Getting our Kicks on Route 66

“Now you go through Saint Louis
Joplin, Missouri,
And Oklahoma City is mighty pretty.
You see Amarillo
Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff, Ariona
Don't forget Winona,
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino.”

Those nostalgic lyrics from that old song Route 66, still play in my mind.

"(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66", often rendered simply as "Route 66", is a popular song and rhythm and blues standard, composed in 1946 by American songwriter Bobby Troup. It was first recorded in the same year by Nat King Cole, and was subsequently covered by many artists including Chuck Berry in 1961 and The Rolling Stones in 1964.The song's lyrics follow the path of the U.S. Route 66 highway, which used to run a long distance across the US, going from Chicago, Illinois to Los Angeles, California."

We skipped the Boulder Dam highway down to Kingman when we heard that there is still a restriction on commercial trucks and they're searching RV's apparently looking for bombs, I guess. Anyway it all creates a big backlog. To make things worse, there's construction along the route. So we re-routed through Laughlin which is only about 25 miles more. One night only in Laughlin, mostly for septic duty. Fernie played poker at his favourite haunt, the Edgewater, encountering the same old dealers and even some of the players from last year. I wandered over to the outlet mall which was a mistake because I bought some shoes and clothes that I probably didn't really need. Maybe gambling is cheaper. We stayed at the Riverside overlooking the river and enjoyed a late evening stroll along the riverwalk. The temperature was perfect.


Route 66 is such a nostalgic draw and Seligman, Arizona which is a dying town, has tried to bring in the tourists by tarting up the shops with manequins and memorabilia making an awfully gaudy display. Beside these colourful period pieces sit boarded up ramshackle buildings. Things are not good in Seligman.

Well, I'm a standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona
And such a fine sight to see
It's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford
Slowin' down to take a look at me
Take it easy....Take it easy.........


The Eagles put Winslow back on the map when they recorded that unforgettable song 'Take it Easy' in the 1970's. The town is not very famous for much else and they've taken full advantage of that moment of fame, designating a street corner in memory. The corner park is a tribute to the song and a bronze statue of the songwriter, Jackson Browne with his guitar, stands under the lampost while a mural of the 'girl in the flat bed Ford' is painted on the building behind. The eagle on the windowledge above is obviously also a reference to the singing group. Across the road on a hard bench sat four native Americans snuggled up in their parkas against the keen wind totally disinterested in our inspection of the site. By the shoppers in Walmart, I'd say the town is 90% native Indian. I feel alright using the term Indian because all down the highway we saw billboards advertising products 'made by Indians'.


At the edge of town, La Posada Hotel, billed as the 'last great railroad hotel' is a quaint and picturesque inn which was restored & reopened in 1997. Trains roar by regularly about fifty feet from the door.


Many of the rich and famous of bygone days stayed here - actors, politicians, presidents & royalty.....I can't imagine what they wanted in Winslow. I suppose it was just a comfortable stop along the railway line. Clark Gable, Carole Lombard, Mary Pickford, Shirley Temple, the Lindberghs, Bob Hope, Jimmy Stewart, Howard Hughes are just a few that laid their heads down here.

A gruesome discovery on a geocaching jaunt - a decomposing carcass of what appeared to have been a dog. I was strangely fascinated at the grisly find.


It was bloated, the fur mostly gone and the putrid flesh was multi-hued; I wondered what had killed it while I felt sad that nobody really cared. Dogs run loose and free in Winslow and I don't think anyone missed this one. Our dear old Caesar who is almost 15 years old has been deaf for a couple of years now but it came on slowly and he doesn't even know what he's missing. We come home to Maggie, banging the doors & talking loudly and he doesn't rouse until he feels the shake of our moving around the motorhome. His eyesight has been dimming too over the last year and last night I noticed that he didn't see Fernie's hand moving about 3 feet in front of his eyes. When he's outside, he clings to the edge – whether it be a fence or any sort of border where he can sense the change in tone. However, he still has a good quality of life – every evening he finds his toy bag and shakes it as if it were prey to be killed and when the bag is emptied all over the floor, he noses through and chooses a particular one that he brings to us to wrestle with and throw. Every evening it might be a different toy but one in particular, Coco, gets more playtime than the rest. Coco is a hand knitted, 3 foot long clown that we bought new when he was 8 weeks old. Over the years, Coco has lost his head, his puffy buttons and his arms. One time years ago when we took Caesar to the Women's Prison for boarding and Coco went along with him, when we arrived home from our vacation, Coco had been through the washing machine and looked like new. We had never thought of that. Fifteen years later, Coco is as loved as ever - as is Caesar unlike that poor dog in the field.


