28 States Later - Grand Canyon & Vegas

On Monday, Leon, Will and I went on a final roadtrip to
Las Vegas, making Nevada our 28th state.

We set off late afternoon, after running into all sorts of
problems picking up our passports from the Thai embassy,
and paying our $8000 into my HSBC accout. You know, the
world's local bank. Yeah right.

In HSBC there was a man with a parrot on his shoulder...
only in LA.

So off we went, driving through endless blackness that we
knew was nothing but desert. I'm glad we hit Las Vegas at
night; the first thing I saw was a thin shaft of light punctuating
the skyline and disappearing into the clouds; this was Luxor,
the casino that was also an Egyptian pyramid, complete with
sphynx.



















Las Vegas is crazy. We were staying at Excaliber. A castle!
It was the most exciting hotel experience of my life. It cost
us only 35 dollars for the night! We got showers and went
gambling.














Well, we went on the 1c machines. Gambling makes me
nervous. We wandered up and down the strip, into
New York New York, MGM Grand and Planet Hollywood.

Mainly I liked being outside, looking at all the pretty lights
and big buildings.














But most of all, I liked the whore cards
that littered the floor. Like baseball cards for hookers.
Leon and I traded. My favourite was Flower; she was
wholesome looking.

I played Roulette, which is the only thing I figured I'd be
likely to win on.

I played $10 on either Even, Odd, Black or Red. I like to
live dangerously.

My tactic won me $60, but Will made me gamble it away.
I think he might have a problem.














So anyways, we went to bed at sometime in the AM, in our
castle.

Next morning, Leon suggested we push on for the Grand
Canyon. This had been the original plan for our roadtrip,
but 8 hours drive each way seemed like way too much when
we had a flight to catch the next day.

Being in Las Vegas put us 4 hours nearer. We drove to
Grand Canyon's south rim, stopping for pictures of Hoover
Dam on the way.














By the time we got there, Leon was ready to drop.

Will and I went off the see the Canyon while Leon got some
sleep in the car.

Grand Canyon is awesome. I really didn't know what to
expect. Part of me was worried that it would look similar
to Painted Desert, and that I wouldn't be blown away by it.
But I was!














It's huge. The biggest hole I ever saw! People actually go
down there on mules and camp the night. One day, I'll do
that. It looks like fun.














I've no idea what to write about Grand Canyon. Just like,
go see it yourself.














After a couple of hours getting cooked by the sun, we started
the long journey home. I took over the driving for an hour or
so, letting Leon get some sleep. I was paranoid about getting
pulled, seeing as Leon had been stopped FOUR times on the
way there. So we switched back over and about 10 minutes
later he was pulled again. Phew.

We swapped again about 100 miles from LA, and I drove
us back to Hollywood, and bed.

This afternoon we leave LA for Bangkok!

Sold!

Still sitting in the Thai cafe yesterday afternoon, we heard
a familiar voice shout,

YO TEAM MEMBERS!

Leon was back!

We shared travel stories until a young couple arrived who
wanted to test drive the van, so all 5 of us piled in and I
drove us up the freeway, trying to convince them that this
was the RV for them.

Well, it almost definitely wasn't the RV for them, seeing as
they never phoned us back.

We probably scared them off with the $6500 we had asked
from them anyway!

So we moved back into Leon's house, obviously. Us guys are
his family now!

Finally, we could relax. Forget the fact that we had less than
one week to sell the RV, we were back home in Hollywood!

Anyways, last night we got an e-mail from some guy called
Johnny.

He told us all about his ancestry, and seemed to feel a bond
with us on account of his great-grandfather being English,
or something.

He told us he wanted to turn our RV into a mobile editing
suite, which would have sounded super cool if it wasn't for
the fact he came across like a serial killer.

He was a total eccentric, and each e-mail made us more suspicious
of his intentions.

By this morning, he had basically told us that, without a doubt,
he wanted our home.

He asked us to drive it out to the San Fernando Valley for him,
which was fine for us seeing as he offered to pre-pay for a cab
home.

Not wanting to get our hopes up too much, we took the van
along to George. We met George on Wednesday after deciding
we really needed to get the damage at the back sorted if we
wanted to get anywhere near our asking price.

