Jen: Route 66 Kicks Holbrook

While registering, I spotted quite an obvious looking and acting gentleman in the bar off to the side of the lobby. He was well dressed in a western shirt, suit, string tie, and cowboy boots. His full head of hair and full beard-mustache was snow white. He was lost in an apparent contemplative daze while sipping his whiskey.

After completing registration, I went into the bar and took an empty stool next to the man.

"Excuse me, sir, may I talk with you for a moment?"

No response.

"Sir?"

"Ah, pardon me, Miss, what was that?"

"I asked you if I could have a word with you for a bit."

"Why now little lady, I'd be a darned rascal to turn down a request like that from such a good looking young lady as yourself. My name's Theodore, ah, Ted to you. What can I do for you?"

Contrary to your guess, dear readers, I wasn't after sex with this man. I did fib just a little though.

"My name's Jen. I'm writing a book about the southwest and I'd like to know if you have any knowledge of the local area, Williams in particular."

"Well now, little lady, I just might at that. Would you allow me to buy your supper and answer your questions then?"

"Yes, I accept your invitation with pleasure, sir."

"Ted, please."

"Yes, Ted."

During and after the meal, we talked for a very long time about the history of the area.

"You see, Jen, my great grandfather settled in the area to trade with the local natives and run a freighting business. I was born and raised in this area and been here all my life. So I do know quite a bit about the region and the local area."

"Oh, that's just great."

"What would you like to know, Jen?"

"To begin with, how did Williams come to be?"

"Well now, Jen, like much of the rest of the Southwest, Williams went through the Native occupation, Spanish, wild west frontier, railroad, and other stages of development. And, like so many other of those towns of the Old West, Williams gained a reputation as a rough and rowdy settlement with the usual run of saloons, brothels, gambling houses, and what not."

"But things changed?"

"Oh surely. Even back in those early days tourism was a growing factor. That was, of course, because of the Grand Canyon Back in those days, they came by buckboard, stage coach, or on horseback, but they came. It truly was a marvelous phenomena from the first human to see the canyon, to the early settlers, and to all of us today."

"I suppose the railroad was a big factor here like everywhere else in the Old West?"

"Yes, Jen, it was, both in the founding of Williams and in boosting the tourism of the area. You see, in 1901, the Santa Fe Railroad extended its line from Williams to the Grand Canyon, making Williams the true "Gateway to the Grand Canyon."

"1901, Jen, was also the year the Great Fire occurred in Williams. Thirty-six businesses, including two hotels, plus ten homes were gone in less than an hour. But, within days, the town began to rebuild. . Not too many years later, Williams also became home to one of the famous Harvey House Hotels. It was the Fray Marcos Harvey House Hotel, the very building we're in and in which you have rented a room."

"Fascinating. By staying in the Marcos, I get to be part of the ongoing history of Williams and of Route 66. Fantastic."

"Yes, Jen. And Route 66 came through Williams in the routes inaugural year, 1926. That boosted tourism and the towns reputation even more."

Unfortunately, I'd discover, later, that the old 66 would be shut down for good in Williams just three years after I left town. Ironically, the town would be the very last Route 66 town to be completely isolated (No exit) by the new I-40 on October 13, 1964.

Ted and I chatted for quite some time about the history of the area and other pleasantries. But all too soon, he and I had to part to pursue our separate interests. I think he really appreciated the good-bye kiss I gave him. He was such a distinguished old gentleman. I hope he has pleasant dreams.

One place I learned about from Ted, I just had to go check out. That was a temporarily empty building that was once a popular saloon and bordello. Reportedly, it also was haunted by ghosts. I did go check it out, but, again, I saw or heard noting of a ghost while I looked the place over. Thank God. For the second time that day, I thought I might have left my ghost experiences behind me.

I soon spent my first night in Williams.

The Grand Canyon National Park lies about sixty-five miles north of Williams. I caught the first train of the day the next morning.

Since I was alone, I thought a companion for this side trip might be nice. Consequently, with my encouragement, I allowed myself to be "picked up" by a woman slightly older than myself. It turned out later that she was only two years older. There didn't seem to be any unattached males in our rail car and anyway, that woman intrigued me. What the hell.

