In the Footsteps of the Joads, Backwards.

"66 is the path of a people in flight, refugees from dust and shrinking land, from the thunder of tractors and shrinking ownership, from the desert’s slow northward invasion, from the twisting winds that howl up out of Texas, from the floods that bring no richness to the land and steal what little richness is there. From all of these the people are in flight, and they come into 66 from the tributary side roads, from the wagon tracks and the rutted country roads. 66 is the mother road, the road of flight."  -John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

So much has already been written about Route 66, the "Mother Road," the "All American Road," the road of emigrants, of wagons, of Elvis, James Dean, Marylin Monroe, Bikers, of Nicholas Cage (yes, the Mother of all Screamers on the Mother Road), that it's hard to know where to start.  I guess I'll start with the reason I wanted to drive on Route 66, because of one of my favorite American novels of all time, The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck.  If you haven't read it, or haven't read it lately, do yourself a favor and read it, or read it again. It just gets better and better.  I think of Route 66 in terms of events in The Grapes of Wrath.  I called my brother and he asked where we were.  I said we were right by the place where Noah decides to stay by the river and not go with the family the rest of the way.  (Spoiler alert...).  Now we're up in the mountains by Williams, where they weren't sure if the old jalopy would make it.  The CR-V had no problems, despite the twisting winds that were howling up from Texas this March afternoon.

I love life-size dioramas.  Here is one of some "Oakies" on their way across Route 66

 We started our excursion in Kingman, at the Route 66 Museum (I gather there are at least a dozen of these museums across the country, at various points on the road).  It was small but interesting, inside an old power plant.  I learned a lot about the Road.  For example, it started out as the first federally funded wagon road in the country, in the 1850s, when a survey crew led by a Lt. Beale found it to be a pretty passable route to California.  It continued like this for more than a hundred years, with wagons, then the railroad, then finally motorists using the same route.  In 1957 the Interstate highway system started and it took four interstates to cover the same route, from Chicago to LA, that Route 66 had done by itself.  At that point, the old Route 66 was sometimes neglected, sometimes paved over by the interstate, and people forgot about it for a while.  But various citizens in various parts of the country realized how cool the road was, that it was a part of American history, and made efforts to preserve it, or stretches of it, as best they could.

Today I learned about the town barber in Seligman, Arizona, Angel Delgadillo, who devoted most of his spare time to raising awareness of the historic road.  In 1978, Highway 40 bypassed the little town of Seligman, and Angel realized his (and his fellow residents') livelihood was wasting away.  Seligman was on the way to becoming a ghost town.  Not willing to see his town disappear, Angel organized a meeting of representatives from other Route 66 towns and created the Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona, with Angel as president.  Through the efforts of this association, eventually the state of Arizona recognized his little stretch of road as "Historic Route 66," and now people from all over the world come to drive the historic road, buy merchandise, and talk with the residents of these little towns.  We met Angel's nephew, who runs the crazy Snow Cap Drive-In.  He said, "Here's my card," and handed me a card that says "MY CARD" on it, after I bought some rubber chicken earrings from him. 

I asked him if he took credit cards and he replied, "Yes, but I don't give them back!"  Then he pretended to squirt me with this gag mustard container. What a cut-up.  The old barber shop where Angel worked is now a gift shop and mini-museum, staffed by various family members, including Angel's granddaughter.

Matt in the original barber chair

 There is a lot more information about Angel and Vilma Delgadillo in Seligman at this link.  Angel received the John Steinbeck award for helping to preserve the road, and was reportedly the inspiration for the movie Cars.  I haven't seen the movie, but I guess there's a whole part about the destruction of Route 66 by the impending Interstate 40.  Also, the cars have names and personalities.  Only in America.  In case you think I scoff, remember that Cream Puff just got her collector vehicle plates.

Angel and his family saved their town, and all the other towns and attractions along that stretch of highway: there are old Burma Shave signs posted along the route now.  Travelers can visit rescued exotic wildlife, sleep in a cavern 200 feet underground, and witness the remains of the Valentine Indian School, a mercifully abandoned government boarding school for the children of the Hualapai tribe. The Roadkill Cafe and the Hackberry General Store are thriving businesses.  Motels named Siesta, Orchard, El Trovatore, Frontier, Orlando, and Romney are still welcoming drivers and motorcyclists from all over the world (we saw Japanese, French, Italian and of course Chinese tourists).  There is an internet radio station you can tune into as you drive (or even right now as you sit at your computer reading this) that plays the perfect oldies soundtrack:   www.Rte66Radio.com.

I love all the fun, quirky roadside attractions, the old cars (both restored and junky), the history, but my absolute favorite thing today was the Giganticus Headicus.  I don't know anything about it, except that it's a giant green head that sort of looks like an Easter Island head.  It's sitting out in the middle of nowhere, just for fun, between Kingman and Hackberry, a true vision of America if I ever saw one.

Giganticus Headicus. That's not real Latin, in case you were wondering.