He told us to bring her back on Saturday, and he would fix it for
us.

So that's what we did. George spent an hour hammering away
at our lovely home.

He did an awesome job. He completely bent the bumper back
in to shape and covered the rest of the damage with a plate.

Basically, he hid it. Which was exactly what we wanted.

His charge? Nothing. Nada. He wouldn't take a tip or even let
us buy him a beer as he's a Mormon.

We headed out to the San Fernando Valley, taking Leon along
for protection! Arriving at Johnny's house, we were faced by his
posse of servants, or friends, or neighbours, or prisoners, for all
we knew.

There was a single chicken running around his suburban garden.
Leon described the chicken as having 'the demeanour of a dog'.
I couldn't see it myself.

One went inside to fetch Johnny, who appeared with an envelope
stuffed with cash. He invited us in to 'close the deal' before even
looking at the van. We insisted he take a look inside, which he did,
briefly, telling us she was 'exactly what he wanted'.

So we headed into his house. This guy obviously had money. The
house was pretty damned nice.

There was a white board in this kitchen which declared 'You
cannot teach someone rehabilitation, it has to come from within'.

This, we later decided, must be for the benefit of Kelly, one of
Johnny's hangers-onners, who looked a lot like a criminal.

We sat down to sign the vehicle over to him, but not before he
showed us ancient photographs of his family. He expects to visit
us when we're back in the UK. His new British friends. As Leon so
delicately put it, it was really difficult not to make fun of him to
his face.

In return, he gave us $8000.














That's a $4800 profit.

HAHAHA.

Stuck in LA

Since getting back to Hollywood on Tuesday, Will and I
have been spending every waking hour in our favourite
Thai cafe on the corner of Hollywood and Vermont.

It's only our fave because they have free wifi. We've listed
the RV on Craigslist, Ebay, and approximately 400 other
LA classified websites. We have a couple of leads. None look
brilliant.

We've had a few people come to see it. None of them seem
like they'll buy. We get more interest in the carpark outside
the Thai place.

We're having to consider what we'll do if we don't sell it. We
mentioned it to Will when we went out with him and Audie
for Big Wangs and ping pong last night. He seemed to think
he'd be able to take over when we leave, showing people
round.

We might have to sell it for much less than we hoped.

Last week I ignored my flight back to London. I hope they
don't hold that stuff on record!

We've decided to go back to Thailand for an extended
holiday! This is has meant a number of trips to the Thai
embassy. We finally got it sorted today, and have left
our passports with them while they do our tourist visas,
which will give us 4 months there. Which we probably
won't need anyway!

Busy busy busy.

Santa Monica

Yesterday we made it to Santa Monica, the last stop on Route 66.

Apparently, Will and I are now official roadies. I demand respect.

We wanted to arrive at sunset, making it the perfect ending.

I stressed myself out in the traffic, but we managed to get
parked right on the sea front with about an hour to spare.

We walked along the beach and I dipped my feet in the Pacific
Ocean for the first time!



















We both expected to be overcome with relief, pride, happiness.
But it just kind of, didn't happen.

We'd built Santa Monica up to be the solution to all our problems.
Santa Monica meant freedom, money, escape, an easier life.

And the irony has only just hit me as I'm writing this, but I suppose
in some ways those mixed feelings make the trip more realistic than
we could have ever imagined. The migrants, too, had expectations
which evaporated at arrival.

I'm being over dramatic.

My issue was the knowledge that our problems weren't over.
Since Chicago, I've been thinking 'as soon as we get back to Cali,
I'm never driving this RV again'.

But of course I still have to drive it. We have to sell the thing.
Which is also becoming a terrible reality. Who in their right mind
would buy it?

We watched the sunset from Santa Monica pier and walked,
subdued, back to the van. We didn't know where to stay. I
wanted a hotel. With a bath. But no hotels had parking lots big
enough for a 26 footer.














In the end, we decided to drive back into Hollywood, where
we knew we could get parked up, relatively easily, for free.
So once again I battled the crowds on Hollywood Boulevard
and parked up round the corner from Leon's (who is still off
on his travels).

Santa Monica was a bit of an anticlimax. I wanted more
neon signs, ghost towns, shoe trees, Mormons, and dilapidated
Motels. I wanted more Route 66!