Sue Ellen was her name. She may have been older than me, but she was a lot giddier, flightier, oh, hell, just downright spacy at times. She was also blonde. I don't know if she was really as dumb as the stereotype, but sometimes she acted as if she were. But she was a really good "kid" at heart and I really liked her. I thus was also quite easily able to take the lead with her.

The ride to the canyon wasn't all the long, especially since we gabbed the whole way getting acquainted with one another. Sue Ellen was a pool secretary for an investment firm back in Illinois. She was using up her annual vacation time by herself since she'd recently broken up with a live in "Significant Other."

We detrained at the log depot at the Grand Canyon end of the train ride. The building was constructed between 1900 and 1910 and is the sole remaining log structure out of the supposed fourteen ever built, still in use on an operational railroad. That claim, though, has never been verified.

Sue Ellen and I elected to take the surface tour first. That allows tourists such as we were to explore the surrounding area and the vistas of the canyon more fully and with ease. The open, horse drawn carriage was dusty, but afforded an all 'round view. The colors of the canyon walls were just indescribable. I slowly realized that to take the tour to the bottom of the canyon, we'd have to stay overnight. Lodging was easily secured.

Yes, Sue Ellen and I were together for the entire trip as well as the later train ride back. She had planned to go on with her vacation, but acquiesced to my seduction and stayed the night in my room there at the canyon with me. And what a night that was. I'd not had a girl-girl liaison in a very long, long time. I just liked a real cock too much.

As the door to our room closed behind us, Sue Ellen stood stock still, trembling. Her trembles were not earthquake shocks, but slight and visible all the same.

"Come, let me hold you, Sue Ellen."

I opened my arms as I walked toward her and she allowed me to enfold her in an embrace; tits to tits, pelvis to pelvis, upper thigh to upper thigh. It wasn't a cherishingly tight embrace, but rather, a gentle and loving one. I stroked her back, her hair, and kissed her lightly on her forehead. Yes, she was just that much shorter than I. She quickly gentled down under those light ministrations.

For a while, everything was gentle, almost slow motion as I undressed her and then led her hands in undressing me, not that I had much to take off as usual.

On the bed, our lovemaking was just as gentle and slow: light kisses, light caresses, very light licks. At least for a while that was true. I got the idea, pretty definite like, that Sue Ellen had never been with another female before. Before we dropped off to sleep, she'd admitted that fact out loud.

The light approach took quite some time, but eventually, with enough attention to all her erogenous zones and finally to her pussy, I awaked a fire in Sue Ellen that neither of us could quite believe. I'm not complaining, mind you, but it was trully awesome.

Sue Ellen's comment later was, "I didn't know it could be like that with a woman."

Yeah!

At least some sleep came to us before the long day we faced on the morrow for the mule trip to the bottom of the canyon. Sunup came all too early. However, after a hearty but quick breakfast, we were ready with the rest of the party waiting for our mules and instructions from the guide. The two of us mounted mules when told and our guided tour of the bottom was off and running--er plodding. I'm not sure I could do that again. The descent was, to put it mildly, harrowing and extremely scary. Going back up was a bit less scary because we were no longer constantly looking down the serpentine trail (goat path?) and the precipitous drop-offs every inch of the way. I wouldn't take a million dollars for the entire guided tour, but I'd be hard pressed to do it again.

As mentioned, Sue Ellen was still with me on the train ride back to Williams. We were both too tired to proceed further with traveling, so we stayed another night in the Marcos. We only rented one room again. Another night of very sweet love making ensued after a first torrid bout of pure animal lust. Sue Ellen was learning.

Half way through that second night together, Sue Ellen and I both were wide awake and, for the moment, sexually satiated. I got her interested in the history and trivia of the canyon and drudged up some of my pre-trip research.

"Long-standing scientific consensus has been that the canyon was created by the Colorado River over a six million year period:," I told Sue Ellen.

"Gee, that's a long time, Jen."

Duh!

" How big is that thing anyway, Jen?"

"It''s two-hundred and seventy-seven miles long, ranges in width from four to eighteen miles, and gets as deep as one mile plus."

"Gee, that really is big, isn't it, Jen."

Again, DUH! I told you before, Sue Ellen could sometimes be dense and ditsy at times.

"But, Sue Ellen, the canyon was made by more than one river."

"It was?"