The Acoma Pueblo, known as Sky City perched high on a sandstone mesa is the oldest continuously inhabited city in the United States, established somewhere between the 11th and 13th centuries. The scenic eighteen mile drive south of the highway weaves through Indian villages and spectacular rock formations and the land calls out to be explored and photographed but dire warnings prohibit hiking & climbing, sketching or video taping, and you must buy a permit to take photos. I abhor this sort of cash grab.


Up on I-40, the modern day Sky City Casino is a much better way to pry dollars from passing travellers. When we arrived, the wind was high and twirled dust from the surrounding barren lands blowing it into such a dust storm we had to close down all our vents quickly. Realizing that we wouldn't be able to leave our motorhome in the choking air, we decided to venture further and stopped at the Route 66 Casino, on the outskirts of Albuquerque. The wind abated somewhat, the sun was shining so we enjoyed a couple of days exploring corners of the city we hadn't seen on our last visit. Geocaching of course was our guide.


The first night the temperature plunged down to -5 degrees C (about 22 F) and when we woke in the morning, our kitchen taps were frozen and we were scared that our lines might have burst. Luckily, they thawed and all is fine. They say it never rains in Albuquerque but the following night, it poured and the drizzle continued as we drove out of town. Albuquerque is built in a basin and driving east we climbed up through the mountains and the rain turned to sleet and then to snow. Oh no! It didn't last though. Phew!

Tucumcari, New Mexico – the town that became obsolete along with Route 66. There used to be 2,000 hotel rooms in this little burg and they still advertise that there are 1,200 rooms and they're priced as low as $19.95 a night. How can they stay in business at those prices? They haven't been remodelled since the 1960's to all appearances. Perhaps they don't change the sheets or clean the rooms – anyway, I'm sure they are home to billions of bed bugs. It's a forsaken town that used to be vibrant in its hayday with Route 66 slashing through the center with a five mile long strip of motel after motel. Today we witnessed tumbleweeds rolling on down the dusty highway. We stayed at the biggest store in town - the Kmart - and there was a buildup of trash in the surrounding fields that probably hasn't been picked up for twenty years. The population is less than 6,000 now and I'm sure the economy is more depressed than just about anywhere else in the United States. The inhabitants must be depressed too; the grocery store had a liquor department almost as big as the food area. Folks need to forget their troubles. Tucumcari is not a tourist destination.

The sun shone bright as we whipped across the Texas Panhandle. We were definitely in 'big sky' country now, with cattle grazing on the open range. Massive stockyards were heralded by the pungent aroma which invaded our nostrils long before the thousands of cattle came into sight. Texas is proud of being the biggest and having the biggest of everything. The 'biggest cross' a massive structure that is lighted up at night stands proudly beside Interstate 40; was it intended to draw us in to pray? This is also a bible belt and churches proliferate. Another eyecatching gimmick was Cadillac Ranch just west of Amarillo. Ten classic caddies are half buried in a row at about a 75 degree angle in the middle of a farmer's field, tail fins up. Over the years, graffiti artists have colourfully decorated the vintage autos. It's like a modern day Stonehenge. Wonder what they'll think of this 1,000 years hence!


O-O-Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain
And the wavin' wheat can sure smell sweet
When the wind comes right behind the rain.
We know we belong to the land
And the land we belong to is grand!
And when we say
Yeeow! Aye-yip-aye-yo-ee-ay!
We're only sayin'
You're doin' fine, Oklahoma!
Oklahoma O.K.


Oklahomans are mighty friendly folk. From the matrons at the welcome centre who gathered books and maps for all our destinations to the welcome in a grocery store “Hey! How're you doin' today?” We drove into the small town of Sayre to use their dump station at the local City Park. Unable to find it, I walked over to a maintenance shed where a slow talkin' short on words cowboy type was working on a golf cart. “O'er there” he gestured when I asked - “the road” and went right back to work. I walked in the general direction but where was it? Fernie stayed back in the motorhome waiting for me to call him on. Putt, putt, putt.......along came the cowboy in his golfcart signalling Fernie to follow him and he led us right up to the station. What I took for indifference was just his Gary Cooper manner. “Yur welcome Ma'am” he answered and tipped his hat when I thanked him.

