Seeing sign after sign for Meteor City, Jay and I were stoked- we had built it up in our minds at this point to a totally awesome still-smoking-crater, complete with little green men and laser ray guns! (After all, this was "where NASA trained their elite space explorers," boasted a billboard.)
We followed 66 through the towns that we could, and enjoyed seeing the famous Tee-Pee style motels that have become an icon of the road. They were fun, but we were getting pretty jazzed about Meteor City! Meteor City! Come SEE: METEOR CITY!
When we exited on Meteor Crater Road, we pulled over to the (only) gas station to fuel up. The crater was only 6 miles away! Jay went inside to pay for the gas, and he also bought me a moon pie, just because he's awesome.
While he was inside the store, the gas station's outdated PA system was playing the same 4 minute advertisement to SEE THE CRATER, again and again and again. It reminded me of an old Capra-esque kind of deal: SEE the crater! WALK where the brave men and women of NASA have trained for their MOON ADVENTURES, etc. Classic.
By now it was blown way out of proportion in our minds, but we wanted to be smart about this, so we set a price limit. I didn't want to pay more than $8 to see this hole. Jay valued it at $7. This was, after all, a hole in the ground. When we pulled up to this fairly large brick exhibit blocking all view of the crater and were informed that admission was $25, we laughed all the way back to the car. No Universal Discount? Screw that noise.
A little disappointed, we drove the lonely 6 miles back toward the highway. My up-to-now completely useless notebook had mentioned that there was an old observatory in ruins somewhere near the exit, where tourists used to go and view the crater through telescopes.
We could see a large tower-looking structure in the distance beyond some craggy rocky fields, but we had no way of knowing if that was it, or what it was...
It'd be stupid to drive Jay's low-riding sportscar over barely-existent rock roads. There were gulches and potholes and tortise holes every six inches- these back roads were in terrible condition, the sun was starting to set and we knew we'd be screwed with no lights out there... But...
Ignoring a "No Trespassing" sign, (since we were no longer on Navajo land and it was only a civil offense, not Federal,) we slowly drove along the decomposing spine of a road, which mercilessly curved and circled back and eventually wound around nowhere near the observatory, but instead lead us to the highlight of our Route 66 adventure:
The Secret Packard Graveyard.
Surrounded by an island of broken beer bottles and oxidized cans, there were three old, old, OLD car skeletons, rusted through to pure iron, baking in the setting sun, out in the middle of a nowhere field off Meteor Crater Road.
These cars (one of which was turned over on its side) were old Fords and Packards from the 40's and 50's- and they'd been murdered. Riddled with bullet holes from every caliber you can imagine, these were more swiss cheese than automobiles. One car had a nasty shotgun blast straight through the roof right above the driver's seat... I shuddered thinking about the chain of events that lead to that. The amber sun shone in dusty shafts of light through the perforations in the iron, and then sparkled off the broken glass on the ground.
The glass was a thick layer- no smattering here; you could wade through the time-sanded sea of green, brown, and clear glass. Old-fashioned bottles and thousands of cans set each other's colors off in relief against the sunset, twinkling like earth-borne stars.
Curious lizards and a few jackrabbits came out to investigate, and we chased them to some nearby flat rocks to sit and marvel at our discovery.
I have no clue whose cars these were, why they've been repeatedly assassinated, and how thousands of different-era's beer cans and bottles wound up surrounding these rusting giants. But I absolutely loved seeing it.
On the way back to the main road, Jaime and I found an extremely easy-to-drive road that lead straight to what we think was the observatory structure, and had a good laugh at the simplicity. And yet, if we'd found it right away, we would've missed the best part!
The observatory ruins were beautiful- huge blocks of reddish stone formed the remains of a tower, and the last vestiges of the wooden stairs that had been inside now served as the base for a giant crow's nest. The homeowner came back while we were visiting and squawked at us. We'd ignored another "No Trespassing- You Will Go To Jail" sign to get to the tower, (the later part being added in spray paint, perhaps by a less fortunate visitor than we) so we scurried out before we overstayed our welcome, and made it back to Route 66 just as dark settled in, feeling very happy and satisfied with Meteor City.
Arizona was pretty dark after that point. We drove for a while, trying to find another Ghost Town that was roadblocked off from society. The town's maid drag was now camping grounds near the Navajo Army Armory. (???) I hate their tacos.
We did not forget Winona, in accordance to Bobby Troupe's wishes.
I saw an elk foraging for grass along the sloping forest hills once we were out of the desert. That was cool. We'd also seen both deer and antelope (not playing, just resting) earlier. Since buffalo are extinct, and we can't see them roam, this elk was a close enough approximation of a complete "Home, Home on the Range" experience.
We were extremely hungry after a while, so when we arrived at Seligman, and saw the Roadkill Cafe, we went for it. The parking lot was adjacent to a motorlodge full of Japanese men on matching rented motorcycles. That was fun.
The three waitresses on staff at the Roadkill that night were'nt prepared for a busy night, so there was a long wait before we got our food. I filled this void with the biggest beer I've ever had in my life. One of the best, too, if I recall correctly. I'd ordered the "Deer Delectables," which are riblets. (Everything on the menu has a morbid dead-animal name; it was awesome) and I don't remember what Jay had because for the next 30 minutes, all I did was eat. Non-stop. I ate so hard and so fast and so passionately, I hurt myself. And it was totally worth it.
For those of you who've been following this narrative, pretty much every meal I'd had since I left Orlando was either A) lackluster or B) a Navajo taco, which is disgusting.
I tell you these ribs were one of the best meals of my life. God I love those ribs. If I could marry those ribs and have sex with them and raise their rib-babies and then eat THEIR ribs, I totally would. In a heartbeat.
I think Jay liked his food that night, too, but at the time, I didn't care. Ribs.
...
Nearing Flagstaff, (our stop for the night,) I was looking out the window at the night sky and wishing we could pull over so I could see some stars. We'd missed the whole "stars at night, shine big and bright CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP" when we were deep in the heart of Texas due to the Electrical Storm, and I wouldn'tve traded that for the world, but the stars of the American Roadtrip were definitely on my wish list.
Without me saying a word, Jay pulled the car over and put the roof back.
"How'd you know?" I asked.
He shrugs. "I'd been wanting to do it for a while, but there was no good place to pull off."
God I love this man.
While Flagstaff twinkled at the bottom of the mountain roads, the stars twinkled above us. We were sandwiched in black velvet night and sparkles, as semi trucks blazed by us and the night wind played with my hair and chilled my ears. Delicious.
Once we arrived at the Econo-Lodge, we deemed it sanitary enough to take a shower. We were highly amused at the separate twin-sized beds in the room. It felt like a hotel foom you'd see on the Dick Van Dyke show. Jaime and I bounced back and forth on the beds and had a decent wrestle over real estate, which reminded us that we were thirsty and dehydrated. Probably me more so because of my giant beer. I went to go buy some water for us, but the vending machine was broken and the shops were closed. I asked the hotel clerk where I could go to get some, and a really cool old guy and his grandson gave me 4 cold bottles from their cooler. Fellow travelers looking out for one another. Very, very awesome.
There is a true sense of camaraderie on 66, and it shows. It shows when the zoologically uninformed trucker at Dairy Queen gives you career advice. It shows when the Japanese motorcycle mafia gives you a nod of approval as you exit your dusty car. It shows when the Blind Woman still tries to take a photo for you. You're all out there for totally different identical reasons- and you're all out there together, completely on your own.
I enjoyed the hell out of that cool water.
No comments:
Post a Comment