Do not resist growing old. Many are denied the privilege.
4-27-92
Kingman, Az
Cool, slight overcast
A heavily forested area lies south of the Grand Canyon. Farther on the trees quickly give way to flat grassland. There are very few signs of human habitation. This scene contrasts starkly with the grandeur and crowds in Grand Canyon. The countryside changes again quickly. Soon mountain peaks become visible all across the southern horison.
Red Lake consists of a vacant campground and a combination grocery and gas station. The lake itself is a small pond, and it ain't red. I had hoped the town would be large enough to have a coffee shop and post office. i had several envelopes ready to go and I was in the mood to sip a cup of coffee while I wrote a few more cards. Mail post-marked Red Lake should be more interesting than mail from Williams, which is the next town of any size.
From Williams, Arizona the grand Canyon Railway operates a regular schedule between Williams and the Grand Canyon, a distance of about 45 miles. There is a waiting room and parking at both ends of the line. An authentic old steam engine pulls whatever number of passenger cars are needed to accomodate the number of ticket holders. Many people leave their cars in Williams, in the huge depot parking area, and ride the train to Grand Canyon Village.
Williams calls itself the Gateway to the Grand Canyon. Lettered coffee mugs in Buckles coffee shop furnish some vitsl ststistics about Williams. Among them; 21 inches total precipitation including 100 inches total annual snowfal. Pretending bafflement,I asked the waitress, whose name-tag read "Anna", how there could be more snow-fall than total precipitation. She offered no explanation. Perhaps she really didn't understand, but I think it more likely she figured I would be to dense to understand the explanation.
Anna changed the subject and volunteered a bit of information more to her interest. With no prompting from me she pointed out that the single sheet plastic coated menu, supposedly printed the same on both sides, had different prices for identical selections. Anna uses the situation to play a little game. She always delivers menus with the lower prices facing up but she charges according to which side the customer orders from. Sure enough, I had flipped the menu to place my order, but Anna charged me the lower prices anyway. I have to conclude this is a little scam designed to elicit larger tips for the wait staff.
Information item: According to a road marker on I-40 it is 460 miles from Williams, Arizona to Los Angeles.
The western terminus of US-64 is at Williams. This highway extends from Williams to the east coast. It terminates at that end on the Outer Banks of North Carolina in Nags Head. En route it passes through Fayetteville, Tennessee, only a few miles north of Huntsville. I don't know what you might do with this bit of knowledge, but here it is.
West out of Williams I-40 drops down a long 6% grade. In six miles I dropped 2000 feet and experienced a significant increase in temperature. In every direction peaks of the Juniper mountains loom from the desert floor.
At Seligman I escaped from the Interstate by turning north on Ariz-66. My companions on the lonely stretch were tumbleweeds and tire-flattened groundhogs. In places the wind had piled tumbleweed against fences up to the full height of the fence. Off to the west about a mile away a Santa Fe freight slowly made its way up the grade, heading east to Williams. It was a clear day, warm and pleasant at peach Springs where I turned east on Ariz-18 across the Hualapai Indian Reservation. This road goes across the plateau 60 miles to Hilltop where there is a corral for horses and mules. The animals are used to haul people and supplies up and down a rough trail, which is the only land link to the Havasupai Indian village of Supai, a tiny outpost down in the Grand Canyon, far away from places usually visited by tourists.
Toby held up his thumb to hitch a ride. I stopped, and as we rode along, we sipped a couple cold beers from my cooler. Tony is Havasupai. He was returning to Hilltop, on the Canyon rim, still about 40 miles away at the end of the highway. From there it is eight miles down into Supai village.
Tony had left Supai on horseback about two weeks earlier. he had business to attend in Williams. His horse, at the time a much-pregnant mare,went into labor at the trailhead, in Hilltop. He lefy her and the new colt there in a corral. Toby was extremely anxious to get back and see how his horseswere fareing. If they were able to travel he would continue on to Supai, if not, he would stay and care for them until they were ready.
It's fortunate Toby returned when he did. The colt had gotten its head lodged under the bottom rail of the corral fence. It could not pull loose, nor could it suckle the mare. We managed to extricate the colt, while the mare,very protective of the baby, voiced her objection to us messing with her newborn. We raised the colt to his feet. He tetered for a few moments, then took a loping run around the corral before returning to nurse from his mother.
All was well! Such was my introduction to Toby and his horses. The grin on Toby's face was worth the price i paid-horse hockey on my boots. Soon I watched them disappear down the trail toward Supai. I wanted to go with Toby. Unfortunately the trail is not suitable for vehicles. It was hot in the canyon. I didn't think I could manage an eight mile hike (and return uphill. I satisfied myself with what could be seen from the canyon rim. So I returned to highway 66 and Peach Springs, then Peach Springs, Truxton, and Hackberry to Kingman where i called "The Bear" from a phone outside a gas station-store.
Kingman, Arizona is surrounded by real estste developments for old timers, seniot citizens, golden agers, retirees like myself. I detest the euphemisms that are tacked on to us. i prefer no label at all, but if people must attach one, what's wrong with "old"man"? That's what I am.
The "retirement communities" bear cute names like Valle Vista and Golden Acres. They are deliberately segregated by economic status, ethnic origins, social class, any means to make the inmates feel safe and comfortable. The huge collections of tract houses are miles from any libraries or universities or playhouses or anything except swimming pools and golf courses. Retire here and die from boredom. Ugh!
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Kingman Hotels
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