Route 66: Size Matters

For many, the mythology of Route 66 is larger than life, but those that have actually traversed the Mother Road know that some of it really is. Large, I mean. Nowadays, we like our excesses as small as possible, like our cell phones or smart cars, but when Route 66 was an active American highway, we commemorated its grand scope and vision with things just as grand in size. Even in the relatively short stretch between San Bernadino, California and Holbrook, Arizona, my girlfriend and I beheld plenty of pompous pavement props, now chronicled here! I've decided to categorize them as either "the wonders of the world" or "the marvels of man," as these enormous attractions must've been built with the intention of celebrating something significant . . . right?

The Wonders of the World



One of the first "giant alerts" my girlfriend and I encountered was Bono's Historic Orange Stand, which, contrary to popular belief, does not belong to U2's lead singer but instead the late Bono family, who owned and operated an Italian restaurant next door. Other "giant orange" stands were opened by Frank E. Pohl in the '20s and '30s and celebrated the region's rich bounty, but this is one of the few that remain standing, complete with Route 66, ahem, appeal. Yeah, sorry about that.

The next few images depict the virtual zoo of enormous animals that inhabit the Route 66 roadside, from the Polly Gas parrot outside of Barstow, to the sadly squashed roadrunner of the Roadrunner's Retreat and Restaurant near Amboy.







Of course, my favorite of these quiche creatures is the jackrabbit outside of the aptly named Jack Rabbit Trading Post in Joseph City, Arizona. Billboards boast the bodacious bunny for miles, inviting spectators to ride the rabbit, so I couldn't resist. Surely if you've been looking to fulfill your giant jackrabbit needs, the sign outside of the trading post tells you where such satisfaction awaits: "Here it is!"

What better way to bookend Route 66's world wonders than with another plant, though unlike Bono's faux fruit, this one is real -- oh, at least it was. The world's largest petrified tree is also in Joseph City, though I don't think you can ride it.

The Marvels of Man

This batch of towering tourist traps truly celebrates humanity's rich history along Route 66, starting with the Madonna of the Trail and Ye Bridle Path in Upland. The former honors the colonial women damned to hear the cries of their children while exploring the Old West, the latter the upward climb to the region's neighboring mountains.

In the context of Old West exploration, this magic lamp might seem out of place, but hear me out on this one. What better way to epitomize how those old explorers' wishes of Manifest Destiny were coming true than building a restaurant/bar with a genie's home out front? You're welcome, Magic Lamp Inn.



The rest of the attractions we encountered were definitively Old West, celebrating the stereotypical culture of cowboys and Indians. For instance, behold this totem pole outside of the Grand Canyon Caverns in Peach Springs, Arizona -- and more importantly consider the bold political statement my gorgeous girlfriend is making. Indeed, to the untrained, even cynical eye, one might assume she is desecrating the spirit of the totem by simulating a pole dance, but the socially analytical mind would realize she is merely physically commenting on how contemporary accounts of history have unnecessarily sexualized Native American culture through such sultry depictions like Dances With Wolves or even Disney's Pocahontas. Yes. She is just that brilliant.







Two of my favorite stops on our trip were Two Guns and Twin Arrows in Arizona. The Two Guns site is little more than the remnants of an old theme park (and debris-ridden, so beware, drivers!), and the Twin Arrows, thankfully recently renovated, mark the spot of an old trading post/cafe, but considering their close proximity to one another, my inner child can't help but think that the two represent the timeless conflicts of the Old West. Perhaps, back in the day, giant cowboys and giant Indians fought in this desert stretch, with these the only signs of that lofty legendary battle. Maybe that's why they call it "high" noon -- because these old icons were just that tall . . . or you'd have to be high to think of such a thing.



Finally, the best way to end this journal of our gigantic journey is here, at the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona. These wigwams are truly larger than life, and for a price as reasonable as any other roadside motel, you can sleep in one! In a way, residing in a wigwam if only for one night helps the weary traveller feel as big as the other giants along Route 66, becoming in some small way a part of the grand mythology that consumes America's Mother Road. I was certainly grateful for our stay in that strange round room, which reminded me that no matter how far we've come from Route 66's rich history, no matter how our tastes have seemingly shrunk over the years, some things eventually come full circle. High hopes for humanity, indeed . . .

Upcoming Poetry Things

I will speak more of these things in the months to come, but know now that I will have a poem published in the December issue of the on-line zine poeticdiversity, and I will be the featured poet at the December 16 reading at the Ugly Mug Cafe in Orange, California. It's never too early to promote.

My Man-Crushes 2009: David Gray & Craig Ferguson Double Feature!

