Buy 'Em By The Sack!

The focus of Saturday's nine hour drive from Wayne's house to Kansas City, MO was all about the burger. I left Colorado and drove through the farmlands of Kansas towards the city of Salina... home to The Cozy Inn. I love places with a sense of history... a glimpse of the past. The Cozy Inn is just such a place. The restaurant still has the same six porcelain bar stools, counter, and wood cupboards that were installed in 1922. They are famous for serving "sliders". For the criminally uninitiated, a "slider" is a bite sized burger just a bit larger than a half dollar coin. They may be small but their flavor is big. I savored eight of them and was a better man for it. Their slogan is "Buy 'Em By The Sack!"... so I did. There was still about three hours before my arrival in Kansas City and I needed something to nibble on while I drove.



The black and white photo was taken at The Cozy Inn in 1940... pretty cool!

Poor, Poor Kyle!

So I left Grand Canyon and drove... and drove... and drove. It was my intention to drive for a couple of hours and find a hotel. Instead I spent approximately four hours on the road... the first two getting a head start to my buddy Wayne's home just south of Denver... the second two being desperately tired and frustrated at my inability to find anything resembling accommodations. Also, it was mostly pitch black and there was no place to stop for directions... There was precious little signs of life for miles on end... really and truly. At long last as midnight approached I came across a convenience store and was directed to a neighboring town, Framington, NM... forty plus miles away! Summoning my final reserves of energy and patience I raced to Framington, found a cheap hotel, and slept with the depth and innocence of a newborn.

Friday morning I was back on the road. Wayne's house in Castle Rock, CO was still 7 or so hours away but it was daylight and the scenery was beautiful. I was particularly excited about this stop on my trip. I was about to hang out with two longtime friends in Wayne and Jim. We worked together back in the early nineties and although had seen very little of each other since, remained connected. I could only stay in the area for a single night so it was decided to forgo seeing the sights in favor of a cookout. When I arrived in late afternoon the party was in full swing. We spent a relatively short time getting reacquainted before settling in for an evening's worth of familiar horseplay. The hijinks were in part fueled by Wayne's introduction of a new (to me) drink... Van Gogh's Dutch Chocolate Vodka. Now, my love of chocolate and the occasioanl libation is well documented. It must be said that combining two elements with such grand success had not been accomplished since the discovery of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups decades ago. Thankfully Wayne had plenty on hand. Wayne, his cutie patootie spark plug of a wife Sherry, Jim, his disarmingly sweet wife Betty, and myself ate, drank, and laughed for hours. Early in the evening I called our friend Kyle. He's another dear friend who worked with Wayne, Jim, and I all those years ago. I put Wayne on the phone, then Jim, before chatting with him myself. Kyle is smart, loyal, and funny... to this day we remain tickled by the word "doody" (I never claimed we were sophisticated). Like Jim and Wayne, long gaps of time can pass but the connection remains strong. After hanging up Jim made a playful crack about Kyle's manliness... not realizing it would become a subject revisited with increasing frequency as the evening progressed. There came to be an inverse relationship between Van Gogh's Dutch Chocolate Vodka and cracks about poor Kyle. As the vodka decreased doubts about Kyle's manliness increased. In his absence he suffered terribly at the hands of his old mates. Much like Arizona desert sun it was brutal and unforgiving...

I would be remiss to not comment on Wayne's house. Jim dubbed it "Stately Wayne Manor" (for you young whippersnappers, it's a reference to the 1960's TV show Batman). It is a cavernous yet homey 5400 sq ft. on 5 acres of land. Wayne beamed as he gave me a tour... rightly so. He took a bit of a risk uprooting himself from his native New Jersey. It paid off handsomely. He and Sherry have made a beautiful life for themselves in Colorado. The same can be said for Jim. He left the densely populated Northeast years ago to settle in the Denver area. He has three beautiful children, a lovely wife, and a terrific job. None of their good fortunes would have been possible had they not taken risks. I'm happy they were rewarded for their courage.

During the course of the trip I didn't treat my itinerary as etched in stone. For weeks I'd been all across the country. If I needed or simply desired more time in a given place, I stayed. On the final destinations I no longer had that flexibility. I needed to be in NYC on the 14th of August for a freelance gig. I had already canceled a day in July and felt it unwise to do so a second time. By the time I reached Wayne, Jim and their families (who, by the way, were not involved in the Kyle bashing) there was no time to see Denver. All there was time for was to hang out at Stately Wayne Manor, spending an evening goofing off with long time friends.