Big Bear Lake

After leaving Oatman and heading back down the mountain, we
left Arizona and crossed the Colorado river back into California!
We got a lemon and a lime removed from our fridge at the border,
which was a bit upsetting.

One of my favourite things about this part of America is the trains.
They are well over a mile in length, and seeing them cutting
through the deserts and twisting around mountains is awesome.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a train spotter now or anything, but
everytime I see one all I wanna do is stop the RV and take some
pictures. Out of about 600 attempts, we never got a brilliant shot
of the trains.














Our first stop in Cali was Needles. We ate some overpriced food
served by an overweight waitress, and got the hell out.

After Needles came the desert - traditionally the most feared part
of Route 66. Breaking down or running out of water in the middle
of the desert would have been hella dangerous. Of course, we have
more sense than the migrants and took out AAA before we set off.
Damn Okies.

We made a stop in Goffs, population 23, to visit a tiny museum
which I forget the name of. It wasn't very interesting but the
fact that we were passing on the only day of the month it was
open seemed like a sign. We got chatting to one of the volunteers
who runs it, who warned us there isn't a single thing in the desert
that won't bite you, scratch you or sting you. Thanks for that!



















The desert is as hot as you'd imagine. We passed a couple of
cyclists, pulling their luggage behind them on little carts. I have
literally no idea how they made it across there. Or even if they
did. One of them had a little dog trotting alongside his bike,
which concerned me more.

We made a stop at Roy's Motel Cafe, which is no longer either. Roy
now sells Coke and 'Route Beer' and not a lot else. The cafe became
a ghost town, but has a new owner and is attempting a come back.



















And then we were clear of the desert! We could have easily
made it to Santa Monica yesterday, but we decided to spend
one more night on Route 66 before Operation: Sell RV began.

From Barstow we could see the San Bernardino Mountains in
the distance. After a day spent in the desert, the snow-topped
mountains looked way too inviting to miss out on.













After driving over 6500 miles, through every kind of weather
and terrain, along interstates, dirk tracks and beach roads,
around switchbacks, through mountain passes and city center
rush hours, we figured we were invincible.

The San Bernardino Mountains nearly finished us off.

We literally chugged our way up there, stopping every 10
minutes to let the engine cool down and let the line of traffic
behind us pass.



















We saw no other RV's up there, which probably explains why
people were cheering us as they drove passed (past?). The road
signs warned of road gradients as steep as 16% ahead. I don't
really know what that means, but 1% more and we'd have been
in trouble!

Anyway, we made it up there. The San Bernardino Mountains
are breathtaking. It was like another world. You forget you're
in California, or even in America. It's how I imagine Vancouver
to look.

Big Bear City, sat on the edge of Big Bear Lake, is this cute town
full of rich people who like to ski. You're 7000ft above the dry
desert, but all you can see is alpine forest.

We stayed at a state park set right in some woods; our battery
was all but dead and there was no electricity hook up. We were
probably being watched by hundreds of drooling, snout-licking
bears.

That was last night. We didn't get eaten by bears.

This morning we plan on free-wheeling our way to Santa Monica.

Oatman

Yesterday morning we nursed our hangovers with burgers
and fries from Seligman's famous Snow Cap.



















The Snow Cap consists of a teeny little hut-type building
with enough room for about 5 customers stood back to back
inside.

Every inch of the walls and ceiling is plastered with business
cards, postcards and letters from visitors and fans from around
the globe.

A hatch in the hut opens on to the kitchen and cafe counter, where
food orders are taken and processed.



















What makes the Snow Cap so famous is the crazy comedy act that
takes place consistantly behind the counter.

Every single customer is toyed with.

You want mustard? A mustard bottle is squirted in your face, a
piece of yellow string you can't help but leap away from, despite
knowing the mustard is fake.

You ask for a small something or other, you get a small something
or other. Inch high cones and thimble sized sodas.



















You ask for an ice-cream; you are offered a glass full of ice with
cream squirted on top.

The staff are relentless, it's crazy. Not great for a hangover, but
still a lot of fun.

We stood in the tiny shack watching unsuspecting customers try
to make serious requests, laughing our heads off everytime someone
tried to complain about the size of their order. The staff's faces
would eventually break, presenting their customer with a huge, if
mishapen, cone.

