Day 71 -- Friday, July 10

I left Vegas only 40 or so dollars in the hole, not bad for a beginner. Before leaving, I awarded the City of Las Vegas the BRETTnews Highlight Attraction Award for Special Achievement in the Field of Surreality. I drove south on Highway 93, over Hoover Dam, past Santa Claus, Arizona (a circa-1937 tourist attraction that's now closed) and back into Kingman. In Kingman, I stopped in the Beale Hotel. The Beale, built at the turn of the century, was once operated by cowboy star Andy Devine's parents. It stands unused now, except for a little bar on the ground floor. The hotel is undergoing gradual renovation as funds come available; eventually, it is hoped, its rooms will once again be made available to travelers passing through Kingman.

The road west from Kingman to Oatman is quite an amazing trek. It is an old alignment of 66 that veers far away from the interstate, winding through the Mojave Desert. The landscape is stark and haunting; the vistas one encounters along the way are astounding. The old road winds through mountains, canyons, and cliffs; one is faced with the challenge of navigating incredible twists, turns, and hairpin curves, often along very steep rises that offer little (or no) margin for error. It's a section of old 66 that should be experienced by everyone; it must be seen to be believed. Take my advice, though, and make sure your vehicle is in good working condition. This stretch of road is remote, to say the least, and you're likely to have it to yourself. It would be a long walk to anything resembling civilization if you ran out of gas or encountered engine trouble.

Oatman is a bustling little ghost town, filled with both tourists and eccentric locals. The bar in the Oatman Hotel was filled, when I walked by, with folks of true pioneer stock. It's the closest I've come during my travels to a true old west saloon. This hotel has quite a history. It's been around since the late 19th century, was rebuilt in the '20s following a fire and remains today much as it's looked since that time. The Oatman has another claim to fame, too. It's the spot Clark Gable and Carole Lombard (sigh) spent their wedding night after tying the knot in Kingman. The post-nuptial suite is open to public view; it made for, to say the least, modest accommodations. The notion that two of Hollywood's biggest stars were nestled in this tiny little room during their first night of marital bliss is an amusing one but then, it's a long way to anywhere from Kingman, Arizona. Even movie stars sometimes have to settle for what's available, I suppose.

Oatman also features wild burros roaming its streets (all three or four of them). These government-protected creatures are thought to be descendants of burros left behind by prospectors and miners during Oatman's boom days. They are wild burros but rather tame as well. They've got a quite a scam going, being hand-fed by tourists, and they know it. They roam free, in town and up in the hills, coming and going as they please.

The road from Oatman to Toppack is perhaps even more remote than the Kingman-Oatman stretch; in any case, it is less traveled. The challenging and scenic ride and Oatman's attractions seems to draw some drivers in the know away from I-40. I came across several other cars in the trip from Kingman. The trip west from Oatman, though, offered much more solitude. I encountered practically no one until I was forced to join the interstate just west of Toppack. This leg of the journey, while less dramatic than the one that preceded it, offers much in the way of scenic beauty as well.

The road through the California desert is quite remote, moving once again far away from the interstate. I couldn't have encountered more than 20 or so cars in the 150 or so miles between the Colorado River on the Arizona-California border and my day's destination, Barstow, California. Much of the way, 66 runs parallel with the Santa Fe railroad tracks; the west-bound trains were welcome companions as I motored through the hot and arid countryside.

I found Barstow to be a singularly unsavory place. In an attempt to tape a William Castle festival on TNT, I had run-ins with the owner of the local Motel 6 and the proprietor of the Star Lite video shop. The video shop owner, in particular, was an especially offensive oaf. I won't bore you with all the details; suffice it to say that if I catch word in the near future that this foul little emporium has inexplicably burned to the ground, I shall promptly and joyously raise a toast to justice. I regret that, at present, there are no BRETTnews subscribers in Barstow to boycott this malodorous shop.



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