Route 66 (Part II)

Thursday, I went home sick from work.  Some kind of stomach bug had taken hold of me and, although I was trying to get things accomplished at the office, everyone was like, 'Dude, go home.'  So I did...and I rested.  Friday I still didn't feel great, so I stayed home.  I hate missing work, but I'm glad I didn't push myself.  I milled about the house and rested.  By the time Saturday morning arrived, I was feeling better; I was also feeling stir-crazy.  I needed to get out of the house and DO something.  So I went to breakfast.

I sat and ate my traditional bacon and egg breakfast at Brookside by Day and wondered what I was going to do with my Saturday.  It was a beautiful morning and the day was wide open.  When I finished eating, I got into the car and took off down Route 66, not really sure how far I was going to go.  I started by heading over to the Route 66 Pavilion off of Riverside, the place I stopped when I drove 66 from Miami, OK.  Heading down Southwest Blvd, I first passed the Route 66 Village.  The 'village' is a small area which consists of a restored steam engine locomotive, a few train cars, and an oil derrick nearly 200 feet tall to symbolize Tulsa's first oil strike back in 1901.

Driving farther down the road, the old highway runs right through Sapulpa.  I'm not very familiar with this suburb of Tulsa; I never find a reason to come out here.  But I did know they had a restored trolley car somewhere in town, and sure enough, right along the highway was a restored, sheltered trolley car left over from the times when rail ferried passengers to and from Tulsa.  It was a short visit, as the actual area the trolley was kept was closed, so I decided to keep driving.  As I was exiting the city limits, I saw a great old steel truss bridge; a weakness of mine.  I pulled over and explored the bridge for a few minutes, noting the old brick pavement beneath my feet.  It had been closed earlier in 2013 for safety reasons, so I had it to myself.  I wonder how long it'll be before it, too, is only a memory.

The landscape of Old 66 is peppered with towns I've heard my entire life in weather reports on the local news, and I saw many of them for the first time.  Kellyville, Bristow, Depew, Stroud, and others.  Although this stretch of highway wasn't as dynamic as it was between Miami and Tulsa, each community did their best to grab their piece of Route 66 nostalgia and make it special.  Depew, a town of less than 500 people, sat with the most deserted downtown I've seen in a long time, but still had some signage signifying their pride in the town's heritage.  Stroud is home to the Rock Cafe, a historic restaurant whose owner was an inspiration for the Pixar film 'Cars'.  Davenport's downtown is entirely brick paved and hosts many beautiful murals.  Arcadia has a famous round barn and Pops, a gas station/gift shop built around hundreds of soda flavors.

Once I realized I'd driven all the way to Oklahoma City, my focus moved to lunch.  I made a list a few months back of burgers in Oklahoma I needed to try and figured, since I'd come this far, I might as well go a little further.  An hour and a half later, I found myself at the foothills of the Wichita Mountains near Lawton, Oklahoma at a little place called Meers.  Recognized as one of the best burgers in the country, their burgers are made from Longhorn cattle raised by the same family that owns the restaurant.  They're served in a pie tin and are extremely lean; I was pleased with my meal, to be sure.  They even serve R.C. Cola in mason jars!

Satisfied with my unexpected day trip, I drove back home along I-44.  Now that I've driven the two stretches of Route 66 that extend from Tulsa, I want to keep going.  Maybe one of these days I'll make a weekend of it and go through Missouri, or perhaps back down through Texas and New Mexico.  I've been watching so much Breaking Bad lately I'd really like to explore more of Albuquerque...and I hear Santa Fe is an amazing place to visit.

Emotional Ramblings

I've been going to counseling regularly since January.  As I got closer to the second anniversary of Dad's death, I didn't feel as advanced in my grief as I felt I should be.  In addition to that, I had noticed a disturbing trend of getting close to women in dating situations, then backing away like they were on fire.  I had an emotional wall that would go up like a blast door on a space ship.  Sometimes it went up brick-by-brick, other times it appeared suddenly and fully.  I know it was frustrating for the people it affected; it was frustrating for me, to be sure.

