Ten hours of sleep. Felt damn good too. The past few days were crazy, so we were running on about three hours of sleep a night until last night. A little recap:

Thursday: we started the day in Needles, CA, a little behind schedule already - we were supposed to make Kingman the night before. After snapping a few shots of historic motels in Needles, we thought we were ready to go, but on our way out of town we saw the Chamber of Commerce and decided to ask them a few questions about how they're trying to revive Route 66. That interview was pretty uneventful, except we were directed down the street to a Route 66 Museum, where we found three people born in the late 1910's who were willing to talk to us. This generation of people - if those three are counted as a representative sample - don't see to find much value in Route 66 and seem to lack much of the nostalgia of the baby boomers. To them, 66 was a danger - it claimed many more lives than the Colorado River ever did, according to one of them. The Interstate... a change for the better. You no longer had to wait for hours behind semis that could couldn't pass, or try to pass on narrow, winding roads where head-on collisions were relatively common. To these people, divided highways were a godsend.

Some of the desert scenery we saw on the way to Oatman. These shrubs were especially interesting - they look like something out of a Dr. Seuss book.

We then left California, crossing the Colorado into Arizona. After a few short photo opps in small towns (more abandoned businesses, mostly) we made our way through the desert to Oatman, which the travel guides rave about as "real" 66. Shopowners there shared stories of how they came to Oatman and how it went from abandoned to a site that draws half a million visitors a year. As we had been told, all of the people there were friendly - to us (and other tourists) at least. As we were leaving a "Gold Mine" there, we saw the owner being threatened by one of his neighbors (snow cone/ice cream shop owners) who was wieldng a 6+ inch knife. I guess even residents of Oatman have time for disputes.

A chili-cheese burger from the Roadkill Cafe in Seligman, AZ.

We didn't make it to Kingman (again, the place we had hoped to be the previous night) until 6 p.m. With an interview scheduled in Seligman (83 miles away on 66, 68 miles on I-40) for around six, we decided to skip Kingman (and everything between it and Seligman on Rt. 66) and just hop on the Interstate to Seligman, which we reached at around 7:30. Unfortunately, our interviewee (Angel Delgadillo, owner of a Rt. 66 Barber shop and founder of the Arizona association) wasn't answering his phone, so we ate at the Roadkill Cafe (which makes great chili-smothered burgers) while continually trying to reach Angel. He finally picked up at around 8:30 p.m., and we rescheduled for the next day.

Then the fun began. We both felt bad that we had skipped so much of 66 the day before, and at the same time we wished we had been able to make it further that day... Flagstaff, our original destination for the day, was still nearly 100 miles away. The comprimise: drive to Flagstaff to photograph the neon signs in the city; from there, we would backtrack to Kingman to see the neon there, stopping to do the same thing in Williams on the way. The next morning, we'd wake up at six, drive 66 from Kingman to Seligman, being there in time to interview Angel at 8:30 when he opened his Rt. 66 Gift Shop.

We didn't arrive at Hualapai Mountain Park - a campsite 18mi east of Kingman, until 3:30 a.m. Knowing we'd be up in just a few hours, we didn't bother to set up the tent - just moved all of our stuff to one side of the Corolla and reclined the front seat on the other side. Two people sleeping on one side of a compact car... not exactly the most comfortable thing. I don't think either of us slept well, despite how tired we were.

[1/07/04] As I'm transcribing my journal, some more things about that night I want to remember: First of all, we FLEW to Flagstaff. I remember struggling to keep my eyes open as we sped down the highway at 110 mph - didn't know the Corolla could do that, and I eventually had to slow down because Shekar was getting nervous. Sliding past on the right hand shoulder, I saw sign after sign warning of elk crossing, next however many miles, and flipped on my brights, struggling to watch the shadows at both sides of the road in case something decided to dart into my path. We eventually reached Flagstaff, and I couldn't believe that we were only halfway through our night driving... I was already beat. And what did we have to look forward to? Just as much elk-infested highway as we had seen on the way there.

One of the neon signs that we saw during our nightlong journey across Arizona.

[1/07/04] When we got to Williams, we got another lesson in technology - camera batteries don't last long if you're shooting neon signs. The autofocus goes crazy trying to figure out how far away things are and which lines are focused if it's too dark - a problem I would face again later in Meramec Caverns. Fortunately, a 7-11 was open and had camera batteries, which was a huge boost to morale, until we realized that I had bought the wrong ones - after opening the package of course. Back to 7-11 to try to exchange the batteries; eventually I got the right ones without having to part with another ten dollars (camera batteries are expensive) and we were ready to go again.

Friday: we were awakened by the sound of someone knocking on the passenger-side door at around 6:00 a.m. The night before, we had forgotten to sign in and use the self-pay box at the camp site, and now the ranger was making rounds and wanted his ten bucks. Nice guy... and we would have heard our alarm in about a half hour anyways - but I still wasn't too happy. That was clearly a half hour I could have used.

