then after you get into the forest again, you come to the edge of the Mogollon Rim.  This escarpment stretches across northern Arizona for several hundred miles; it separates high Arizona from low Arizona, and its “top” is covered in Ponderosa pines, at least wherever they haven't been burned down by "outdoorsmen" and their often unattended or unextinguished runaway campfires.  Don't call me bitter...

I stopped at Long Valley (just south of Clint’s Well) intending to get some soup, but the restaurant must have had a slow day and they had just closed their doors a little early.  They didn’t want to sell me any soup.  But I wasn’t all that hungry anyway, having eaten several things I got at that McDonald’s earlier along the way and I headed on down the road and down the switchbacks and off the Rim.  It was getting dark, so my last couple of photos were taken along that stretch right around Long Valley before I ran out of daylight for photography. 

20:00: I stopped in Payson long enough to squeegee my windshield (beaucoops bugs), then drove on.  There was a long stretch of road work that slowed me down around Mt Ord, but after that it was clear sailing into Mesa and Phoenix. SR87 between Payson and Mesa is almost like interstate super-slab, so normally it is a pretty quick drive.  I arrived at the end of my driveway with 780 miles on the clock about 21:30, a couple of hundred dollars less wealthy – and wishing I’d had a couple more days to roll.

Chevy Malibu on the Indian Nation

Keep it between the fence-posts and the shiny side up! I am road-Bob!