We shook off our headaches and left Seligman, stopping for some
snaps at various Route 66 photo opportunities.

Heading west, we could see the Black Mountains looming ahead.
The old route cuts right through them, winding up and down the
mountains via endless switchbacks and narrow, twisting roads.

Not the place for a 26 foot RV, you might think. But I was willing to
risk it, and Will was willing to trust me.

We made a few stops on our way up. The view of Arizona and the
mountains surrounding us was amazing. Right at the top, we
discovered a scattering of crosses amongst the rocks and sand.
Each wore a name, some a photo and a letter. Flowers and toys
were littered at their feet. What a peculiar resting place, was our
first thought.

But the view was undeniably breathtaking. Will decided he wouldn't
mind being buried there. I warned him he might not have a choice,
if the mountains got much steeper. We stood in silence and serenity,
until we noticed a cross bearing the name Jimmy Hoffa...

Nestled inbetween the mountains, at an altitude of about 300 million
feet, lies Oatman. Oatman is an old mining town on the verge of
extinction.

'The ghost town that just won't die', I think the slogan was.

The town is kept alive by tourism; it is a tiny old Wild West themed
place, complete with re-enactments. The town is also famous for it's
wild burros, brought in by the miners all them years ago.



















We pulled in at dusk to, strangely enough, cheers.

As it turns out, the Black Mountain switchbacks truely aren't the
place for a 26foot RV. But we'd impressed the locals, which was pretty
cool, especially when they found out it was a 23 year old girl doing the
driving.

We went into the only open bar in town and sat down for a drink and
a game of pool. As we sat there, the story got better and better.

"This girl just drove a 72 foot truck over the mountains!"

It's the only time anyone has ever been surprised by me being the
driver. I never wanted to leave, acceptance at last!

We decided to sleep in the RV right where we'd parked it, figuring
there wouldn't be any traffic to bother us overnight.

Traffic, no. But we weren't counting on the burros. Will opened the
RV door at about 1am and informed me that we were surrounded by
the things.

We crept out and looked up at the stars whilst dozens of donkeys
collected around us.

It was surreal. But awesome.



















This morning, we navigated our way around the donkeys and winded
back down the mountains, passing an ancient relic of a car laying
crumpled down a steep cliff edge. I wonder if her passengers made
it out alive.

Seligman

So on Friday night we pulled into the little town of Seligman.
The sign claimed Seligman was the birthplace of historic
Route 66. I don't understand how it can be, when the route
stretches right back to Illinois. But that's what it says!

The town consisted of a single stretch of highstreet. Well
not really a highstreet, just a couple of rows of old-style
buildings. But every single one of them appeared to be
dedicated to Route 66; themed bars and gift shops and
kitsch little cafes. On a normal day, this town would have
been a novelty. Seligman's only obvious income was as a
tourist trap; a curiosity town.

However, this wasn't a normal day. Something was happening.
The town was buzzing; scores of people walked the streets,
dozens of Hells Angels were clustered together around a
darkened bar. Music blared and neon lights lit up the sidewalk.
This couldn't possibly be a regular Friday night in Seligman.

We got ourselves pulled up into the Koa campsite and began
the pitch-dark mile long walk towards the action. We could
hear emergency sirens blaring in the distance, and could see
rows and rows of flashing lights, slowing moving towards us.

It was nerve wracking; from a distance it looked like a parade
of cops were moving through the town. I speculated that some
trouble must have broken out, that they were clearing
everybody out of the town. It must have been the Hells Angels,
I figured.

We walked closer, the sirens got louder and the lights brighter.
I wanted to turn back as the flashing vehicles crawled towards us.
This looked like trouble.

We were wrong.

We had hit Seligman, population 600, on the single biggest day of it's
calendar. The Seligman to Topock Fun Run. Basically a mobile classic
car show.

This doesn't sound all that exciting, but the town went crazy. As we
neared the entrance to the highstreet, a long row of classic cars, led
by old fashioned fire engines, were parading up and down the street.

Groups of people amassed on the sidewalk to watch them. There
must have been more than 100 classic cars in Seligman that night.
Not to mention the newer, pimped cars, the ones with neon bellies,
halogen eyes and multicoloured, dayglow skin.