El Reno, a western suburb of Oklahoma City is a historical town on route 66. It is in Canada County and the Canadian River flows just north of town. Just a few miles further north stands the Lucky Star Casino on a knoll with the Oklahoma plains spreading out in all directions. We discovered sitting high is not necessarily good, that we would pay for the views when the winds 'came sweeping down the plains' and the keen north wind that first afternoon sent a chill right down to the bone even though the sun shone brightly (an omen of things to come). The Lucky Star obviously appreciates Rvers and provides ten spots with full hookups (electricity, water & sewer) at no charge. We were comfortably ensconced for the next few days while we explored the city.


Our on-board generator had been causing us problems since Chehalis and we figured it was about time that we got a technician to take a look at it. Fernie made an appointment with Cummins Diesel in Oklahoma City and we were prepared to spend a couple of hundred dollars for the repair. I told you, Oklahomans are mighty fine folk, if short on words - “No charge” the long grey-bearded mechanic who looked like a member of ZZTop, muttered after spending forty-five minutes on it. “Just needed a carb adjustment” he said and ushered us out the door. While we were waiting for Maggie in the small drab customer lounge, we chatted to an aging trucker of Indian descent (from the Punjab). He'd been waiting for his truck to be repaired for four days staying in a dingy hotel across the road and hanging around hoping his presence would hasten the job. “I had to give my load away” he uttered in broken English “$4,000 I've lost so far”. He went on to tell us that he would be working until he died; that he couldn't retire because he wouldn't be able to get social security but he loved America and felt lucky to be here. When Fernie went down to the shop floor to talk to the mechanic, the trucker and I talked about India. I told him we'd been to India but not the Punjab and wanted to go back. He broke into a broad smile while he nostalgically told me all about his homeland, its beauty, its climate, its people. I decided not to ask him why he left such a wonderful country.

The weather report was ominous that Wednesday evening. Not tornadoes though, thank goodness – that's my worst fear. A storm coming up from the south, from Texas would bring freezing temperatures and snow. WHAT? So we battened down the hatches; unhooked our water in case of freeze-up; put our heaters on high and comfortably watched some TV, surfed the web, played poker online (in Fernie's case), and read our papers and books waiting for the storm. It started in the middle of the night as we lay warmly cocooned in our bed. Rat-a-tat-tat on the roof went the rain and we were lulled back to sleep.


But we woke to a winter landscape; freezing rain had turned Maggie into a popsicle with a coating of marbled ice and dripping icicles. It turned to snow and before it was finished, a couple of inches covered the ground. Well then, I just won't take of my pyjamas and I stayed that way until afternoon. We only ventured out to do a bit of shopping later on. “Howdy neighbour” I heard the Texas twang from the trailer down the way “some weathr is'n it?”. “Where you'all from?” he inquired and when I told him Canada, he guffawed “So, you brought this stuff with you?”.

The forecast looked promising one more minor rain storm to come through then by Saturday, it'd be back in the 60's and Sunday in the 70's. But this was Friday and it was still wintery cold. I dragged out our gloves and scarves, we dressed in warm layers and ventured out for a day of discovery. OK City is a small city, with no urban sprawl; from wide open ranchland, suddenly you're in the city center. Parking is easy to find on the street and for 25 cents you get a half an hour – what a deal! If you wanted to walk a couple of blocks away, there was free parking to be found.


We remember so clearly that day of April 19, 1995 when some insane young Americans, upset by the government's handling of the Waco, Texas seige in 1993, drove a truckload of explosives in front of a government building in downtown Oklahoma City & detonated it. It tore the front out of the building killing 168, including 17 children from a daycare center, and injuring over 800. We visited the memorial on the site of the destroyed Federal Building, a very moving visit. A chain link fence fronting the memorial grounds is intertwined with hundreds of mementos and tributes to lost loved ones.


Monumental twin bronze gates frame the 9:02 moment of destruction. 9:01 found on the eastern gate, represents the last moments of peace, while its opposite on the western gate, 9:03, represents the first moments of recovery. 168 empty chairs hand-crafted from glass, bronze & stone represent those who lost their lives.




Across the street outside St Joseph's Catholic Church is a statue of Jesus weeping, his back to the destruction. Visiting OK City, I felt so much more what this small city must have gone through – it was a shocking act of terrorism that can never be truly fathomed.


