You see a lot of old cars along Route 66

The “gas station” in Hackberry on Route 66.

Corvettes only.

Route 66 or more than you ever wanted to know about my youth.

And then we got to Gallup, New Mexico. I don’t remember why but I have always thought it was an ugly town. I had even made up a song in my youth about how awful it was. We must have spent some time there when we traveled as a family. I was hoping I would be delightfully surprised when Maurice and I arrived there but we couldn’t really find an old section of the town and it stretched out in either direction along the freeway with miles of hotels and fast food places. I personally wanted to stop driving here-I was really tired of the car by then-but Maurice couldn’t find, in the hundreds of hotels and motels lining the highway, one place that appealed to him. It was 5:30 or so, and he managed to talk me into pressing on north up to Farmington. We somehow missed highway 666-sort of an interesting if scary number-and instead went up highway 371, one of those roads which look the width of a hair on the map and is of course two lanes. I was driving this part of the journey and we passed some absolutely fantastic red cliffs as we drove along and I was sorry that night was coming because they were unbelieveably beautiful in the red light of the setting sun. We passed the entrance to a place called the Red Rock Reserve and I remembered that I had an uncle named George who so loved this region that his family started calling him Red Rock. I called him Uncle Red Rock all of his life without wondering why he had such a strange name. He was called Red by friends although he didn’t have red hair. He and his family lived in Farmington. My Dad and all of his brothers ended up in Silver City, New Mexico when my grandfather was diagnosed with tuberculosis and was told he needed to move to a warmer, dryer climate than that found in Kentucky which is how I came to be raised in the Southwest. Anyway, I felt a sudden link with Uncle Red Rock and got why he loved it so. It was such a nostalgic feeling as I drove along in the dark with the highway unrolling under the tires and only the triangle of light on the road ahead. There was very little trafic on this small road and the stars came out thick and bright along side and overhead in the black sky. We found one of those great rock and roll stations that followed us all the way up the our destination playing hits from the 50′s and 60′s and I sang along to the Everly Brothers and Elvis hearing old songs that I hadn’t heard in years and I remembered being in high school dancing to these songs or being in a car with a boyfriend listening to hear which song would be number one that week maybe announced by Wolfman Jack coming through the air all the way from Los Angeles to the radio in Prescott, Arizona, filled with the wonder and joy of that innocent time. I think Maurice slept a little while I rushed up the road filled with memories. I was almost sorry to reach Farmington.
The next morning we reached Durango, another slice of life from my past. I had gone to junior high here. I need to ask my Dad why we moved so much and why he picked the places he did. I think he was simply trying to find himself and find something that he really enjoyed doing. I remember enjoying Durango, even the heavy snow in the winter although we didn’t do any winter sports. I need to ask my mother, too, how she felt about all of these moves. Her family was in Houston, Texas and she didn’t get to see them very often. In any case, we stayed in the historic Strater Hotel on Main Avenue which was a short walk from a clothing store that my father once owned.

The hotel is fabulous and built in the late 1800′s and was full of Victorian furniture. Our room was especially lovely and we had a great dinner in the hotel restaurant which was decorated in a wonderfully warm way with stained glass, bricks and dark wood. We walked down the street to my old junior high. I don’t have great memories of junior high, really, having been very shy, a new student starting in the middle of the year, and too sensitive on top of it all. I just remember enjoying the town itself. My sister and I even had horses while here. What a lot of work they turned out to be. What were my parents thinking? My horse was named Roly Poly when we bought her, being short and fat. We were told she had a grass belly. Imagine our surprise a few months later when we arrived to the plot of land where the horses were to find a new baby colt which I named Prince. My sister had a palomino named Richard who was really wacky having once eaten something called loco weed.
The next morning I drove Maurice up the Gold Dust highway to Silverton. It wasn’t as beautiful as I remembered it as there was no autumn color left and no snow to make it less bare. It is much better to take the train to Silverton but it had stopped running for the year. We then headed back towards Arizona, making a stop at Four Corners where four states all meet in one place-Arizona, Utah, New Mexico and Colorado. It’s sort of fun to stand with two feet in four states.

Somehow in the whole time that I lived in the Southwest I had never visited Monument Valley so we decided to make a short detour to see it. Since the days are shorter now we had to rush like crazy. I hate to speed but I wanted to catch the setting sun lighting up those rocky towers while we had the chance. We just made it.

Most of the towers were in shade but one was just perfect.

We then took a small loop that took us along the base of the a few of them, really a nice experience but on an unbelievable rough unpaved road. A few Native Americans actually live amongst all of that splendor. I was amazed at the countryside of this whole area and wished I knew more about geology. You can see signs of so much that happened through millions of years-eruptions, mountains pushed up, great plunges, sinkings and fallings of stones and mountains, twistings and bubblings now in stone, centuries of run offs and erosions; it all showed here and there as we drove along. There were even occaional soft round mounds looking like elephants were perhaps growing under the ground, pushing up with just the tops of their backs and sometimes the tops of their heads showing, going to be full sized elephants maybe a thousand years from now. Maurice was all for heading on to Scottsdale to my parent’s home but I just couldn’t take five or six more hours in the car so we stopped in Kayenta which I remembered from years ago when we would stop for gas on the way to Colorado to go skiing. It was barely more than just a gas station then but now has many new motels built, I’m sure, for all of those who want to visit Monument Valley. It was interesting to look at our motel bill and see that the taxes were for the States, the city and the Navaho Nation.Then finally the next morning back to Scottsdale, happy to get out of the car but so glad that we went.

