4-26-10
Day 6
Kingman to Peach Springs
The day began with 2 cups of starbucks instant coffee and a bowl of granola cereal from my food stash. Once I cleared camp my riding began at 7:00 am. (Damn, I’m tired.) But the good must go on.
Kingman, for the most part, is a friendly community. Everyone I encountered from waitresses to pedestrians all have been very helpful and gracious in asking if I needed any help. Surely from the distant look on my face I must have looked lost. All I can tell you about Kingman is that its birth came into being in the 1880s with the discovery of gold in the Black Mountain Hills, and sustained its prosperity with the construction of Boulder Dam in 1936. Route 66 changes to Andy Devine Boulevard. It was named after the famous actor in the forties and fifties, he was the sidekick of John Wayne usually the stage coach driver in the westerns of the time. “The Duke”, one of my favorites.
Leaving Kingman I rode a gradual incline, and after 12 miles got my first flat and of the two wheels it had to be the back one. Someone had to fix it. I was hoping it would fix itself, but unfortunately I brought out my trusty bike tools and performed the removal and replacement of damaged equipment, tube and tire. Honestly the hard part was unloading and loading the equipment back on the bike. And on I go as if nothing happened. Roughly around 15 miles I stopped at Valley Vista Public Golf Course and had breakfast. Of course, I thought I could be golfing, and I still can when I get home. (So Rick Wade, get the clubs ready.) At the golf club restaurant I met Mike, a restaurant vendor. He was very helpful in getting seven day weather conditions and words of caution for my journey to Peach Springs. It was interesting to hear him share his one and only visit to Santa Monica with his children. It seems everyone that I have met on this trip thus far are individuals who have come from other states, busy cities. Over and over I hear the same statements -- once in this vast and quiet environment with a small population they can only tolerate a short stay in the bustling cities.
While leaving Valley Vista and onto Route 66 I met up with a hiker named Pat. He was from San Francisco and had been on the road for a couple of weeks. I was impressed with his statement, “I journey everywhere on foot.” He says he averages 3 miles an hour and attempts 20 miles a day. He has designated stops and will also hitchhike as a means of travel to his destinations. He stood 5’10”, possibly 150 pounds with gear that looked to be as much as what I was carrying on my bike. He was self sustained, only stopping in towns to visit museums and stock up on food and essentials needed for his next destination point. Before leaving, he stated we might meet up again on the road. We said our goodbyes and I was off again.
My next stop was Hackberry. On the way I see the terrain change with low brush and nothing growing higher than four feet. So you can say my view is a 360 degree panorama of the silhouette of mountains, sporadic residential buildings and commercial buildings built along the railway. The scene is eye catching due to the unobstructed views and clarity of the land. Again, the rains have fed the ground resulting in a green carpet with sporadic color of the wildflowers. I reach a point on the road that changes my riding tempo. I no longer feel that I am exerting energy pumping up a grade. It’s a weird sensation, or optical illusion, but I am actually coasting uphill. Sounds crazy I know, and I have to stop several times to look back and see if I have gained elevation each time. I am pretty good at solving questionable problems, but this one threw me. I came to a small mom and pop store, and there on the porch were the owners. After a little conversation I learn they are transplants from New Jersey. I make mention of the phenomenon I experienced on the road. A young man standing in the background excitedly interjected, stating that this whole area has unexplained oddities. He made mention of unexplained lights at night hovering over the desert. Most people in the area think they are alien spacecraft, and that he understood what I was experiencing riding uphill with no effort at all. Truth or fiction? Who am I to say. All I can say is I enjoyed the leisurely ride for several miles before being awakened with the truth – uphill! The truth hurts, don’t it? Boy you can say that again. Forgive me, I am talking to myself, but that is what the desert will do to you. I leave them in good spirits and happy to know that no matter how far you go there are some things meant not to be explained, just lived.
I arrived in Hackberry and stop for a lunch break at the General Store. I buy a Pepsi and eat beef jerky and power bars. I look around awhile, take a picture or two and begin conversation with Thurston, the owner’s son. He informs me the place was bought from Bob Waldmire, who was squatting on the property owned by his parents. It turns out that Bob became a figurehead in revitalizing and resurfacing what the towns looked like through his art. Most of it was detailed sketchings of what was and what is today. I realized the art that I was admiring in each one of the museums was his. It’s amazing how placing a person with the art can be personal. Bob passed a couple of months ago. As I was leaving I heard my name called out. When I turned I saw Pat, the hiker. I asked if he just got there. He said, “Nope, been here about an hour. I was resting around the back.” What got me is that he got there before I did, and he was walking! Anyway, we chatted a bit and went our separate ways.
From there I traveled on to Peach Springs,15 miles up the road. But I gotta tell you a long 15 miles. Had it not been for the change in the landscape, the brown earth changing its shade to red, the rock formations and four legged critters scurrying about on the sides of the road my mind might have reached the end of the road, making me a permanent part of Route 66 – road kill. A snake awoke my dwindling mind as it slithered across the road ahead of me. I was amazed how it stopped on its tracks when a car was approaching, and even more so amazed when he attempted to beat an oncoming car he somehow managed to pull his head back before the passenger front tire ran over him. The car went past and the snake survived in spite of the odds against him, which gave me even more reason to be vigilant and complete this leg of the journey. I checked in to the Hualapai Lodge and treated myself to a warm dinner and a comforting dip in the Jacuzzi.
Peach Springs has a population of roughly 2450 Hualapai Indians. There is not much on the main street. There is a post office, a market, and a lodge of some sort for the elders and a brand new junior/senior high school by the name of Music Mountain, which apparently is closed. I am astonished at the contrast between the Hualapai Lodge, the High School and the community itself. The reservation appears to be starkly impoverished against the backdrop of a 5 star rated lodge. How can a travesty like this exist? The same tribes are responsible for the Grand Canyon Skywalk which, for the most part, caters to European tourists just as the Hualapai Lodge. Based on local information the tribes are unable to come together in a cohesive manner and stabilize the community in spite of multiple business opportunities available to them.
To end this day’s journal, Route 66 is once more validating its existence with the Hualapai providing the access for many vacationers passing through traveling from either the east or west coast. It seems foreigners are more interested in Route 66 than the heart of the people who live around it. These travelers enjoy the comforts of the hotel, the gift shop and restaurant which provides income for the Hualapai community. The plight of the Hualapai people will go unnoticed.
Tomorrow, Peach Springs to Seligman.
Take care, love ya all.
Old Man Beat. Good night.
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