I almost couldn’t be dragged home… 

I’ve been in the big city for too many years, and each time I go back north, it’s harder to trudge back to this hideous disgusting mess that used to be Phoenix.  Plus, I keep forgetting things that really kind of mattered to me before I came down here.

Notice I called it a “Rally”?  That’s what all the waitresses and locals called the Fun Run.  I had forgotten about that.  In Northern Arizona small towns, you never have a convoy or a caravan.

Two or more cars going to the same place at the same time is a Rally, like after an all-nighter in the desert, you “pack up” and “rally” on out to Flagstaff to catch coffee and breakfast at the Little America Truck Stop.(I don’t even know if Little America is still there)

It’s time to get out of town.  

We got out of town late on Friday, (my fault), and ended up two hours behind schedule.

   The first leg was Molly Blue’s Two Lane Blacktop Tour #2,  north for about 120 miles to Prescott, where my good friend Danimal lives on the edge of a mountain above the mile-high former capital, in the ponderosa. Danimal was going to act as a second look at the proceedings, and to have another set of photos for back-up.  Plus, he loves this rally as much as me, and is a history buff, AMC fan, and Route 66 afficianado as well.  So it was a cinch that he was coming along.  We re-arranged the car to shoehorn two six-footers into the back seat of a Gremlin(no small task), then bundled the excess onto the roof.

After some time there to recover, eat and such, we took off on AZ 89 again, another 45 miles north to Ashfork, where AZ 89 meets Interstate 40.  Ashfork is the flagstone capital of the world.  It says so on their town signs.  Route 66 runs on Main Street the length of the town. 4 hotels there, including rooms for 25 bucks.  You can’t drive 66 out of town, though. 

So we got on I-40 for 5 miles running west, to Crookton Road.  That’s just another name for Route 66.  At that point, you can get back off of I-40 and run free again, 140 miles, all the way to the California border if you want to.   At the Crookton Road entrance, you are looking down the longest stretch of U. S. Route 66 which can still be driven. 

Our campground reservation at the KOA was still another 20 miles down the road.  By the time we got our tent up, it was 3 AM, and below freezing, in winds about 45 mph.  I was not the favorite person in the Gremlin for the rest of the morning, since I was the cause of the lateness thing. 

We decided that if we slept, we might miss sunrise, and watching the town wake up, and the cars starting to  roll around.  My fellow travelers didn’t want to start the car at that time in the morning and wake the neighboring campers(I was outvoted on that one.  It’s right next to the freaking train tracks, for cryin’ out loud.  What the hell are we gonna do that’s louder than a 50mph freight train?)

SO, we took off walking all around a tiny desert town for about 2 hours, freezing our nards off,  looking for coffee.  By the time we found some at a “truck stop”, it was horribly burned, sunrise was near, and so we headed into town with the car, heater blasting. 

Westside Lilo’s Cafe was the first place that would be opening, and came highly recommended by the locals we kept bumping into in the dark.

We cruised through the quiet, still-empty town, marveling at the assortment of iron that filled the parking lots at the five little hotels there…

Westside Lilo’s was just as advertised.  Open early, huge portions, good eats, great coffee.  Just watch out for Psycho Squirrel.  AND,  that’s the place where everything starts to roll into, first thing in the morning.

The first car to roll in besides us and the Lilo’s crew was a Buick Grand National, an extremely rare and very high-performance turbocharged V6 from the 80’s.  He hit the brakes hard out in the road when he spotted Molly, and swung into place right next to her, then spent about 15 minutes walking circles around her and taking pictures.

The next vehicle was a 1945 Chevrolet transporter truck.  Just gorgeous, and still had road dust mixed into the dew on the truck.  Everybody loves a driver like this one…

From there everything just started coming to life. I’m still digging through all my pictures.  I have lots of phone-cam pics that I’ll be rotating through the Remote Roving Molly Cam.  Call it the Rotating Remote Roving Molly Cam.  Or even the 3R Molly Cam.  Either way, those pictures aren’t really of high enough quality to publish, compared to some of the nice shots we got with our little digital cams.  Neither me or Danimal has much time behind our little rigs, so we were pleasantly surprised by some of the pictures.  My battery ran down somewhere at the beginning of the parade, and I had to cover the rest of things with my phone-cam.  And of course, the damn thing wasn’t e-mailing to the Report, or to Photobucket…

Pretty soon, the old highway town began to look like a semblance of the Seligman I remember as a kid, with beautiful shiny cars from every era and badgemark filling the town from end to end and curb to curb.  Back in the day,  there were 9,000 cars a day moving through Seligman on Route 66.  That all changed literally overnight, when the last stretch of Interstate 40 opened in October 1978.  Route 66 and all those towns on the two lanes across America immediately began vanishing  from the public mind, and from the landscape as well. 