Fred Flintstone And The Grand Canyon

Sadly, on Thursday I bid a final goodbye to Seligman, AZ and my beloved Route 66. My melancholy was tempered by the fact I was about to see nature’s greatest miracle… the Grand Canyon. Originally, it wasn’t on my itinerary but at the urging of friends I decided to visit. The drive was a short one ( about 90 minutes from Seligman). However, as has happened often in my travels I was distracted from the ultimate destination by a roadside attraction. On this day it came in the form of arguably mankind’s greatest miracle… Bedrock City.

I was just a couple of miles from Grand Canyon when I spotted an enormous sign that read “Yabba Dabba-Doo Means Welcome To You”. Next to it was a larger than life likeness of Fred Flintstone. Thankfully no one was close behind as I slammed on the brakes and swerved into the parking lot to investigate. The Flintstone’s Campground is a 1960’s era (I presume) complex fulfilling all of one’s Flintstones needs. Weary travelers can park their campers and take advantage of Fred’s Diner, Barney’s Grocery, and Wilma’s Laundry. Looking to kick back and relax? Head over to Buffalo Lodge. They’ve got lounge chairs, foos ball and pool tables, and a juke box (I’m fairly certain it plays only “rock”). The real jewel is Bedrock City. Bedrock City, conveniently located adjacent to Fred’s Diner and directly behind a fully stocked gift shop, is a life sized interpretation of Fred and Co.’s hometown. I was quite impressed with the infrastructure. There is a gas station, post office, medical center, and school. There’s even a theatre continuously showing Flintstones cartoons. I had the good fortune of sitting in Fred and Wilma’s car and even tried on Fred’s clothes (they were a bit baggy… thankfully). Dino was as loving as he was dumb. Saber toothed tigers are frightening at first but are only interested in licking you and playing fetch with Brontosaurus bones. My luck took a turn for the worse when Wilma caught me rifling through her underwear drawer and called the cops. Immediately upon my parole I decided it best to leave Bedrock.

Alright, calling Bedrock City mankind’s greatest miracle may have been overstating things a bit. This was the latest in a long line of unexpected delights. I left Seligman, AZ fully expecting to head straight to Grand Canyon. One lesson I learned during this trip is to embrace the unanticipated. None of us really know what fate has in store. It’s important to get out of the house and position oneself for good fortune…

It was certainly good fortune when I listened to my friends advice and decided to visit Grand Canyon. It would have been an egregious error of the highest order had I opted not to see it. I stopped at the visitor’s center, bought my ticket, and headed to the front gate. The woman taking my ticket called me “bug killer”. I'd driven thousands of miles wiping out countless of their masses. Admittedly the car was rather unsightly from their mangled and obliterated carcasses. Still a bit giddy at my escape from Bedrock (I made off with Wilma’s panties after all… tee hee!) and unprepared for her comment, we both laughed heartily. I breezed towards the parking lot in a carefree and lighthearted mood.

Everything changed when I first looked upon the Grand Canyon.

I was stunned. I stood agape… speechless. It's beauty utterly vast and uncompromising! In my life I’ve encountered great and powerful artistry. I’ve stood on the Great Wall Of China. I’ve beheld Michealangelo’s “David” and the Cistine Chapel in Italy. I’ve been seduced by the Basilica Cistern in Istanbul. In Paris and New York I’ve seen paintings by history’s greatest masters. For me, at that moment, beauty was redefined. The Grand Canyon is Nature’s grand brush stroke.

The next stop on my trip was the suburbs of Denver to visit more long time friends... roughly eleven hours away. I decided I would leave Grand Canyon and get a head start on that long drive. I’d travel until tired then find a hotel. By the time I hit the road it was dark and peaceful. For quite some time I moved along in silence… no iPod blaring and no talking aloud (as had become my habit). I was so taken with the mesmerizing power of Grand Canyon that I simply drove quietly, still rapt by it’s images.

Note: Some of these photos contain itty bitty people. It'll give some idea as to the vastness of the canyon...

Hoover Dam, Route 66, And The Man Who Talked To Plants

On Wednesday I left Las Vegas and moved towards Kingman, AZ to revisit Route 66. There was a security checkpoint at Hoover Dam that caused a lengthy delay. The dam's generators provide power for public and private utilities in Nevada, Arizona and California. It hadn't occurred to me until then that the dam would make an ideal target for a terrorist attack... hence the tight security. I didn't take the tour but did stop on the Arizona side to take a few pictures and enjoy the rugged beauty surrounding the dam.



