Kingman
Now,
I'm no conspiracy theorist, but I've got to wonder about the Oklahoma City
bombing and Terry Nichols thing. I'm in the town where the FBI picked him
up. Actually, he was picked up in a nearby ghost town called Oatman. But
he lived here in Kingman for a while. So did Timothy McVeigh. Now what does
this have to do with anything??? Both Kingman and Oklahoma City (and Oatman,
for that matter) are on Route 66. Coincidence? You decide.
What a long day! I started off by rolling out of bed around 11:30 in the
morning. Christy and I then grabbed a quick bite to eat at the Uranium Cafe
in Grants. It seems Uranium was discovered there. I couldn't quite figure
out if it was originally discovered there, or just discovered there among
other places.
We both had Green Chili.
Let me tell you, coffee doesn't get you going in the morning, Green Chili
from the Uranium Cafe gets you going. I poured the leftovers into my gas
tank. I may never have to fill it again.
AM I A GEEK?!? Be brutally honest. It was bad enough when I wasted valuable
travel time yesterday in an Internet Cafe, but today I think I may have
crossed a line. I went into a Howard Johnson's Truck Stop and took apart
the phones they have at the tables for truck drivers to call their honeys
back home and I used it to dial into my Internet Provider in New Orleans
and uploaded my page.
An Indian (Oops.
Sorry. Native American - I'll have to brush up on my politcal correctness.
I've been away from California for too long.) Woman who worked there, and
looked an awful lot like Marilyn from Northern Exposure, helped me out.
I didn't want to take full advantage of their hospitality, so I ordered
a big milk shake with whipped cream on top. I made Christy order one, too.
Not only do I stay up 'til all hours writing this malarkey, but I slurp
down milkshakes for you, my cherished reader.
After I got that
all done, we were finally on the road. We high-tailed it right past the
Petrified Forrest, the Painted Desert, Meteor City and the Grand Canyon.
I figured I've seen enough of those places on postcards. We did need to
stop for gas in a town called Holbrook, Arizona, right outside of Meteor
City. I think it's named after Hal Holbrook of Capricorn One fame.
Another coincidence? Again, it's your call. After finding a gas station
which sold gas for less than $1.60 per gallon, we filled up and got ready
to get back on the road. Well, who'd a thunk? My car wouldn't start. We
decided to let it rest a while. Christy wanted to try out for the dance
auditions being held next door, but I had to break it to her. She just wasn't
up to par with the chorus line of Holbrook. She took it well. My car never
did start. We had to push start it with the help of the gas station attendant.
Thank You, Mister Gas Station Attendant!
We then
rolled on into Flagstaff. This has got to be one of my favorite places on
earth. You may have heard me rant and rave before. While let me rant and
rave some more. Good Eats. Good Drinks. Good Times. An Arizona Main Street
City. Joes Bar. Lots of Elk and dear heads on the wall. We hung out for
about two or three hours and went to get into my car to leave and it still
wouldn't start. We had to push it again. This time without the help of our
Gas Station Attendant friend. Boy did we take him for Granted.
Now I'm here in a motel in Kingman trying to solve the Kingman Connection. I desparately need your input. Whataya think? I'll let you know if anything comes to me in my sleep. That's a hint. I must sleep.
Tomorrow I arrive
in Los Angeles. Will the city be the same? Is the Safari Bar still there?
What about Chillers? Are the people still beautiful, or did something go
terribly wrong? These are all things that make L.A., well, L.A.
Good Night America (and Brunei)!
Write me on this lonely road.