It’s time I finished the accounting of our journey along Route 66. To be truthful, our trip along the Mother Road was anticlimactic after we left the Mojave Desert. Once we began our decent into the Los Angeles Basin, we quickly lost signs of the old road. For the most part, Route 66 disappears under the urban sprawl, concrete, and murky air of Southern California.

Elmer’s Bottle Tree Ranch in San Bernardino County, California

We chose to stay on the freeways and just make a beeline to Santa Monica and grab our selfie at the pier, the traditional ending to a 2,600-mile odyssey. Things didn’t unfold in the way we hoped. In the first place, it took hours of heavy traffic, bumper to bumper across the LA metro area. It was no fun pulling the trailer in a stop and go crawl. The worst part of our morning, however, was getting to the coast and finding a place to park the car and trailer while we ran to take our selfie. The only parking lot that would allow us to leave the trailer wanted $60.00. $60.00 to leave a trailer for a 15-minute walk to the pier!!!!!!! It was more than I was willing to suffer. I didn’t need a photograph of a sign to prove that we had made the trip. We took a picture on the beach, got back into our car, and drove up the coast to visit a dear friend in Arroyo Grande.

A flock of pelicans cruising along the surf at Refugio Beach State Park

On our way north, we stopped for the night at Refugio Beach State Park for the night. When I was a kid, our family camped here, and it was a fun memory to revisit. It was nice to sit in camp and think back at what we had just accomplished. Virginia wanted us to do this trip now because I’ll be turning 67 in a few months. She thought it would be fun to complete this bucket list item while I was still 66.

Since I don’t have a lot to say about the California stretch of the road, I’ll share a few of my feelings and what’s been on my mind for 2,600 miles. Virginia and I have been through a lot, and the last few months have been chaotic. We haven’t had time to ourselves in all the bustle that followed our return from Hawaii. That mission was an intense two years, and we needed a rest. Unfortunately, a rest wasn’t an item on our to-do list. When we got home after stepping off the plane and carried our bags into the house, we quickly realized our home wasn’t going to suit us to settle into. There wasn’t any one thing wrong, the house was just worn out. We raised six children over the course of about 30 years. The house took a lot of abuse. My career was exhausting, and church work kept us occupied during that same 30-year stretch. In the ten months since Hawaii, we installed wood floors in the upstairs bedrooms, tore down dated window coverings, and put in plantation shutters. Virginia cleaned, patched, textured, and painted every wall and ceiling in the house. I repaired all the broken pieces along the way, finished the laundry room that was long overdue for completion, and replaced cheap hollow-core doors. As spring emerged, the yard beckoned for my attention with gardens to restore, trees to remove, and general cleanup. They were ten exhausting months of restoration as we blew through tens of thousands of dollars. We also were under pressure to make adjustments to the house to accommodate Virginia’s mother and aunt, who have moved in with us and taken the downstairs. Sadly, there was no recovery period from our labors in Hawaii.

Pismo Beach from the end of the pier at dusk.

We love our Scamp trailer. It is home away from home. In some ways, the Scamp is homier than the house. I love being out on the road, and Virginia is my soulmate and life-long travel companion. One would think that after 40 years of marriage there wouldn’t me much left to talk about. Somehow, we filled hours upon hours of chit chat and deep, intellectual discussions. Our time flew past as our wheels spun and bumped along an historic and picturesque Route 66. The trailer is small, only about 75sq feet. How can two adults survive in a space that small? Easy. When you love the one you’re with, no space is too small or too large. It was just right.

Hawaii is long behind us, and we are off on new adventures. All that remains of our time in Hawaii is to prepare a few photographs to decorate our walls. Why is that taking so long? These will be very large photographs, big enough to cover entire walls. It will be a deep investment, and I’ll need a few more months before we make that transaction. So, Route 66 is behind us and in our memories, like my view in the rearview mirror of the Toyota. It was a grand adventure, but that has ended. There is plenty more that is still on our horizon.