Today I went to my appointment and felt pretty good about it.  I talked about my experiences at Dragon*Con with my friends, which were universally good.  I talked about a dinner I had with my ex-wife several weeks ago, which was a goodbye of sorts as she was moving out of state.  It was a non-event emotionally, which is progress.  I helped Mom through her back surgery, which she is recovering nicely from.  I talked about my brother's divorce, now final, and his subsequent adjustment to divorced life...which he is handling completely different than I have.  I talked about work; our software conversion is finally starting to calm down and life is getting less stressful there.  I talked about how I felt stable emotionally through all of this.

I talked about how Brewburger closed last week and how that was one of the last places Dad and I ate together and that the closing was a sad event for me.  Not crying upset, but still sad.  I talked about the march of time and how both of the last restaurants Dad and I went to were now gone and I had less and less to remember him by.  I have many things, sure, but every loss is felt because there's no replacing it with anything else.  She suggested I find a new ritual for him; something I did have control over.  That's a good idea...I'm going to have to think about what that is going to be.

I also talked about my relationship issues.  Although I have greater stability, I'm not sure how much of that is true and how much is just keeping busy.  I spent the last two days pretty much non-stop watching Breaking Bad with a friend; now that the house is empty I'm not sure how I feel about it.  My friends that went to the Con with me talk about Post-Con Depression, as do many other attendees on Facebook and other social outlets.  I haven't suffered that in the past; I am sorry that Dragon*Con has to end, sure, but I'm also happy to return to regular life.

I have the rest of this week off and will be taking another trip this weekend, this time to Guthrie to camp and see a few concerts.  I'm eager to see these bands and spend some time with a friend I haven't been able to hang with in a while.  Fun?  Yes.  Helpful to my emotional well-being?  Yes...but is it just temporary?  Will my return home be met with me looking for some other event to fill the space?  I wonder about sustainability.  I worry about the shadows returning to my mind.  The doubt, the self-loathing.  The incessant over-analysis of everything in my life.  It's been quiet for a while, but I can never believe it's gone.  It's just part of who I am.  But...I can't shake the feeling that I'm hiding from something.

The Necessity of Reinvention

Last night, I spent some time digging through an old file cabinet to find an old floppy disk for Mom.  It contained copies of manuscripts she'd written about ten years ago; since she's going to be taking some time off for her back surgery starting next week she wanted to do some work on them.  It was impossible to root around the old, metal cabinet without coming across a plethora of stuff of Dad's, and I found myself sorting through tons of old papers.

There was a lot of interesting stuff in there:  old training manuals for a produce supervisor course at Associated Wholesale Grocers, newspaper ads, internal memos from his old office (including the one from his promotion that moved us to Tulsa from Claremore), and even old store schedule paperwork from before I was born.  Next to the cabinet was a pair of old briefcases.  In one, I found a LOT of old John Wayne stuff.  Dad clipped newspaper articles that mentioned The Duke, and I found a lot of articles about his failing health and death in 1979.  He even saved little adverts that mentioned television broadcasts of films.  The second briefcase is the one that I find myself thinking about this morning, the one that inspired me to write today.

It was his old daily briefcase, which held mostly tax documents now, that commanded my attention.  The tax stuff inside wasn't important anymore, but the case itself represented my father at the end of his life than anything else I had.  It was in disrepair; Dad had taped it length-wise to keep it in one piece.  Although it still latched, the bottom bulged dangerously.  Among the bulk of tax documents inside were a few other items:  a few photocopies pictures of my mother, a nearly-spent tablet of paper with notes jotted down that spoke of a man trying to make himself into a better person after losing what was important to him, even printed out old emails that consisted of a few kind sentences.  Dad was a man that could not let go of the past and move forward.  He, like the briefcase, was a container full of old memories that was barely taped together.