We grabbed a beer and joined the masses, watching as the cars
paused to create a space, and then, with a roar, crossed the gap
in seconds, causing a cheer to ripple through the watching crowds.
More and more cars drove by, all of them impressive in a way I
know nothing about, nor really cared about prior to Seligman.

The vibe was contageous. We hadn't planned to stay out long, we
needed an early start next morning. But we found ourselves in the
Black Cat bar, drinking with the locals and roadies alike.

The Black Cat was having a full on ho-down. A live band played
outside, and already several couples were swinging each other
around the concrete dancefloor. We spoke to some locals, who
were impressed with our luck on happening upon Seligman on
this night. Everyone got drunker, Will and I got pulled onto the
dancefloor and we reluctantly gave in, deciding we needed to be
at least as drunk, if not drunker, than the rest of this crazy town.

We met Jeremy, somehow, a hick from San Bernadino. He was
driving his dads classic car on the fun run; tradition couldn't be
let down, and his dad was sick.

Jeremy had troubles of his own. Four sons; none his, a new
baby on the way; his.

He shared his problems with us over Coronas and country music.

We met Jenna, from Calgary, Canada. Driving with her boyfriend.
We swapped road stories and danced and drank.

We spoke with countless others, sharing tales and advice; all of
us accustomed to a life on the road. The life that exists away
from the the interstate, the superslab. The small towns, home
to many, are but rest stops to us; each one linked by the 66, the
history of the migrants, and the journey west.

Meteor Crater

This morning we visited Winslow. This towns biggest claim to
fame is it's mention in an Eagles song...

Standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.

Winslow is not letting this go to waste; they have dedicated a
corner of the high street to the song.

You haven't travelled Route 66 unless you've stood on a corner
in Winslow, Arizona!



















We got back on the road and found oursleves at Meteor Crater.

The Meteor Crater is privately owned and operated.
Meteor Crater Enterprises or something ridiculous like that.

They charge $15 per person for the priviledge of visiting
'their' crater; the one that was created approximately
27 zillion years ago. It's an outrage! We considered getting
back in the RV and driving off to make a stand, but nobody
would have noticed anyway. We pledged to write damning
remarks in the guestbook, and grudgingly paid our $27
(we got a $3 AAA discount - score).

So the crater was pretty awesome in the end. The museum
section was boring. But the crater was cool. I dared myself
to ask our guide if she had been there when it was created,
but I lost my nerve. She did look a bit prehistoric.

They trained astronauts in there, to get them used to the
terrain of the moon! They sat them on mules and sent them
into the hole. And one of them ripped his space suit, which
would have been fatal if he'd actually been on the moon.

We went on a guided hike around the rim, and in the distance
we could see mini twisters working their way across the desert!













After stopping for tea in Flagstaff, we found ourselves in the
teeny town of Seligman, Arizona. We are staying at a Koa
campsite tonight. Koa costs about $35 a night. It's kind of
like a treat. Our version of a 5 star hotel. Plus, this town may
be the best place I have ever been to in my life.

More on that tomorrow - we are off out tonight!

Petrified Forest

We spent the entirety of yesterday visiting the Painted
Desert and the Petrified Forest.

We had alocated a couple of hours there, but we soon
realised we'd need the whole day; the national park is
huge and there's lots to see!

We had a beautiful sunny day and took way too many photos!
The Painted Desert was full of colourful mountains; my
favourites were the Teepee's, which were all pink and blue layers.

I lack the skills to descibe a desert, so I will just add some
pictures instead.







































The Petrified Forest isn't really a forest. It's more desert,
only with Petrified trees scattered around. Petrified trees
are basically stone trees. I'd like to think that nobody knows
why they turned to stone, but apparently there's a reasonable
explanation for it, which I forget.

So let's pretend it's a mystery. Trees turned to stone!! Spooky.

I thought it might be an actual stone forest, but it's just the
trunks laid on the floor. They are all sparkly and shiney.













Millions and millions of the petrified trees have been stolen
over the centuries, which sucks, but the park is now preserving
what is left.

Although you can buy your own bit of tree-stone in the
gift shop for $20...