Today, Tuesday, September 22, is a special day for four distinct reasons: (1.) It's the first day of autumn, though one wouldn't know it from summer's tenacious grip on southern California, (2.) my birthday is exactly three months away, (3.) David Gray's new album, Draw the Line, comes out today, and (4.) so does Craig Ferguson's new book, American on Purpose: The Improbable Adventures of an Unlikely Patriot. Interestingly, I had already planned on dubbing both Gray and Ferguson current man-crushes, so to celebrate their latest contributions to pop culture I offer a man-crush double feature!

David Gray

Contemporary Influence: David Gray had been making music long before his single "Babylon" achieved regular radio play, but that hit single put Gray on the map -- and rightfully so, as "Babylon" betrays the introspection, urban plight, and clever word play that infuses many of Gray's best songs. Although few other singles of his have enjoyed as much American air play, Gray's songs have been used frequently in film and on television; recently, I heard "As I'm Leaving" playing during a promo for William Peterson's final episode of CSI. That track was from Gray's Lost Songs album, released in the States after "Babylon" and White Ladder started making serious waves. If even a lost song can get that kind of attention, who knows what David might accomplish when the world finally finds what he's capable of?

Practical Knowledge of the Opposite Sex: While most mainstream musicians boast knowledge of the opposite sex by way of the love ballad, David Gray is bold enough to lyrically document the hard times, too. Consider the lines: "And honey please don't stop your talking/'Cos there's a feeling won't leave me alone/What we gonna do when the money runs out/I wish that there was something left to say/How we gonna find the eyes to see/a brighter day?" If women like their men to emote, it doesn't get more emotional than that -- but in a definitively masculine way, mind you, as nothing frustrates a man more than a lack of tangible solutions. Thankfully, despite his name, Gray is one to pay less attention to the dark cloud and more its silver lining, as he proclaims, "Tell the repo man/And the stars above/That you're the one I love." In other words, no matter what this world may take away, there's no ceiling to true love. Even fools know that this what women want to hear, but only a David Gray can put it so eloquently.

Global Significance: Did you know that White Ladder is still the best selling album of all time in Ireland? Yes, the same way we Americans love Michael Jackson's Thriller or Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, the Irish love White Ladder (which may explain my affinity for it, as well). More so than that, as I mentioned earlier, Gray's ongoing themes are a bit more transcendent than your usual top 40s fare, and I submit for your consideration this live version of "Ain't No Love," my favorite of his songs. In three short verses, Gray muses about urban life, creativity, love, and religion, all in an introspective attempt to explain his direction (or lack thereof?) in life. Who can't relate to that?



Moved? Now, if you act fast, you may be able to acquire David's latest single, "Fugitive," at Starbucks for free via their free iTunes Pick of the Week!

Craig Ferguson

Contemporary Influence: I love late night television, and when done properly I believe it can be both a humorously seasoned synopsis of any given day and a timeless piece of pop culture entertainment. Every weeknight, Craig Ferguson embraces this opportunity wholeheartedly, balancing vaudevillian comedy via puppets and impromptu self-deprivation with relevant expositions on current events, like his recent rant about Congressman Joe Wilson's calling President Obama a liar. Consider this introduction from his September 11th episode, which combines these two elements in a virtual politically puppeted cartoon!



As an aside, Craig shamefully mentions in his book that the Monkees' Headquarters album was the first vinyl he ever owned, and it's the one I have signed by three out of four Monkees themselves! It doesn't get any more personal than that!

A Practical Understanding of the Opposite Sex: As I said, Craig's new autobiography dropped today, and as a celebrity boasting the addictions of his past in the same context as his bid for American citizenship, he probably could've appeared on any talk show to promote his book. So, where did he show up this morning? The View. Yes, his Scottish accent wooed the ladies of The View, and their natural feelings-oriented line of questioning was the perfect forum for Craig to express his former weaknesses and future career hopes and speculations. In other words, even in light of his latest success, Craig put the ladies first -- and in the morning, to boot!

Global Significance: From what I understand, Craig is a Scotsman that came to the United States in a drunken, drug-addled stupor in a mad quest for fame and celebrity -- and he eventually found it by shamelessly shedding his vices. He's often spoke of his first trip to America with his father, to New York, of course, where he vowed to return one day. This is the American dream for so many folks around the world -- that the U.S. is a land of first and second chances -- and we naturally born citizens take that for granted. That Craig takes any opportunity to share his joy at being American, from speaking at the President's White House Correspondence Dinner last year to nightly on CBS, proves he is a true patriot, indeed. Just look up his latest tattoo if you need any more proof!

