Friday morning we hit the road around 8:30 a.m. again. If we hadn't, we'd probably
still be driving the Oatman Highway! Ann did a tremendous job of driving and we were content to cruise along at less than 15 mph and enjoy the scenery.
Just before we started on that section, we took one final group picture, so if anything happened to us, you'd at least know we made it as far as Cool Springs! The 1926 Mobil station is absolutely adorable. The woman who was working there said that a burro had been born near the station earlier in the week, but we never did see any burrows or sheep roaming around along the road.
We headed on past Ed's Camp, noting the saguaro cactus along the road. Very few families seem to live in this area, which is why we were greatly amused when Sherrie pointed out a sign advertising a garage sale. In her words, with such a small number of people around, why don't you all just bring your junk to one person's house and exchange it?
A short distance beyond Ed's Camp we pulled off to the side and climbed up the rock steps to see the seep at Shaffer's Fish Bowl Springs. Just past Sitgreaves Pass, we came around a corner and saw a vehicle pulled off to the side, going the opposite direction. We were going so slow that it was easy to stop when she rolled down her window as we approached. She leaned out and asked if this was the road to Kingman. We affirmed that she was headed towards Kingman. She asked how far it was and we told her it had taken us about two hours to get this far, although we had made a couple stops along the way. As we pulled away, Jen commented, "Is she really driving through the desert without a map???" I like getting off the beaten path as much as anyone, but in a desolate environment like western Arizona, I don't think I'd do it without having some idea of where I was going!
As we headed down from Sitgreaves Pass, we saw an old car that obviously hadn't made one of the turns and joked that this stretch of road would be a killer if you had to drive it for driver's ed. Almost on cue, a driving school car came up around the corner towards us. I don't know who I feel sorrier for - the student or the instructor!
Next up was Oatman. We stopped to eat some frybread at the Olive Oatman Restaurant and Saloon and we took a couple pictures with the resident burros, but overall the town just reeked of Tourist Trap. We soon piled back into the Montana and tackled the final stretch to California.
Just after crossing the Colorado, we stopped to get pictures of the stone Route 66 billboard and the old bridge, which now supports a gas pipeline.
We topped off the gas tank in Needles and made sure we had plenty of beverages and salty foods. (Earlier in the week, Sherrie shared that she had read somewhere that it's essential for you to have salt in your body in order for it to be able to process any water you take in. Except she was driving as she was telling us this little factoid and I think she got a little distracted, and so the story ended with a warning that without salt we could drown in a bathtub. There was a silence until one of us piped up, "I'm sorry, what was that about drowning in a bathtub in the desert?" You probably had to be there, but it was quite funny at the time, and led to a week's worth of jokes about salt and bathtubs in the desert.)
Well stocked with beef jerky, Corn nuts and Gatorade, we left Needles (after a brief interlude in which we couldn't figure out how to get on the road and ended up driving off onto the shoulder and in a circle around a hitchhiker - poor guy, he probably thought we were going to pick him up and we just drove around him and drove off!).
Because the temperature was ranging from 97 to 110 degrees, we voted against joining the other travellers who have constructed their names out of rocks by the side of the road. Our first stop was the Shoe Tree. Unfortunately, we didn't have any extra shoes of our own to add.
Every single one of our guidebooks recommended stopping at Roy's in Amboy. Every. Single. One. We pulled into Amboy and drove up to the café, which looked pretty darned closed. At the same time, a man came out of the café and drove towards us on a golf cart, so we rolled down the window and asked him if the café was open. He looked at us as though we were completely addled and said, "Um,
no." He said he did have water, if we wanted some of that. We politely thanked him and drove on (if by "politely" I mean that as soon as the windows were rolled up, we slagged on him for being such a jerk to us).
With Roy's off the list, we drove on to Ludlow and stopped for a tasty lunch at the Ludlow Café.
We slowed down to view many of the Route 66 ruins along the way to Barstow, but kept on moving. I guess by the time we got to California, a restored gas station or an abandoned business needed to be pretty darned special to get our attention!
We made it to Barstow just in time to spend a few minutes at the Route 66 museum. They had some interesting exhibits and a nice gift shop.
Unfortunately we got to Helendale a little too late and the Exotic World Burlesque Museum was closed. I guess that will have to wait until next time! We did stop at the Bottle Tree Ranch and made one last bridge stop as well.
Then it was time for the final stretch into San Bernardino and Rialto. I had no idea the landscape would be as beautiful as it was. The mountains were so scenic - not at all how I imagined it. As mentioned earlier, the Wigwams in Rialto are very nice now. Not the Ritz-Carlton, but very pretty and clean for a Wigwam! You can tell they've all recently been repainted and that they're being taken care of now.
The agenda for the night included an Inland Empire 66ers game. We arrive a few minutes after the start of the game, found our seats and indulged in the advertised $1 tacos. If you ever have a chance, check out a game here. The stadium has distinctive Southwest architecture and the tacos were to die for. We ate a few to start, and then made ourselves promise that we would wait until the 6th inning before deciding whether to go back and get more (we did).
On our way back from our second taco run, we actually ran into some locals who go to college in little Oskaloosa, Iowa. What are the chances of that?
Early on in the evening, there had been a call at the plate and the opposing manager had come out to argue the call and had been ejected from the game. At the time, we joked about how those arguments are always so melodramatic, and the opposing manager sure did get into it.
I always buy a program at minor league games because I like to read the front office staff bios and see if I know anyone from my short stint in minor league baseball. Unless I'm blind, the 66ers don't have staff bios in their program (Note to 66ers: Can you do somethinga bout that?), so I put the program away and didn't look at it again until later in the game. That's when I noticed that Brett Butler was listed as the opposing manager.
Brett Butler! Growing up as a Dodger fan in Iowa, I loooooved Brett Butler. He and Orel Hershiser were two of my favorite players - he was undoubtedly a stellar lead-off hitter and I admired him not only for his skills but for coming back after throat cancer and for his grace and dignity.
Ann and I made a run down to the bullpen and talked to one of the players to confirm that it was indeed
Brett Butler. He said that Brett was probably hanging out in the locker room after being ejected, but we could catch him on his way to the bus after the game.
I really wanted to meet him, but I was a little nervous, too. He'd been ejected from the game, his team lost - he might be in a bad mood and what if he wasn't really as nice a guy as I believed him to be? I don't like finding out my heroes are really jerks (which is why I don't like to hear anyone's stories about meeting Paul Simon!).
We quizzed the bus driver and he said that he didn't think Brett Butlet would punch me in the face if I approached him, but he might be in a cranky mood. Cue anxiety. I also felt bad for making Jen, Ann and Sherrie wait on my account, but Ann was happy to wait with me and Jen had her knitting and Sherrie had a new book from the Barstow museum, so wait we did.
He finally came out of the locker room and approached the bus. I walked up to him and said, "Mr. Butler?" He stopped. I told him that growing up in Iowa, I had been a huge fan of his and I really admired him and just wanted to tell him that. He put down his bags, shook my hand and asked my name. Ann and I introduced ourselves and we started chatting. He apologized that we had to wait so long for him and apologized for getting ejected for the first time in his career on the night we were there. He asked if we were coming to any of the other games this weekend and graciously allowed us to take pictures with him. He seemed really interested in our trip and was wonderfully polite and conversational. Wheeeeeeee! What an exciting way to end the day! I thanked the girls over and over again for being willing to wait - what great friends, huh?
With one minor "Oops, wrong turn...hey, we're on the freeway!" moment, we made it back to the Wigwams and enjoyed a good night's sleep before setting off on the final 70 miles of the trip.