At the east end of downtown, across the railroad tracks near the Santa Fe Depot lies Bricktown, once the warehouse district and the original site of the city. They've rebuilt it as an entertainment district, with bars and clubs, restaurants, a movie theater, ballpark and live music venues. The Bricktown Canal is lined with some of these bars and restaurants, much like a mini San Antonio riverwalk. A group of scalpers stood on the street corners waving tickets for an important interstate basketball tournament. Fernie asked a seven foot ebony-skinned guy who was playing and the loose-limbed giant opened his mouth and displayed more gold than I've seen at an Indian wedding. Every one of his teeth was gold; if it had been sunny, we'd have been blinded. It was too cold to linger so we nipped inside a cafe for warmth & sustenance.

Saturday dawned with promise of a warmer day and by early afternoon the sun shone brightly and our spirits were cheered. The Public Market sounded like a pleasant way to spend a morning but when we got there it was closed up tightly. Found out later that it had closed down just two months ago but I don't know why. Stockyard City is just a mile down the way, so we ventured over there instead.


It's the pioneer old west heritage of OK City with shops dedicated to cowboy apparel & tack – rows and rows of cowboy boots and hats, leather vests and plaid shirts. The famous Cattlemen's Restaurant was packed full of folk tucking in to steak and potatoes. The stockyards themselves have live auctions twice a week; when we went there, just a few pigs were in residence and I couldn't look them in the eye without guilt knowing they'd be headed for the slaughter house. Why are we humans not more evolved and not eat the flesh of living beings?

A monumental day today.......we found our 1,000th geocache in Oklahoma City. You can tell that we really love this diversion. We marked number 1,000 at the Oklahoma Veterans Memorial across the road from the capital. Now - on to 2,000.


All good things must come to an end and this morning, March 15, 2009 at 7:02am in Oklahoma City, Caesar's life was snuffed out. We had tried to prepare ourselves for this moment; after all, he would be 15 in another 5 weeks. But it didn't matter that he was deaf and he was blind, he was our dearly loved little Caesar and we will miss him terribly.

Caesar slept between our pillows when we travelled in Maggie and when it got really cold, he slid down under the covers and snuggled into the crook of my legs. He slept soundly and long, never getting us up for toilet duty. But this morning, we woke about 4:30am as Caesar struggled to catch his breath and shivered uncontrollably. Fernie cuddled and tried to soothe him but it was obvious that his little body was in distress. We found that there was an all-night veterinarian hospital in Oklahoma City and we wrapped him up and drove him in, Fernie in the back seat holding Caesar. The sky was eerily clear, the moon bright and the roads empty. We didn't talk, each of us knowing that this was it – the end of our time with Caesar. My thoughts went to the night before when Caesar kept nudging the bathroom door as I showered so that he could come in to join me; then his demands for us to play with him endlessly; and his shrill yelps telling us it was bedtime. Yesterday, we stopped at a steak restaurant and brought home a big piece for Caesar's dinner. He slurped it down in record time and licked the bowl endlessly afterwards to get every morsel of flavour. What a life he had; he was king in our household; treated as well (or maybe better) as our children had been; travelled with us from west coast to east coast, from the southernmost point in the USA to the top of the Yukon in the far north of Canada; ate like a king; slept with us. But.......he gave us far more and life without him will not be easy.

When we arrived at the veterinary hospital, a young lady rushed to open the door for us. Caesar lay in Fernie's arms wrapped in his black blanket....this alone pointed to how ill he was because Caesar normally would not be held or stay in our arms but would fight to get down. His coal black sightless eyes peered out at me without fear and seemingly content to be held by the one he loved best. It was his heart; it was giving out with old age; and there was no healing it. His time had come. We had the best care imaginable from the lovely Oklahomans in that late night hospital. Caesar was given an IV as Fernie held him and gently slipped away. The young lady in administration who I dealt with, shed a tear and dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex as I told her about Caesar......I was amazed that she was not immune to these occurrences. I told her we were travelling through and she said 'Awwwww......well, God bless you' and grabbed me into a huge bear hug. Both Fernie and I remained stoic throughout all of this but when it was over, we melted into emotional heaps. The pain will continue for a while, we know, but it will get easier and the tears will stop eventually.



This picture was taken on March 13, 2009 just a day and a half before he died. He was worn out from an aggressive fight over Coco - that's the knitted thing hanging on his back.

Tulsa was a blur. We'd left our best pal behind and our interest in sightseeing and geocaching was nil. We kept busy though. It's all history now.