I love my father very much, but he was not a perfect man.  I look up to him immensely and model myself after the best of his behaviors while also trying to learn from his mistakes and shortcomings.  I tend to get melancholy and morose when I feel like I'm spinning my wheels; I crave growth.  Whether it's in my work, in my personal relationships, or myself I am happiest when I am learning.  When I dwell on things and rehash the past (something I'm infamous for) it's a terrible spiral of over-thinking.  I don't want that.  I look back at myself five, ten years ago and see a different me.  Still me, sure, but I'm not the same person I was.  Dad tried desperately to hold onto who he was; if he'd welcomed his future with the same energy, he might still be here today.

So, I look to the future.  I look forward to who I will be tomorrow.  As long as I never stop learning, I will continue to reinvent who I am.  With stagnation comes complacency, and I've already seen what that does to me.  I don't think I can afford to take another 10 months off and travel the globe to jump-start my sense of purpose.  Although, that would be nice...

End of the Road

What a long and wonderful trip it has been!  I logged over 3,000 miles behind the wheel and burned nearly 100 gallons of gas through six states in the last nine days.  I saw mountains, valleys, rivers, flats, canyons, deserts, cities, and much more.  It was the most successful road trip I think I've ever taken.  Sunday, the final day, took me from Amarillo back home to Tulsa.  But it wasn't a straight shot; I had a few stops to make.

First came the 'Slug Bug Ranch', a tongue-in-cheek display of classic Volkswagen Beetles mimicking the Cadillac Ranch on the other side of town.  It was fun to see these vehicles, designed to cater to the opposite side of the automobile buyer, dealt with in a similar artistic manner.  Like Cadillac, all the cars were spray-painted a multitude of colors.  After seeing this and The Big Texan (a restaurant in Amarillo famous for advertising a free 72 oz steak if you can eat it all; no I didn't try it!) I took Highway 207 north to Borger, TX.

Back in the 1960s, my Mom lived in a couple of small oil towns in the panhandle of Texas.  When I told Mom about my trip, she reminded me of that time in her life and I made a note to at least drive through these places to get a feel for them.  Borger was bigger than I expected, boasting 13k people as the oil industry there was still active.  It was a far cry from the small towns in Oklahoma I'd been used to seeing die slowly over the years.  It didn't take long for me to find the house Mom lived in, and I took a photo for her.  I sent it to her, pleased to be able to stand in the same place she did when she was in elementary school.  She told me she could see her daddy's pickup truck in the driveway and thanked me for seeking it out.  She hadn't seen it for about fifty years.

After Borger, we drove to Pampa, TX.  Although Mom couldn't recall the houses she lived in specifically, she knew the street.  After a little searching, I found the street and the school she attended.  I took a few more photos for her and basked in the solitude that is small-town Sunday morning.  The business districts of both towns were shut tight and the only parking lots that were filled belonged to the churches.  The faint smell of oil lingered from the fields that were active 24/7.  Additionally, on the horizon you could see the giant windmills that worked to supply power to the area.  It's strange to see what doesn't change in the face of emerging technology.  Seeing cattle graze at the bottom of those giant constructions was a little surreal.

The final stops on this road trip through the American West were places along Old Route 66.  McLean, TX housed the first Phillips 66 Gas Station in Texas, now painted a lovely orange color and sitting on an otherwise derelict corner of the tiny town.  In addition to that station, I found another old theatre (though it was in pretty poor shape compared to the others I'd visited) and a few old gas pumps scattered about town.  The last town was Shamrock, which has a restored gas station called the Conoco Tower.  It was built in 1936 and is a fine example of art deco architecture, something unusually ornate for gas stations at the time.  It was also used as the basis for one of the buildings in Pixar's 'Cars' film.

DeeDee and I made it into town, returned the rental car, and parted ways after our long, excellent trip.  I sat in my house at about 5:00 PM on Sunday, happy about the things I'd seen and the experiences that occupied my memory.  It was a busy time, but in a good way.  It's back to work and the normal day-to-day business that is life.  I'm excited to start thinking about the next trip I want to take and what sights I want to see.  It's been too long since my passport has had any stamps in it...

