Day 25/26

Although we stayed in a very nice park in Kingman Arizona it was adjacent to I-40 so a bit like sleeping in the middle of an all night tractor pull. I just rolled over on my good ear and had no problem but unfortunately nurse Ratchett has very bionic ears so did not sleep too well. The next morning we walked into historic Kingman ... this towns claim to fame is that it was featured in the old Bobby Troup song Route 66.

If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway that is best.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.

It winds from chicago to la,
More than two thousand miles all the way.
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.

Now you go through saint looey
Joplin, missouri,
And oklahoma city is mighty pretty.
You see amarillo,
Gallup, new mexico,
Flagstaff, arizona.
Don't forget winona,
Kingman, barstow, san bernandino.

Won't you get hip to this timely tip:
When you make that california trip
Get your kicks on route sixty-six.

Without that ancient slice of bitumen running from LA to Chicago the town would have slipped from our conscienceless long ago. Most young people don't recall what long distance travel was like before Interstates. Hwy 66 is a good example ... two lanes for 3,000 miles drifting through junkie little towns most created to service 'thee" road. A gas station, cafe and seedy motel. Some of course bigger and better but generally pretty sad. When I was a kid we did the 66 thing from LA to Chicago then on the Flint... TWICE! It was indeed a long a windy road.

Route 66 was a metaphor of sorts. A dream-pathway from the memories of the depression, meandering it's way to the promise of a bright new day in the sunshine of California. For my mom' side of the family it was the road of our diaspora away from the grimy auto/union town of Flint toward the promise of new jobs in new industries. We loaded up this old road with all of our expectations and in the end it proved not a destiny just a destination. As a child growing up in Berdoo 66 represented the place where relatives I barely knew periodically emerged from
(usually when they were on strike) to tint the prison like pallor of their work-shop complexions while sleeping on our couch all the while extolling the virtues of the UAW. In fact the first home I can remember was a small house on a ranch outside Pasadena where my dad worked and 66 was right out our front door.

The Route loomed large in my life as the yellow-brick road that ran through the steel mill town of Fontana to the glitter of Hollywood. It represented all levels of possibility. It was an asphalt line in the sand that you had to cross, not follow, if you wanted more out of life than what was available at either end of the road.

Everywhere one looks in Kingman are highway 66 signs... on the bathroom doors, the roadsigns, cafes and pawn shops. Ahhh... Pawn Shops the second largest industry in the town. Makes one wonder where people with little or no apparent sources of revenue find stuff to pawn.

After a forgetful breakfast we drove to Phoenix. Uneventful with little sway ... makes for a boring post but a good nights sleep.

Today we slept in... had breakfast cooked on our outside kitchen (a first). Went shopping and generall goofed of. The big day is tomorrow ... go #24!