Oh I woke up today and it was sunny! I woke up in Seligman, Arizona and the sun was out and I was happy. No, it wasn’t warm or anything like that. It was maybe 40 degrees, but when the sun is out after a day full of rain, it’s a pretty exciting thing!

So I showered and loaded up the scooter in the sun! Did I mention it was sunny? It was sunny! And then I went back into the room to do a final check and wrestle my armored pants and jacket onto my body.

And when I came back out guess what?

Yeah. It was raining. Of course it was. Question… Does the weather have to suck EVERY day of this trip? I mean… COME ON! If it’s not rain, it’s wind or threat of tornadoes or cold or snow! Just a pleasant sunny day, please.

Anyway, maybe I should have waited it out, but with the way that rain has been on this trip, I didn’t figure spending another day in Seligman would help matters.

I threw on my Devo suit and road west.

The rain was intermittent. In the first twenty miles, it fell from the sky in varying levels of intensity. It was never a downpour, but it was never enough to make me question the rain gear.

Route 66 around Chino Point leading into the Aubrey Valley, west of Seligman has been through a couple of alignment changes. I noticed them while the rain soaked through my gloves. I wasn’t wearing my winter gloves. Maybe I was saving them for when I just couldn’t take it anymore.

A few miles before Grand Canyon Caverns, I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands were a mixture of cold, wet numbing pain (if that’s possible) and I was dying for some way to warm them.

I pulled over and dug in my saddlebag for my dry winter gloves. The rain had temporarily abated, but I figured by the sky that it would shortly return. Shivering in the 42 degree dampness, I realized that I’ve had a handwarmer with me the entire time.

My exhaust. While the pipe is hot enough to burn the flesh from my bones, the emissions are warm enough to thaw my hands without them bursting into flames. It also warmed my gloves. This was perfect and I kicked myself for not thinking of this before now. I would have killed for this in Missouri.

Two years ago, it was sunny when we drove through here. Just before the town of Peach Springs, we could see the southern edge of the Grand Canyon. Today, I didn’t even notice it. The low hanging dark gray clouds reduced visibility from a blue sky day.

Older alignments were mostly to my left, but crossed current 66 as we dropped down into Peach Springs. Which alignment did Hi Jolly and the US Army Camel Corps take for Edward Beale? It’s hard to say. But Beale named the town Indian Springs in 1858. Later, Mormons settled and planted peach trees. Peach Springs then stuck.

The peach trees and the Mormons are gone. This is now the tribal headquarters for the Hualapai tribe. A few old gas stations and cafes dot the road leaving town.

As I climbed a hill on the west side of Peach Springs, to my left an old alignment, maybe the original Route 66, wound its way around swells and notches in the earth. All the while, modern 66 hacked its way through gentle rolling hills. To my left, I could see the subtle beauty in road construction. I could see how riding Old 66 could bring you closer to the land.

But this business of cutting huge gashes into and through the mountains simply so we could travel a few miles per hour faster seemed utterly disrespectful.

Nevertheless, this long stretch of Route 66 was serene. It was beautiful, even through the rain, which was again falling. Ahead, near the town of Truxton, named by Beale after some family member¹, splashes of sun threw shadows over the distant hills, giving them an artificial quality like that of a matte painting.

Truxton was a new town. It goes unmentioned by Rittenhouse in his 1946 Guide Book to Highway 66. But even in its newness, the town’s gas stations are closed, its motels (except for the Frontier) are closed. This town came and went quicker than others. I didn’t stop for more than pictures, but then, it’s rare that I do.

Shortly after, I descended into Crozier Canyon. “US 66 previously ran through this canyon community, and the remains of several tourist buildings can be seen,” wrote Rittenhouse in ‘46. “There is a swimming pool here,” concluded his entry on Crozier.

He mentioned that the highway often cut through solid rock. This is the alignment I was riding and the cuts are certainly impressive.

I left the highway to explore the old alignment as much as possible. Mostly it’s dirt and mostly it’s on private property. The owner, who has posted an abundance of “No Trespassing” signs seems less than thrilled that he holds a rare piece of history. This section of Old 66 was the last bit of 66 to be paved, in 1937.

While exploring, I waited for two trains to pass. This area was ripe with rail traffic today. The trains pulling the hill often had a couple of engine helping to push them along. One train was well over a mile in length.

Back on the modern alignment, I passed through Valentine. There used to be a gas station, grocery store and some tourist cabins here. It’s most famous for it’s Indian School, which is now closed. I stopped and took some pictures, noticing that a cactus I saw here two years ago was gone. Joshua Trees were now becoming common sights.