The Home Stretch

Today was a long day.  Which is odd, really, when you think about how busy every day has been for the last week.  But the 8 and 1/2 hour drive from Flagstaff to Amarillo isn't populated by much.  Lots of wide open spaces full of scrub brush and dust.  We only had one stop planned, and that was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Some time back, I read an article that named 50 of the most beautiful old movie theaters in the country.  I made myself a map of them so that I could reference it any time I did some traveling.  That's how I discovered the Fox Theatre in Hutchinson, KS that I visited last Saturday.  The same is true of the KiMo Theater in Albuquerque.  After driving five-and-a-half hours, we arrived in town to find the theater.  It was downtown, which was just a little ways off I-40, but the lovely GPS took us to a road that was completely closed due to construction.  We weren't the only people caught off-guard; the traffic snarl took about half an hour to get through before emerging on Central Ave, which is also Old Route 66.

This part of downtown, much like other places I've visited, really plays up the Mother Road heritage.  Lots of signage, touristy shops, and diners.  The KiMo Theater is a gorgeous building from 1927 that blends the local traditional adobe style (which is EVERYWHERE) with art deco and other architectural influences of the time.  It was a beautiful day; the blues, yellows, and reds of the building shone as bright as they must have when the building was new.  It wasn't open (though it's in the middle of a Stanley Kubrick retrospective) but the awning and interior appeared to mirror the amazing style of the exterior.  Lunch was had across the street at Lindy's (an old Route 66 diner) and we left town with another 4+ hours on the road ahead of us.

Originally, the last half of today was just going to be a drive straight to Amarillo.  However, after my last post, my friend Randy messaged me and encouraged me to visit the town of Tucumcari, an old Route 66 spot.  I saw a few of his pictures and, since it wasn't far off the main highway, figured I'd give it a try.  On the way, I noticed a LOT of small towns with signs encouraging drivers to see 'Historic Route 66' and drive through their main street instead of zipping by at 75 miles per hour.  Every sign I passed filled me with more despair that I was missing these small gems of Americana; finally, I could bypass no more.  I pulled off I-40 at Moriarty to have a look.

Moriarty is the name of Sherlock Holmes' nemesis, so DeeDee and I took pleasure in photographing the town sign.  Aside from that, it was pretty quiet.  Not a lot of classic stuff left aside from occasional 'Historic Route 66' highway signs.  When we picked back up on I-40, I began to wonder if these detours would be worth the time.  Tucumcari was coming up soon, but before that a small town called Santa Rosa beckoned to me with giant billboards promising fun and adventure.  Although the adventure in Santa Rosa was as faded as the billboard was, there was evidence everywhere of the former glory days.  Old restaurants, motels, and obviously repurposed buildings lined Route 66.  By the time I'd stopped for a few photos, my excitement matched the promise of that ancient roadside advertisement.

Tucumcari was next.  The photos I'd seen the day before were of restored hotels and shining classic automobiles in the center of town.  I took the first exit I could and entered the edge of town on Old 66 because what I wanted were the dregs:  the unrestored, abandoned, and closed ghosts of road trips past.  The town exceeded my expectations.  Dismantled drive-ins, overgrown hotels, and boarded up filling stations were everywhere.  Even in the middle of Saturday afternoon, the town moved at a snail's pace.  I want to go back some day when I can REALLY spend time in these small towns and explore each street, not just the main route.  Before long, it will all be gone.

As we approached Amarillo, we stopped at our last detour of the day:  Cadillac Ranch.  An art installation dating back to 1974, it consists of multiple various-model classic Cadillac cars buried past the hoods and sticking out of the ground at an angle.  People are encouraged to come by and add their own art to the living canvas by spray-painting on the junked vehicles.  It's really something, especially considering the cars are on an actual in-use ranch.  Cows grazed nearby as I sprayed my initials on a tire rim and took pictures of the rest of the cars.  It's definitely a surreal sight.

Tomorrow is the last hurrah; driving home to Tulsa with only a few minor detours planned.  I'm very eager to get home and into my own bed, but this trip has been truly wonderful and I don't want it to end.

Back to the Canyon

Friday brought with it the last big destination on my trip west:  The Grand Canyon.  After decided to just wing it on the day of, my attention turned to the possibility of getting a picture of the sunset at the canyon.  Since the sun sets at about 7:40 PM this time of year, that would mean not leaving for the canyon until much later in the day.  I had most of the morning to mill about and do a whole lot of nothing...which was nice!