Route 66

Shortly before Maurice turned 66 he said, ” You know what I would like to do to celebrate my birthday? ”
I had no idea. He came up with the idea of driving along Route 66. For some reason many French people seem fascinated with that highway. When I mentioned Maurice’s idea to a couple of Americans they looked puzzled and said, ” Why? ” I’m sure the song saying to get your kicks on Route 66 as well as the old television show has a lot to do with it. It is really a slice of Americana, a memory of the 50′s and 60′s in smal town America. Growing up in the Southwest I had been on it a couple of times and didn’t have any particularly warm feelings about it. I remembered long trips on narrow roads stretching out straight ahead without a curve for miles while acre after acre of brown,barren desert could be seen from the back seat of the car. We were going to the States for the Thanksgiving holidays anyway so we thought, “Why not include a drive along some of Route 66 while we were in Arizona? ”
So, when we were in Scottsdale, Arizona to visit my parents we decided to drive up to Kingman and then head east finding Route 66 when we could because, as it turns out, not all of it is remains but parts are now listed as historic and you can still find old signs and now many shops selling Tshirts and mugs with the famous logo. In fact, it once went all of the way from Santa Monica, California to Chicago and opened up many areas of America that were little visited before and also brought a lot of visitors to little towns along the way. The highway itself followed a railroad track for most of the way and we saw train after train loaded with long boxes that would be put on semi trucks once they reached their destinations. I had forgotten how many trains America has.
When we got to Kingman we headed east and soon found a little northern loop of Route 66 which becomes a two lane highway without the 75 mile an hour speed limit of the nearby freeway. There was a lot less traffic and it was sort of fun to tool along like we did in the past. We had a fabulous hangburger at a little place called Mr. Dz’s which was all fitted out with a fountain with round twisting stools, a juke box playing hits from the 50′s and 60′s, and photos of Elvis and Marlyn Monroe.

I haven’t seen a water pump like this since my childhood.

The road took us to a little stop on the road called Hackberry with an old gas station in front of a store, a red corvette parked in a space saying: corvette parking only and it was filled with memorabilia of Route 66 where we could buy replicas of the old highway sign, Tshirts, mugs and more. I also bought a bottle of Route 66 Root Beer. What a rush of memories came with my first sip of that drink-long summer days, frosty mugs of root beer floats, lying on the lawn looking at the stars, the sound of a slamming screen door. I was starting to get into this nostalgia thing. Outside were rusting cars and even a pair of donkies.

On we headed through Peach Springs eventually ending up in Williams. The highway goes right through the center of this town. I had gone to school in Prescott, Arizona, many many years ago and remembered coming here for football games or passing through it on the way to Flagstaff for skiing. Maurice wanted to stay in a hotel here overnight instead of going to the larger city of Flagstaff so we found one of those motels, the scene of many an American movie, and strolled down the street for dinner at a place which was also selling Route 66 mugs, Tshirts and much more. We bought a mug here. The next morning the traffic on Route 66 was temporarily blocked off as a huge pine tree was hauled up the street on a large truck. It was going to be placed in the middle of a small street and decorated for Christmas the day after Thanksgiving.
Heading on to Flagstaff, there suddenly is no more Route 66 and you are required to get back on Highway 40 with its heavy trafic and high speed. We found a small portion here and there but then there were only parts of it in the main street of towns such as Winslow. As we were getting closer to New Mexico we decided to make a detour to explore the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert where the old highway 66 once went.

The new highway when built actually led to millions of tons of the petrified wood being removed when it was discovered by travelers. It was a fascinating place with large pieces of what looked like huge tree trunks lying on the ground but which had become stone through millions of years of immersion in water and then silt and volcanic ash being deposited on top. The land is layers of colors-some gray and while, some shades of pink and rust-and here and there lie groups of pieces of petrified logs. It was a fun and lovely detour.

To be continued….

A few signs I’ve seen recently.

I saw this one in Provence at a store selling lights and lamps.

This was in the metro station advertising the coming movie, W. I still haven’t seen it but I liked how they had Bush dressed up as Napoleon did when he made himself Emperor of France.

A sign at a local cafe advertising live music. Thought it was the Rolling Stones for a minute there.

There are going to be some gray days ahead in Paris. That’s usually the way it is in Paris starting in November. So when the sun is out I try and get some photos.

Rod iron decoration on a door. I’m starting to find more and more of this now that it has been brought to my attention.

Sunlight on leaves on top of a tomb in Pere Lachase.

Even more rod iron in the Luxembourg Gardens.

Leaves caught on the edge of the Medicis fountain.

A few shots around Paris.

Red geraniums are very common in windows in Paris. Can you see the little bird there?

The red and white checked curtain, the font-how could this not be in Paris?

I love round windows.

A graceful balcony above Cine 13 up in Montmartre.