There you have it: two more Europeans on my list of man-crushes (Gordon Ramsey being the first, of course). I'm grateful they're so eager to come to the U.S. and share their talent, but where are the American-bred icons? Is reality television so saturating the potential for homemade heroes that I must look overseas for masculine role models? Time will tell . . .

Route 66: Ghosts of the Past

To prove how haunting a trip along the southwest stretch of Route 66 could be, just this morning, almost two weeks to the very hour my girlfriend and I embarked on the journey, I sat down in Starbucks to chronicle the creepy places we encountered when "(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66" began to play in the store. When the song was composed and originally recorded, it celebrated the rife culture along America's Mother Road, but considering some of its more abandoned and dilapidated areas now, the tune has become a spooky echo from the past. I experienced some of these spectres firsthand, and I dare journal them for public consumption, lest these ghosts haunt me forever!



Of course, one needn't hear a "boo" to feel a place is haunted, if only by its own once-glorious past. Places like the McDonald's museum in San Bernandino, where the McDonald brothers opened their first hamburger stand, or Roy's Motel and Cafe in Amboy are actually still inhabited by moderate business and infrequent tourism, but they are by no means the attractions they once were. Consider these signs I found behind the McDonald's museum (pic above), or the sheer desolate desert behind my beautiful girlfriend and me at Roy's. If these places were haunted, even the ghosts would get bored.

The Arizona desert is much more tantalizing in its paranormal possibilities, starting east of Kingman in Valentine, Arizona, appropriately named for those in love with creepy places. The Valentine Indian School was built to serve the Native American kids in northern Arizona (the white kids had a separate schoolhouse, of course) and ultimately closed in 1969. Any school yard can be scary at night, with its creaky swings and jangling tetherball chains, but this abandoned school yard made our skin crawl in the bright light of morning. I found a hole in the schoolhouse's barricaded door and took a peek inside to find the usual debris and vandalism, but the thought of a room full of wide-eyed ghost-children still waiting for that final recess bell to ring was enough to run me out of there. Lesson learned.

Further east of Valentine and Flagstaff, Two Guns and Twin Arrows await, both perfect hideouts for Batman's enemy Two-Face, if even his deformed face wasn't a sight for sore eyes in comparison. These two places are best remembered as current homes for some of Route 66's beloved "big things," to be featured in another blog post, but I'd be remiss not to include an interior pic of the Twin Arrows Trading Post I took when trespassing. I hoped to find an old menu or something, but vandals (and daring historians, I hope) had cleaned the place out of anything valuable or useful. Still, with some of the original tables in place on top of that retro-checkered floor, I imagined what this cafe must've been like in its heyday, the kind of hoppin' '50s restaurant that modern franchises like Johnny Rockets can only hope to emulate. Unfortunately, Twin Arrows took its final bow in the late '90s, the only thing left on its menu now a boo-plate special.

The Ellas Frontier Trading Post (with its adjacent Red Arrows Camp) is a similar gaping hole to the past, less protected and revered but equally interesting in its ruin.

The grand finale for anyone ghost hunting in northern Arizona lingers in the Holbrook Courthouse, which also features a museum and the original prison cell that once housed some sixteen inmates at a time. With sentences that could've lasted as long as 20 years, these guys had plenty of time to draw some of the murals my girlfriend dutifully captured on camera. Further, according to our impromptu tour guide Randy, the courthouse is still home to seven ghosts, one of whom, Mary, was a prostitute sentenced to hang for killing an abusive john. In solitary, she hastened her fate and hung herself; now she has her own bedroom in the museum, where Randy apparently engages her in conversation. Free accommodations and friendship? Who says crime doesn't pay?





To conclude, I'm compelled to distinguish between my first Route 66 post and this second installment, as both ghosts and dinosaurs are creatures from the past. The difference is, the faux dinosaurs we encountered along Route 66 were present as an homage to something long gone. These spooky places still exist in this perpetual stage of epilogue to their former glory, the desert wind that blows through the cracks in their boarded windows a last gasp of life. They're prisoners to the past, students of isolation, traded away for paved progress. You don't have to believe in ghosts to feel that these attractions are still haunted -- if only by the lives they lived.

Of Being American: Idle

Unfortunately, like anything else, the further away we get from the tragic events of September 11, 2001, the less palpable our raw emotions from that day feel. A mere eight years later, local Patriot Day celebrations are simply headline fodder now, lost in the shuffle with stories about political bipartisanship, celebrity scandal, and sports scores -- you know, like it's every day we honor a sudden terrorist attack on America's soil. Oh, don't mistake my self-righteous tone with patriotic legitimacy; I barely acknowledged Patriot Day, too. Fortunately, like anything else, sometimes something has to be shoved in your face to remind you how important it is.