The rain seemed to have stopped as I pulled into the Hackberry General Store, a very well restored gas station turned curio shop. This is a must-stop for any Route 66′r. I have stopped here all three trips. Today, it was busy. Bikers from some other country, folks in RVs, a family from Allentown, Pennsylvania impressed that I rode the scooter all the way to here. This is an important place.

Here is when it again started to rain. I had taken off my rain gear in hopes that the high desert mountain sun would break through. It did for a bit. But the rains came and the wind blew like the spring shower it was.

I waited it out, not wanting to mess again with the gear. Normally, I wouldn’t think much of riding in the rain. But I just wanted it to end. Thankfully, my dream came true about a half an hour later.

Rolling on, to Kingman, I found myself on a large, flat, nearly prairie-like plain. The BNSF tracks were to my left and large mountains to my right. A few nameless settlements speckled the horizon and foreground, creating a suburbia for Kingman.

It’s in Kingman where I was supposed to stop last night. But snow and rain forced me to stop early, in Seligman. It’s nearly 100 miles from Seligman to Kingman. I’m very glad that I didn’t attempt it yesterday. Even though today it was raining, I needed to see this stretch of road with a refreshed mind.
So again, for the third trip in a row, I didn’t stop in Kingman. Oh, it’s a large town. It’s got everything you’d need. And they love their history. Route 66, the Santa Fe Railroad, Andy Devine - they’re all celebrated in Kingman, Arizona.

Mentioned by both of my guide books, but unmarked by Kingman, is a dead end stretch of road leaving Kingman. This is how Route 66 and the National Trails Road before it exited Kingman prior to the 40’s.

It’s a great bit of road and it’s a shame that it dead ends at the mercy of the interstate. Rail traffic hangs on cliffs above, rumbling every few minutes as a fright rolls by.

Turning around and heading back through Kingman, I fueled up for my ride into Oatman.

Getting to Oatman is not a simple drive. At first it seems to be. Leaving Kingman for the hills, the road is straight and seems to be swallowed by the horizon. But this is a false security. The road will soon wind and twist through the Black Mountains of Arizona.

It builds slowly, passing Cooling Spring and Ed’s Camp. But shortly after, tight curves and near spirals are common. And though I didn’t see any this time through, I kept an eye out for the local burro population.

I stopped at the Shaffer Fish Bowl and climbed the stairs to get a good look at the road that was throwing me around. I can’t imagine someone decided to build a road here. But they did and I’m on it.

Finally, I reached the summit. Sitgreaves Pass. From here, it was only a short, but tangled, ride to Oatman.

It appears like a wild-west town. But it never really was. Oatman was a mining town until the mines closed during World War II. Route 66 then picked up the slack. There were seven gas stations in Oatman. And because the road to Oatman (the only way to get to California from Kingman) was so treacherous, a towing service was offered. For $3.50, a tow truck would bring you to the top. $3.50 was a good chunk of change back then. But some cars, especially those with trailers, needed it.

For nearly a half hour I walked around Oatman. It was the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend, so the place was packed. But being there by myself isn’t much fun. I petted a burro or two, visited a couple of shops and was on my way.

The lawman of the town sat on his ATV on the east side of town. A small red light was fastened to the front rack. He nodded his head as I rode by.

The run down into the Colorado River Valley was simple compared to the run into Oatman. The curves are less sever and the slope is slightly more gentle.

The towns of Golden Shores and Topock are the last in Arizona. I’m not sure how they exist, but they both seem to be thriving (and not off of Route 66).

I had to jump on the interstate for a couple of miles to get into California. And I noticed that California has yet to implement the far out idea of numbering their exits. They usually don’t even have mile markers. Why is this? I’m not sure. But they really should get on it.

At the Park Moabi exit, there’s a small length of Route 66 that dead ends into a wash. The wash, if you choose to take it, will cross under the interstate and meet up with a very old alignment of Route 66. I attempted to do this, but the stones were too think and acted like sand. Yes, I nearly got stuck out there.

I figured this would happen, but thankfully, I dug my way out. This seems to happen a lot with me. The scooter is not a dirt bike. I must remember this.

In this park, I believe was the Desert Training Center for World War II troops who were being sent to North Africa. It trained 90,000 men including infantry, artillery and armored units. My grandfather was in the 1st Armored Division and fought in North Africa. He was not trained here, but at Fort Knox.

And I find myself, for a third time, in Needles, California. This is the last stop before the desert, which I will be tackling tomorrow. I decided upon a motel room, but I miss camping and hope to return to it tomorrow, in Barstow, California.

Here are my pictures from today.

Miles today: 152
Miles total: 4,094

1. Nobody is sure if it was his mother, Emily Truxton Beale, his grandfather, Thomas Truxton, or his brother, Truxton Beale. Maybe it was named after all three. [↩]