Our last night of actually being on Route 66, Barstow, California

Refugio Beach State Park at journey’s end

I’ve lived in or near the Southwest most of my life. Over the years we have crossed Route 66 numerous times. Not as much in New Mexico, but frequently in Arizona. What we found while traversing these two states is that I-40 closely parallels the old road. Much of the time, we were only a few yards away from the interstate, usually separated by a shallow ditch and sometimes a barbed wire fence. If you didn’t know otherwise, you would think there was a long frontage road passing through the desert along the interstate. The major difference is where the interstate bypassed small towns for the sake of efficiency. At these stretches, Route 66 usually veered away to eventually become the main street through town. Some towns managed to hang on over the years, while others died away. The main variation between the Midwest Route 66 and the Southwest Route 66 are that the stretches between communities become longer. In the Midwest, it wasn’t uncommon to pass through a community every 6-8 miles. Across New Mexico and Arizona, the intervals stretch from 20-30 miles.

Walnut Creek National Monument, near Flagstaff, Arizona

We learned that the earliest roads across the country usually followed the railways. Towns were built to provide support for steam engines that needed to resupply water every ten miles. Some train stops evolved and thrived while others faded away. Life in the desert region has always been tenuous. When I read Grapes of Wrath several months ago, I learned that crossing the desert was by far the hardest and longest part of the journey. Vehicles in those days were not equipped to manage the heat. Even today, parts of the old road are in disrepair, blown over by wind drifted sand, or subject to washout in the rainy season. There were parts of the road not well maintained, and we were advised to bypass them by taking the interstate.

The power of the earth to reclaim what man imposes on the land.

Even when we were directly side-by-side with the freeway only yards away, I enjoyed the slower pace of Route 66. Freeway speeds were usually 70-80 mph, while I only go a maximum speed of 60mph pulling our trailer. I had the road to myself for as far ahead as I could see, no one passing me and no one to slow me down. I didn’t feel obligated to focus on drivers around me and I could scan the landscape to the side. It was nice.

Our first overnight stop was in Tucumcari, New Mexico. Downtown Tucumcari continues to maintain a strong flavor of the old life. There are lots of motels, diners, and service stations, many still adorned with colorful neon signs. My favorite was the Blue Swallow Motel. We stayed over the weekend so we could do laundry and attend church on Sunday. While in town we visited two museums; one that had an awesome collection of dinosaur bones, and another that displayed a collection representing frontier life. It was rare for us to stay in one place two nights, and Tucumcari was a great town to have a break from the road.

Blue Swallow Motel, Tucumcari, New Mexico

We loved attending church each Sunday in a new town. The faces were different, but the doctrine remained the same. We always felt welcomed, that we were among our brothers and sisters. In Tucumcari that Sunday, the ward leadership was going through a reorganization. It was fun to watch a small ward adapt to the changes this brought about. The members were excited, and we witnessed how they pulled together to support a new bishopric.

From Tucumcari we drove to Albuquerque by way of Santa Fe. Santa Fe had a short life span as part of Route 66, about ten years. After that, a shorter, more direct route was found to Albuquerque. We visited Pecos National Historic Park and walked among the ruins left behind by the ancient Sinagua culture. Once again, we had heavy rains as we descended into Albuquerque. We were late finding a place to stay that night and ended up at a Flying J truck stop. Thunderstorms passed by throughout the night.

The next morning, we were off early and drove to Winslow, Arizona stopping at Petrified Forest National Park. In the earliest alignments of Route 66, the road passed through property now inside the park boundary. That road is no longer maintained, and little is left to see of it but a line of telephone poles across the desert. We enjoyed a few hikes in the park, and I photographed a lot of petrified wood from a forest now long gone.

In Winslow, we stayed in the parking lot behind the visitors’ center. We were only a few blocks from the famous and iconic spot the Eagles sang of, “Standing on the corner in Winslow, Arizona”. We took a few obligatory tourist photos, and then I went back later in the evening to get a timed exposure when the streetlights came on. Once again, more rain.

*I'm a-standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona. Such a fine sight to see.*

From Winslow, we drove to Kingman where we had our second night in a hotel on this 2,500-mile adventure. It was time once again for a hot shower. One of my favorite passages on this long trek was the piece of road between Kingman and the small town of Oatman. I had read that it wasn’t recommended to take RV rigs over this stretch of road because of the steep grades and hairpin turns. Our trailer is small enough that I figured it was worth a try. It was a fantastic drive with little trouble. With all the rain, wildflowers were blooming in profusion. Even the Ocotillo was in full bloom. On the pass, we caught sight of the wild donkeys that inhabit this range. Oatman itself is a bit overly touristy, but the drive was breathtaking. Once over the Oatman Highway, it was a short drive to Needles, California, but that is the subject of the next blog post.