But since we were up anyway, we started towards Seligman. Other than a stop in Hackberry, it was all open road - me trying desperately to stay awake. The windows were open, the roar of wind at 70 mph loud in my ears, and the stereo blasted my Iron Maiden cds at a level that almost drowned out the wind, but keeping my eyes open remained a struggle. I took off my sunglasses, hoping that fighting the glare of the desert sun would help me stay alert. Still, ten miles from Seligman, I didn't know if I'd be able to make the last few minutes.

Pulling up in front of Angel's barber shop was a huge relief. Sure, I still had to remain conscious enough to conduct an interview, but the cost of failure there is much less intimidating than what might happen if you fall asleep at the wheel. And I was starting to wake up; as always, when I get little sleep, my body struggles through the early hours, but it eventually realizes there's going to be no more rest until that night and pulls itself together. On Friday morning, that happened as we approached the barber shop.

Tour buses parked in front of Angel Delgadillo's Barber shop. We saw five that day, each bringing tourists from around the globe.

Our interview with Angel took us a little over three hours - even though we talked with him for only a half hour or so. As we finished setting up our equipment early in the morning, the first of four tour buses that would show up before noon parked in front of the door. A busload of Germans piled out, and Angel was busy entertaining them for a while. Then, when we finally started talking with him, another group (French) showed up - this time, delaying the rest of our interview for two hours.

I think the most interesting thing to come from Angel was the admission that much of the Rt. 66 revival happened almost by accident. When I-40 came through Seligman, it was only about 1/2 mile from the town's main street: Route 66. But, as Angel tells it, the builders of the Interstate neglected to put signs on the road letting people know how far away Seligman was, so even though there was an exit off of I-40 for the city, people had already filled up by the time they got there and had no reason to stop. Within days, Seligman was forgotten by the world.

In 1987, Angel says he had an idea. If he could convince the state to make Rt. 66 historic and put signs up, people would stop again. But afterwards, Rt. 66 took off... people didn't just stop in Seligman on the way to other places; they came specifically to Seligman. And apparently that's how it all started. No grand scheme... just some highway workers who forgot to put up signs and a man who got lonely when people stopped coming to his town.

After Seligman, we stopped at a few more Rt. 66 towns, some abandoned even though their "ruins" are visible from the highway. Maybe there were just no signs. Or maybe it's something else - people today are different, and probably less prone to stopping anyways. Take, for example, the Twin Arrows trading post. It's right off the highway, has signs, and is featured in just about every Rt. 66 publication. But it's still abandoned.

We made it almost to Holbrook, AZ by 5:00, at which point we had decided to shoot on to Albuquerque, near Edgewood, where we'd be spending the weekend at a Rt. 66 Celebration. So, we took off, planning to retun to Holbrook after festivities today.

(continued, Sunday night 5/26, back in Holbrook, AZ)
The Edgewood festival was fun... will write more about it later. I will say I was very happy with the location, though. I've spent my whole life hiking trails where I was terrified of coming across a mountain lion, but seeing them at the park (with no chance of being mauled) was amazing.

We got here about an hour ago to another cheap motel, and already 5 trains have come through. Should be a fun night, though better than cramming into the Carolla, I'm sure. And, like all of the places we've stayed so far, this motel is on Rt. 66 (well, all of the places except for where we slept in the car). That must be where the cheap hotels are - since we haven't tried to stay along 66 in these towns. It's just happened that way.

Got pulled over on the way here today - first time ever - near Grants, NM. It was kind of a shock, especially because he had lights on the front of his car not on top. At that time, I had been getting ready to pull off the Interstate anyway for gas, so I didn't realize what was going on until I got out of the car at the gas station.

Here comes train 6...

Anways, the thing that I found amusing is that I wasn't speeding when I was pulled over. Now I'm not saying I don't speed - I do all the time. I'm from L.A., and we don't mess around with spending extra time on the freeways... we get where we're going as fast as possible. There, my mom is considered a slow driver because she goes only 5 mph above the speed limit.

Train 7.

And I HAVE been speeding on this trip. When racing around AZ to see all the neon... when going ahead to Albuquerque... we were definitely going fast. But not today. On the way back from Edgewood, we decided to take it easy - we had left early and there was nothing to do tonight anyway. So we were going a steady 75 - the needle was sitting right on the mark for the speed limit.

Nearing Grants, we started seeing people get pulled over left and right. It was a speed trap, and lots of people were getting caught. I stared at the speedometer - 75 - and kept doing so to make sure it was staying there. About 5 minutes later, getting off of I-40 for gas, I was "pulled over".

Damn. That's 8 trains now. Good thing I'm tired.

The officer said he'd clocked me at 87. 87!?!?! 77 I'd believe, but I was watching the speedometer, and I don't buy 87. Clearly one of us needs glasses, and I'm young and have better than 20-20 vision. Hmm...

I just think it's funny that I was pulled over the one time I wasn't speeding. But maybe I deserve the ticket anyways... who knows. I'm not too mad - it's only $69, and I'll probably never have to pay it since I'm calling the phone # to contest it first thing tomorrow morning.