There is a stretch of Route 66 between Kingman and Seligman, AZ that has been left virtually untouched by I-40. For lovers of the grand old road it is nirvana. Only about a hundred miles in length it attracts visitors from all over the world. I was excited to see it. By the time I arrived in Kingman the temperature had dipped to a breezy 103 degrees... cool enough to warrant a pulled pork and BBQ sausage lunch... 'twas quite tasty! I hung around town for a little while... checking out a handful of antique stores and chatting with locals. However, anxious to drive on hallowed ground I bid Kingman goodbye and maneuvered my way on to the "real" Route 66. It was so thrilling to look at the GPS and see, not I-40, but AZ-66. It finally felt official. I was realizing a lifelong dream of traveling on arguably the most famous road in the world. It had become customary in my meanderings to drive a little above the speed limit (in many areas it was 75mph). On this day I was in no hurry whatsoever. I was cruising at the posted speed limit, music blaring, without a care in the world.

Somewhere between Kingman and Seligman I stopped at one of Route 66's legendary landmarks... the Hackberry General Store. Before the interstate system was in place travelers could stop there, fuel their cars and get a bite to eat before heading on their way. Once the interstate was in place business at Hackberry declined and the owners were forced to shut it's doors. It sat abandoned for years until the early 1990's when artist Bob Waldmire reopened it as a Route 66 visitors center and museum of sorts. Gasoline is no longer available but Mr. Waldmire has kept the old pumps in place along with the vintage advertising signs. Derelict antique cars are strewn about the property. Waldmire's 1957 Corvette is parked in a place of honor directly in front. It all seems to be one over sized art piece paying homage to Route 66. Inside, tchotchke hungry tourists can grab all manner of memorabilia... t-shirts, magnets, post cards, posters... everything!



I arrived in Seligman and checked in to the Supai Motel. The Supai is a 1950's era motel that was lovingly refurbished with modern touches (wireless internet and flat screen tv's) while retaining it's retro imprint. The neon sign is fantastic! The owner told me he spent thousands to have it restored. He could have easily replaced it with a modern one at a fraction of the cost. However he recognized it's value as a historical artifact (and it's ability to draw in customers) so decided to invest the money. There is a small but tenacious group of local businesses making a concerted effort to stimulate the local economy. They all help each other out. I showed my motel key at a local bar and a restaurant and received discounted prices. My restaurant of choice was Roadkill Cafe. Roadkill Cafe is a fairly good establishment with a remarkable marketing plan. They serve standard fare such as burgers, fried chicken, and steaks, but give the dishes (in my view) extraordinary names. Such as Rocky The Low Flying Squirrel, "Covered With Bugs" Bunny, Funky Skunk, Splatter Platter, Caddie Grilled Patty, High Speed Special, Bird That Smacked The Curb, Too Slow Doe, No Luck Buck, Tried-To-Pass-Me-By On Rye, Little Fender Tenders, Bad-Brake Steaks, Rigor Mortis Tortoise, Roadside Remnants, Long Gone Fawn, and my meal of choice... The Chicken That Almost Crossed The Road.



After dinner I hit the Black Cat Bar. I paid full price (AZ price, not NYC price) for a bottle of Corona. I showed the bartender my room key and got the second for like... 50 cents. Cheap beer and a pool table... Black Cat Bar turned out to be my kind of place. I chatted with the bartender and some of the locals. When one dude (a sun bleached stoner, California transplant) heard I was from NYC he yelled "Get the rope"! It was funny but he grew a bit tiresome after a while. Everyone else that night was friendly and affable.

Thursday morning I perused Seligman's gift shops. People from all over the country and the world had converged on the itty bitty town. There were motorcyclists from Spain, families from England, The French, even a smattering of Americans. All were purchasing goods... supporting the local economy. I had lunch at Delgadillo's Sno Cap. In 1953 Juan Delgadillo built his roadside burger and dog stand from scrap lumber. Known for his sense of humor he would advertise such items as "cheeseburgers with cheese" and "dead chicken". Behind the restaurant is Juan's Garden... where old cars and all types of kitsch are on display. Unfortunately Juan is gone but his sons seem to have inherited his sense of humor.



I can't quite put my finger on it but people like to talk to me. Just before reaching Delgadillo's Sno Cap I bumped into the owner of the Supai. He and his wife purchased and had begun restorations on another motel in Seligman. He was clearing some weeds when he spotted me. It turns out he's quite the philosopher. He felt people should develop their "relationship with optimism". He believed that "nature is constant and people are temporary". " Mankind are just "tourists on the planet" and "There are many people waiting in line to enter the world". He reenacted his apology to the weeds for plucking them from the ground. He had great admiration for all living things and was confident the weeds would return to the world in one form or another. At the beginning of our conversation I just wanted to be left alone to develop a relationship with a cheeseburger. As the chat wore on his peacefulness and warmth overtook me. He was a lovely fellow and I'm glad he stopped me that morning.