Americana Travels,
Pt 14: Flagstaff to Las Vegas
May 25th, 2012 – The alarm screamed its banshee
wail through my skull at a quarter after five in the morning. The sun was
trying its best to push open the blinds to expose the hard lines of the hotel
room. The wind was howling like I did that time I kicked the ottoman barefoot
in the middle of the night. The last day of travel was upon us and the elements
were putting up a fight.
After brushing the crusties out of my eyes, I was cracking
my knuckles and sneering at the sky.
We got dressed, prepped our travel jugs of coffee, and
loaded up Harmony for the last leg . . . Flagstaff, Arizona to Las Vegas,
Nevada. The wind was particularly gnarly this morning and cold on top of that.
We were on the road twenty minutes before six, heads down, and trucking west on
the I-40 for the town of Williams, Arizona. We had a few stops to make before
we got to The Vegas, and this first one was a treat. We got off the freeway and
headed north, fifty-one miles from the Grand Canyon, and along the most boring
stretch of land we’d encountered on the two week journey. The first part of it
wasn’t so bad, replicating the terrain of Flagstaff with its towering pines and
massive hills, but then that all faded and we were cruising through a desert
landscape of low brush and wide open fields of nothing. And the most amazing
part of this? People lived out here!
About twenty-eight miles from the freeway, we arrived at our
destination . . . Bed Rock City, Amusement Park of The Flintstones! We paid ten
dollars for our admission and began wandering through the park, a collection of
huts and “life size” figures of the characters of The Flintstones. It was all
outside and the wind was blowing hard, in some cases so hard that I had trouble
breathing . . . I had to tuck my head down or turn in another direction to
catch a lung full of air. And, it was cold!
We spent a good half hour walking across this acre or so of
cartoon sadness. I say sadness coz’ the place was in such disrepair that these
characters that we grew up with seemed to be fading away from memory as we
stood there. To call the place an amusement park was a stretch in that there
were no rides, but it was an amusement park in the literal sense . . . it was a
park, it was amusing, it was a place where kids of three years old to twelve,
or so, could run around and be crazy. Of course, those kids would have to know
who The Flintstones were in the first place; otherwise, this is just a bizarre
location in the middle of Nowhere, Arizona that is withering away into
nostalgia. Kids of today would probably look at this park and just shrug. Maybe
that’s me being cynical, but think about it . . .
Anyway, we left The Flintstones Family and went back towards
the I-40. The road seemed to fly right by this time, and wasn’t nearly as
dreadful as I was expecting in comparison to the ride up. About a half hour
later, we were back on the freeway, driving west, and to the last of the
Original Twelve Sites of the Americana Road Trip 2012. After making a pit stop,
we continued down the old Route 66, which I’ll tell you . . . I’m pretty tired
of reading or hearing about . . . the entire trek we took seemed to follow the
Historical Route 66 to some point. We continued down Route 66 for about an
hour, listening to another Jim Gaffigan CD (was mildly amusing), and arrived at
Giganticus Headicus, a fifteen foot green Easter Island head. He was rad! I
didn’t mind the hour long drive down Route 66 once I saw this guy and got to
take pictures with him!
A few minutes later, we were behind the wheel again, heading
towards Kingman, Arizona . . . a town tucked in the north western deserts of
Arizona. A town that Mrs. Pope and I, even though we discussed it for about an
hour, still have no rational explanation as to why it exists. From what I
remember, the town was founded to supply some of the local mining towns, like
Oatman, Arizona . . . but those mines have long closed or dried up, so . . .
why does Kingman still exist? Someone needs to get back to us on that one.
While in Kingman, though, we found the absolute best place in the world to play
a vinyl LP. Here’s the site at 3,333 feet above sea level . . . and since a
vinyl LP is typically played at 33 1/3 rpm, just imagine the sonic quality of
your vinyl recordings if they’re played at this site!
I know . . . Pope, you’re weird. I get that a lot. I’m
comfortable with it.
About an hour and a half later, we were driving along the
northbound 93 towards Las Vegas. This run was a desolate and fairly boring
trek, but the terrain was broken up by a great swathe cut into the face of the
earth . . . the Colorado River valley arose to the left and soon, the
reflections of Lake Mead greeted us. We never crossed Hoover Dam, which was a
damn shame; instead we were rerouted through Boulder City and then dropped into
Henderson, Nevada. I had forgotten that traffic no longer goes over the Hoover
like it used to for generations . . . thanks you bomb loving idiots! You took
away another one of those great freedoms we used to have in America . . . it
ranks right up there with not having to take my shoes off before marching
through a security point at the airport. You bastards. We battled wind and
traffic . . . the wind, as you can see from the attached photo, was
exceptionally rough, kicking up walls of sand, dirt, and grit (not the good
kind of grit, Mrs. Pope says) and made visibility difficult.
Just before 12:30pm, we pulled up to our hotel in Las Vegas,
the last stop along the Great Americana Road Trip of 2012! This is where we’ll
have to leave you good readers, for as you surely know, what happens in Vegas
and all, however, Mrs. Pope will have a post script a little later as we still
have some oddities in Vegas to check out . . . so stay tuned.
Pope
Quote of the Day: “Holy crap . . . it’s really f@cking
windy!”
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