Last night, a coworker and I volunteered at a fundraiser in Dana Point, California that raised money for our nonprofit effort, along with the Make-A-Wish Foundation and the Wounded Warriors Project. We were excited because the experience promised little real work and the high chance for a celebrity encounter or two, and it delivered on both fronts, as I giddily met American Idol Bo Bice (and heard Brooke White and Elliot Yamin perform) and my coworker met boxing champ Sugar Ray Leonard, sportscaster Roy Firestone, and Sopranos star (and his presumed look-alike) Steve Schirripa.



Yet, despite these beloved stars taking the stage during the event's more formal ceremonies, I couldn't help but recoil at who really brought the crowd to a standing ovation: a representative from the Wounded Warriors Project, who spoke briefly but succinctly about how the non-profit came to his aid after an unexpected IED encounter blew off his legs, shattered his jaw, and ultimately resulted in some 60 surgeries to have his body repaired. The soldier spoke of the backpack Wounded Warriors initially provided him, with clothes and (most strikingly to me) a deck of cards, all of which, he claimed, mean the world when one is alone in the hospital. For a moment I put myself in his place, having a deck of cards as my only recreational luxury in the world. No comics? No toys? No blogging on the Internet? And I complain when I can't get a strong wireless connection . . .

Oh, and Charlie Duke was there, one of only twenty men who have landed on the moon! He too was warmly received, and while many were obviously enthralled with the American Idols' performances, only the Wounded Warriors Projected and Charlie Duke brought the audience to an absolute hush.



In the face of a roomful of celebrities, and how starstruck any of us can get, I was grateful for the brief wake-up call. Helps put things in perspective. From my meager voluntarism as a fellow non-profit employee, to the corporate financial contributions of an auction, to the inspiring words of real war and space heroes, to musical performance . . . when the various dimensions of everyday American life work together, despite the apparent contrasts in their global significance, something special can happen -- even if that something special is simply reminding one frequently close-minded person like me of that potential's possibility.

Route 66: Endangered, but Not Extinct!

Route 66 is like America's embarrassing childhood photo album, full of painfully awkward images of its wanton youth. Perhaps that's why John Steinbeck decided to call Route 66 "the Mother Road" in the classic I've never read, The Grapes of Wrath, because despite their seeming futility America's mom simply refuses to throw away these precious old memories. My girlfriend and I recently traveled the stretch from San Bernadino, California to Holbrook, Arizona, and despite our aspirations to finish the route someday, I feel very satisfied with this definitively southwestern experience, perfectly capturing the past of these two states I've called home for so long.



While many of the well-documented attractions along Route 66 essentially amount to abandoned ruins, these sites are thankfully only endangered -- not extinct, like the dozens of dinosaurs you'll find along this eastern-bound trip. To best chronicle this experience, I've decided to treat this trip topically, versus geographically as many other explorers and travellers have. After all, I'm simply a casual observer, enraptured by the more pedestrian attractions, whereas others enjoy digging up the mysterious histories of these exotic Americana roots. No, I'm a much simpler man; show me some dinosaurs, tell me some ghost stories, give me an old-fashioned ice cream, and I'm happy. Perhaps that's why Route 66 has endured for so long . . . as much as it exploits 20th century America's youth, it unabashedly reminds us of our own.

After a mildly inspiring initial encounter with metal-made dinosaurs in San Bernadino, our next 'saurus-sighting was in Peach Springs, Arizona, at the Grand Canyon Caverns. I'll talk about the caverns in a later post, but I was most impressed with how the air one breathes in this underground rocky wonderland comes from a crack in the Grand Canyon some sixty miles away, hence the caverns' name. At the entrance to the park, this googily-eyed dinosaur welcomes you.



Then, once parked near the restaurant and caverns' entrance, this towering T-Rex snarls at you, a sly smile that says, "Ah, nothin's tastier than a tourist's wallet!"



I actually felt sorry for this fella, though, who brought new meaning to the phrase, "Look, Ma, no hands!" I wonder, did he try to touch the meteor that felled his long lost brothers? Or were Jurassic veterinarians just that bad at declawing pets?



My love affair with these roadside raptors and whatnot ended in Holbrook, Arizona, where the remains of a dinosaur theme park are preserved at this rock store. Thankfully, I had my dinosaur theme park T-shirt on to celebrate the sighting. As you can see, at my girlfriend's behest, I tried to kiss one of the dinosaurs good-bye, but he craned his neck away. He wasn't having it. Perhaps in his carnivorous heart he knew, "This isn't good-bye. Oh, you'll be back."

Alibi

This has quickly become one of my favorite music vidoes, and perhaps hints at who my next man-crush will be . . .