During that downtime, I reflected on my previous trip here.  It was a stop on my trip to California, where I would board a cargo ship bound for New Zealand.  I was with two of my best friends and my wife.  Interestingly, the hotel I stayed at in 2009 is right next door to the one I'm in now, so it was really easy to put myself back there.  I've changed a lot since then.  I've been single for nearly three years now, my father and all of my grandparents are gone, and I work in a job that's similar to the one I left back then, vowing never to return to.  But the changes are not all losses; I've gained friends, a greater sense of self, a wonderful appreciation for my home town, and my skill as a photographer has increased.  My previous two-week road trip to California has less than 120 pictures to catalogue that journey; not counting today, my one-week trip now has over 540.

I've also learned to let more things go and enjoy the journey, rather than the destination.  On our way to the Ramada last night, we missed a turn onto I-40 here in Flagstaff.  By this fortuitous error, I found myself driving on Route 66, which cuts right through the heart of Flagstaff.  That happy accident lead to my plans for the day before going out to the canyon; seeing Flagstaff's contribution to old Route 66 culture.  DeeDee and I walked through the old downtown district and drove up and down the Mother Road, seeing old motels and diners along the way.  Once we left town for the canyon, I was met with ANOTHER wonderful surprise:  Route 66 continued on to Williams, AZ and they REALLY held onto their roadside heritage.  Considering how important Route 66 is to Tulsa, it was wonderful to see another town that made 66 into a big deal.  I wish I'd have been hungry so I could've eaten at one of their many retro diners.

After that fun detour, it was on to the Grand Canyon.  Highway 64, which runs north to the canyon itself, is peppered with small touristy roadside attractions that grabbed more of my attention on my second go-through.  The several stops we made soon brought me a new realization:  the sky was darkening.  I didn't realize we even HAD a monsoon season in the US, but we do.  And Arizona was in the midst of it.  The time I'd taken in downtown Flagstaff, Williams, and along the road had threatened the time we'd dedicated to the canyon.  Although I'd been before, it was DeeDee's first visit, and I didn't want it to get rained out.  We pushed on as I quietly muttered against the weather.  We arrived at the park and attempted to find parking.  I grumbled as I drove up and down the lot near the Visitor's Center before I decided to move on to another view point.  Thankfully, I was rewarded for this shortly and we found a spot just east of Mather's Point.

Even though I'd seen the Grand Canyon before, it was no less awesome.  The human mind cannot comprehend the depth of the canyon at first glance; it looks like a painting or a trick of the light.  But it isn't; with time and attention, you begin to truly see the layers of rock, the distance between the rise and fall of the chasm, and you cannot help but be amazed.  Like last time, I felt panicky when I or anyone near me got close to the ledge...and EVERYONE seems to think it's a GREAT idea to hop the little stone barrier (or go to one of the many places where there is no barrier or guard rail) and get close to the drop-off for pictures.  I can't even think about it now without my stomach clenching.  I just have to walk away and not think about it.  Even so, I was able to get closer to the edge this time without going bananas.  At one point, a nice couple asked if I could take their picture.  Of course, I said yes and made sure their photo was to their liking.  "Where are you from?" I asked.  "We are from Rome, Italy."  I excitedly told them how much I enjoyed their city, and they asked where I was from.  When I said Oklahoma, they remarked, "Ah, a local!"  Even though I don't consider fifteen hours away 'local' I suppose it's all a matter of perspective.

After we'd been to a few viewpoints and outrun the sprinkles by the skin of our teeth, the storm finally set in.  And what a storm it was!  It began raining torrentially; the huge drops of water were mixed with hail and high winds.  The temperature dropped from the lower 90s to 57 in a matter of minutes.  We debated leaving right then, but decided to try and find a place near the main Visitor's Center and see if we could wait out the weather.  We were rewarded once again when the storm let up about half an hour later; we were able to enjoy Mather's Point and the main area of the south rim.  Though the wind had kicked up rather fiercely; I was afraid my trusty hat was going to blow into the canyon.  As we toured a few more viewpoints, rangers and police were out handling fender-benders and directing traffic away from flooded roads.  Like I said...it was a heck of a storm.

