We were up early this morning with everything stowed and the teardrop hooked up and ready to go before breakfast. We bid adieu to the lake and campground, stopped to snarf up some eggs and coffee at Mickey D’s, topped off the fuel tank and started driving.
We went west for about 12 miles on I-40 before taking exit #1 onto old Route 66 for a 22 mile jaunt to Oatman. This is a very touristy little old west town with an amusing difference. When the miners abandoned their efforts, they left their faithful burros behind. The burros, hung around and multiplied. Today the main street, (well, the only street) is littered with burros big and small, all of them with a healthy appetite for carrots. They expect every soul who enters town to come equipped with a nice, fresh bag of carrots just for them.
We had heard of this deep burro desire, and came prepared with a big bag of the tasty morsels. Diana was soon surrounded by the cute, fuzzy, pot-bellied creatures who crunched her offerings with loud delight and immediately expected more. She was soon empty handed and made a quick exit before the burros realized what had happened.
We sashayed up and down main street, managing to resist the temptation to purchase a slogan filled t-shirt, watch the fake gunfight or succumb to the many beautiful, handmade items available in the better (cough) shops.
We continued north on Route 66, stopping along the way so Diana could search for the elusive “Fire Agate” rumored to be available in this locale. She did find some pretty rocks and that is better than no rocks at all.
When we reached Kingman, we rejoined I-40 and skedaddled east. We paused at Seligman for a 30 minute nap in the teardrop and then drove on. I had set our GPS to display our altitude and we were surprised to see the readings climbing steadily. Small skiffs of snow started to appear alongside the road, and by the time we reached Williams (the turnoff for the Grand Canyon) there was about a foot or more of snow covering the ground and trees all around us. Before we reached Flagstaff our altimeter topped out around 7,200 feet — about the same height as Echo Summit south of Lake Tahoe. Amazing!
Note: Diana and I both had trouble recalling the exact name of Flagstaff. I was trying to type it to search for a place to stay and called it, “Flagpole.” Diana’s slip of the tongue renamed it “Falstaff.” We decided it was better to laugh at this jumble and did — quite a lot!
With snow also on the ground in Falpole, um Flagstaff, we opted to spend the night in a motel and that’s where I’m updating the blog, courtesy of the free wi-fi. Tomorrow the adventure continues. Stay tuned!