"Yes, dear. Tributaries of the Colorado cut some side canyons also. The canyon began in the west, followed by another that formed in the east. Eventually, the two broke through and met as a single majestic rent in the earth all that long time ago. That merger apparently occurred where the river today bends to the west, in the area known as the Kaibab Arch."

"How'd you learn all this stuff, Jen?"

"By looking up the Grand Canyon in reference books in the library, Sue Ellen."

"Oh."

"I have some interesting, to me anyway, statistics on fatalities in the canyon."

"You mean people have died in the canyon?"

"Yes, Sue Ellen, they have."

"How many?"

"According to my findings, about six hundred have died there since the 1870's. Some ot the deaths were the result of overly zealous photographic endeavors, some were the result of airplane accidents, like the disaster in 1956. Some deaths were due to other kinds of accidents such as white water rafting drownings or hikers who over estimated their fitness level resulting in dehydration, confusion, and maybe death unless they were rescued in time."

"My goodness. What was that 1956 disaster you mentioned?"

"At that time, the worst air disaster in American history happened on the morning of July 30, 1956, when a TWA Lockeed Super Constelation and a United Airlines Douglas DC-7 collided in mid air above the canyon. They flying in unmonitored air space. Obviously, there were gaps in the radar coverage of planes back then. One-hundred and twenty-eight people died."

"Did the planes fall into the canyon?"

"Yes. The wreckage fell into the eastern portion of the canyon, on Temple and Chuar buttes, near the joining of the Colorado and Little Colorado rivers. But some good did come of the disaster."

"What was that, Jen?"

"As a result, high-altitude flight ways, sort of like highways on the ground, were created, stacked in levels of altitude. Also established was positive radar control of these airways by ground controllers the entire time planes were airborne."

"Jen, what do you know about that village we visited at the bottom of the canyon?"

"Sue Ellen, didn't you listen to the tour guide when he talked about the village while we were there?"

"No, Jen, I was too busy looking around. Besides, I couldn't catch much but a word or two now and then."

"Jeeze, Sue Ellen. Sometimes you can be so dense. But to answer your question, I do know a few things about the village of Supai."

"No doubt from your research."

"That's correct, Sue Ellen. Supai, or Havasupai, is the capital city of the Havasupai Indian Reservation. It's population fluctuates over time from a handful to no more than five-hundred souls. It remains the only place in the United States where mail is still delivered by muleback. Supai can be reached by hiking eight miles; descending three thousand vertical feet from Hualapai Hilltop and the Hualapai Canyon; or by helicopter air lift. Those are the only ways in."

"Wow!"

Eventually, we both wore down and dropped off back to sleep. Dawn came too early once again. We had breakfast together, but, as with Ted, eventually, the time to part ways came. For me, it was time to get on with my odessy.

I was alone once more. Miss Swifty purred magnificently again as we cruised away from Williams and I pointed her nose westward again. Twenty or so miles down the road, Ash Fork appeared at 1, 755 miles past Go. The town, named for the many ash trees growing on the town site, was once a stagecoach stop first and later a station stop on the Santa Fe railroad. It also once sported an extravagant Harvey House Hotel, the Escalante that opened in 1907. Later, it became known as the "Flagstone Capital of the World" with five or six stone yards shipping the locally mined slabs throughout the United States.

A very long, scenic ride stretched out just after Ash Fork at Crookton Road. That portion of Route 66 goes through miles of rolling hills of the Ash Fork plains before reaching Seligman and beyond to the California border. And, in due course, that's exactly where I arrived; Seligman at 1,785 miles past Go.

When pioneers along the Beale Wagon Road passed through this area in the mid nineteenth century, it was know as Mint Valley. Later when the Prescott and Central Arizona Railroad planned to connect the area to Prescott, in 1886, the settlement was called Prescott Junction. When the connection was completed, the train had to run backwards to Prescott Junction as there was no turntable in the village.

Not too long afterward, the PCARR went out of business, but soon the Santa Fe took over the abandoned railroad and the town was renamed Seligman, in honor of the Seligman brothers, who helped finance the railroad south. As rail traffic increased, another of those Harvey House Hotels went up, this one in 1905. Like most of the others, it was a very grand edifice. By my time, it was still standing, but unused.

