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.
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