We headed back to Flagstaff by taking the scenic route through the San Francisco Peaks.  It was a lovely drive through the Coconino National Forest and we didn't run into much other traffic.  The clouds in the distance remained menacing, though, and once we made it back to town they unloaded once more, bringing localized street flooding, lightning, and more high winds.  It was the first day that any kind of rough weather showed up, and I am thankful that in spite of that the day went well.  Tomorrow brings a long road day, driving from Flagstaff to Amarillo, and Sunday brings me back to Tulsa.  Although I don't expect anything nearly as exciting on the last few days, I do have a few stops that I'm eager to experience and share.

Monument Valley

Monument Valley: a place I've wanted to visit as long as I could remember.  And visit I did.  For a brief time, I walked in the footsteps of John Wayne and learned some of the sacred history of the Navajo Indian tribe, the valley's original inhabitants.  Throughout my time there, I thought about my father and his love of the Hollywood Western.  The images I saw with my own eyes had graced our television for my whole life.  And now, here I was, breathing the hot Arizona air myself.

The previous night, on Wednesday, I was pulling my hair out trying to figure out what our plan was going to be on Friday, the day we planned to spend at the Grand Canyon.  There was so many options as far as where at the canyon to visit and what time would be best.  We started looking at some guided tour options (as I've never been IN the canyon) and that opened up a whole new world of impossible choices.  Somehow, I found myself looking at information on tours in Monument Valley, a stop en route to Flagstaff.  Even though Monument Valley was the primary reason a flight to SLC to see Alex turned into a road trip, I hadn't even considered anything guided.  We found one that was highly cited on TripAdvisor, called, and made a reservation for the next day.

The drive was easy, and my anticipation grew as our destination drew closer.  All of the sudden, we crested a hill on Highway 163 and the iconic mesas were spread out across the horizon.  I immediately recognized the area as the spot of road that Forrest Gump decided to stop running, so of course I had to stop and take some pictures.  It was also a great place to get a feel for how vast the valley was.  We drove down to our meeting place: The View Hotel, a resort of sorts on Navajo land right at the entrance to the valley.  The view, as one would expect, was absolutely spectacular.  Our guide, Aaron, arrived and we set into the valley at about 1:00.

Aaron was Navajo and throughout our trip we learned about the local culture as well as his history.  He had been in construction most of his life and returned home a few years ago to raise his two young children.  His family had been running these tours for many years and, although he still had a lot to learn himself, enjoyed sharing his culture and heritage with others.  Much like Arches, there were people from all nationalities here.  For most of our journey through the valley, we were by ourselves.

After hitting some of the big places like the Mitten Buttes and John Ford's Point, Aaron drove us back to the areas available only to Navajo guides.  Our jeep skittered around on sandy trails as we passed homes and traditional hogans (pronounced ho-gones) still occupied by Indian locals.  All of the mesas and buttes had names that carried meaning and history; moments underneath the Suns Eye and near the Sleeping Dragon were so absolutely quiet that I could've gone deaf and not realized it.  Our solitude was most appreciated when Aaron took us to the Big Hogan, a natural rock formation that mimicked the traditional hut, where I stared into the sky while listening to him play a traditional cedar Navajo flute.  At that moment, I was seeing the exact same thing that the Navajo saw for hundreds of years.  I didn't even have to close my eyes and pretend.  It was in that moment that my thoughts of my father were the strongest; oh how I wish he could have been there with me.

We saw a few more of the sights around the valley after that, including an AMAZING view of the valley from what's called the Northern Window, before saying goodbye to Aaron and Monument Valley.  The drive to Flagstaff was uneventful (save some small rain pockets) and the Ramada was a welcome sight after such a hot and dusty day.  Tomorrow brings the Grand Canyon, and although we finally decided to just drive up and wing it, I know it'll be spectacular.