Water was and is a scarce resource in the southwest. For a time, water was so scarce in Seligman that it had to be brought in by railroad tank cars from Del Rio 'Puro' near Chino Valley. In Seligman it was delivered to homes for fifty cents a barrel.

Seligman was only a brief stop. I had to pee again. Back in Miss Swifty, the road stretched in a long line towards Peach Springs, Truxton, Valentine, and Hackberry. I put the pedal down, cruisin' that direction.

I'm not interested in spelunking, so when I passed by the Grand Canyon Caverns sign, I kept going. But I did remember that those caves, three quarters of mile underground once formed part of the bed of a huge ocean, now completely dry. Since their discovery in 1927, elevators, lights, and pathways had been installed and regular, guided tours made available. But, as I said, I wasn't interested in that sort of thing.

That's also why I hadn't stopped to see the Merrimack Caverns in Missouri that had been advertised forever, it seemed, on billboards and barn roofs before I actually got there. This was the same advertising technique I described earlier in the case of the Jackrabbit Trading Post.

Just west of the caverns, the highway meanders into the lands of the Hualapai Indian Reservation that encompasses more than a million acres, including one-hundred-eight miles of the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon. Peach Springs lies about twelve miles west of the Grand Canyon Caverns at 1,820 miles past Go. The little settlement is the headquarters for the reservation. This same village was once the western terminus of the Santa Fe Railroad.

Near the intersection of Route 66 and Diamond Creek Road, is the Hualapai River Runners office, the only Indian owned and operated river rafting company of the Grand Canyon. Diamond Creek Road at the west rim of the Grand Canyon, is the only known existing road that leads to the bottom of the canyon.

Route 66 turns a bit southwest out of Peach Springs to head for Truxton eight miles further on. That's just outside the Hualapai Reservation. In 1857, the town was named by Naval Lieutenant Edward Beale who was in the process of surveying a wagon road from Arkansas to the Colorado River. The name was in honor of his maternal grandfather, Commodore Thomas Truxton.

Unlike so many western towns, Truxton is a "new" town; it didn't exist before the establishment of Route 66. In fact, it started as just one cafe and a gas station in October, 1951, when Donald Dilts built them to accommodate the growing postwar traffic on Route 66. Competing businesses were quick to follow the lead of Dilts. All but one or two were destined to disappear with the later replacement of the Mother Road.

Valentine, next down the road was still viable with its on again, off again Indian school open when I went through. But, same oh, same oh, the final death nell of Valentine would be the displacement of Route 66 by I-40 in 1978. Up 'til then, the town had boasted up to several hundred residents. It was also during Valentine's better days that thousands of Valentine cards and messages would flood into the tiny contract post office for its heart shaped postmark.

At 1,845 miles past Go, I reached Hackberry, Arizona, the oldest town along this long stretch of road. Its origin dates to 1874 when prospectors set up a mining camp on the east side of the Peacock Mountains. Silver was the precious metal sought. The coming of the railroad made the town a loading point for the cattle ranchers. In 1919, the mine closed, not because it was totally played out, but because of litigation among the owners.

Life in Hackberry came to a slow crawl until a temporary reprieve was granted by the building of Route 66. That is, until the Interstate system once again dealt the final death blow.

I grew tired of driving and losing concentration on my driving as my mind got lost in the research information I'd just been reviewing. So, at Kingman, 1,870 miles past Go, I pulled off the road for a refresher of some kind at the first cafe or restaurant I could find.

After getting some coffee and a chicken salad on rye sandwich, I took a seat and relaxed. Then I heard a voice behind me.

"Well, it took you long enough to get here, Jen."

"What the hell? Sue Ellen?"

"Yeah, it's me, Jen." she said as she slid into the booth on the other side of the table.

"I thought you'd be long gone by now, Sue Ellen."

"Yeah well, I changed my mind and thought I'd wait here for you on the off chance that you'd stop at the first food place you could find."

"Think you know me do you? Just how long were you prepared to wait, Sue Ellen?"

"I don't really know, Jen, but probably another day or two anyway. Then I'd likely give it up and go on my solo way."

"So what's the meaning of your presence and wait specifically for me?"

"I wanted to ask you if we could travel together for a while for company. I'd split the gas and a room with you if you'd care to and pay for my own eats. Or I could get my own room if that suited you better."