As far as the rally itself, not enough good things can be said —>

  Huge turnout, in spite of a storm over the whole weekend that dropped daytime to about 45-60 degrees F, and at  night, below freezing.  Winds of 25+ up to 50 for the whole time. We had sleet on the tent on Sunday, and Flagstaff and points east and north got about 6 inches of snow.  Even in the Alpine life-zone, snow in Arizona in May is pretty rare… but the faithful returned to the source anyway.

I believe there were probably more than a thousand cars all told, with almost all participating in the Run. When they finally got lined up to roll out, the parking lanes and both lanes of 66 were completely full, bumper to bumper, the entire length of the town, something like 2-3 miles, possibly a little more.

The variety and the quality was staggering.    Everything from show-winning customs and genuine Cobras and Gran Sport Corvettes, to rat rods, sleds, hicks in pickups and Jeeps, home-made jalopies of indeterminate origin, military vehicles, minivans, imports, modern rides, SUV’s, tractor trailers, buses, motorcyles of every kind, MG’s, Triumphs, Lotuses, Jensens, and ancient motorcars. Oldest I saw was a 1911 Cadillac that drove 150 miles from Quartzsite, near the Western end of the rally to be there,   then participated in the Rally to get back home.  That’s 300 miles, folks.  At 35 miles per hour, with frequent stops for fluid checks…

Every person there was in a great mood, and very friendly.  No Ford vs Chevy BS.  No clubs that wouldn’t let anyone park among them.  Hardly any spots where even the same type of car was gathering.  Every individual I approached was friendly, answering questions about their car, lifting the hood, and talking cars and two-lane trips for a while.  Covering miles is why we were there, and after all, the form of the personal equipment used for the task was unimportant.

It was truly all about the road, not the cars, and there was something very moving about that.  There were some obviously VERY expensive trailer queens, both custom and restored, some still on the trailer when we got there, that were taken out and driven for hundreds of miles of Arizona desert two-lane.  There ARE still some things that are right with the world…

That’s also true for dozens of original vehicles from the teens up through the early 40’s.

 

Some people rented motorhomes and drove them the distance.  Old scooters and commercial trucks, and antique buses were also seen on the mad run out to history.

Molly Blue was one of the most popular cars at the entire event, if not absolutely the hands-down favorite.   She was the only Gremlin, or even AMC as such.  EVERYBODY knew what a Gremlin was, and ALL ABOUT AMC/Rambler, and were absolute fans.   It was like some weird alternate reality.  I finally found our people, even if it’s only on that weekend.  As far as AMC, besides Jeeps, all I saw were a 56 Rambler Super(one of the nicest cars there), a 47 Willys Wagon, and a 50’s Kaiser Traveler.     These other cars from the AMC heritage were crowd favorites as well, receiving attention similar to what Molly Blue was getting.  People here at this meet, they love their Ramblers, yes they do…

Out near Grand Canyon Caverns, moving on the run, I saw a 62 Rambler American on jackstands, out on the Hualapai reservation.  Every one of these cars drew huge crowds, even that little broken American.  It was a little unnerving sometimes.  I would be driving down the road, and guys with $200K+ cars were literally running out into the street to cheer and wave.  I actually almost ran over a couple of them.  I mean CHEERING!!!  Waving wildly, screaming, jumping up and down, and running up and slapping the car. Everywhere I went.  It’s like car fans are thirsty to see these cars again, or like forgetting how much you liked a certain dessert, until you finally taste it once more…

About 15 miles out of Seligman, what with the all the thunder and steel going down the road and everything, there were car clubs and other spectators like cowboys, bikers and truckers, gathered in groups and lined up along the road.  One group of about a dozen was rating the cars as they went past, holding up cards reading up to 10, like Olympic events.  I watched them up the road as they flashed a few at some cars, then ignored a small group of Corvettes.  When they spotted Molly, several began jumping up and down, waving, running out into the road, etc. just to make sure we knew it was for Molly Blue.  Most of them began waving their signs frantically over their heads, trying to give a 10, but some were too excited and gave her an “01″.  Some didn’t remember to hold up their signs.  One guy lost his sign in the tailwind. Think about that.  They were cheering like that for an old survivor, beater Gremlin, which used to be kinda like cheering for a turd floating in a punchbowl.  We looked at each other, thinking of that same strange behaviour all over town earlier.  These people were almost in a frenzy, though…

The next group that was rating cars was one of the local VW clubs, with about 10 beautiful vehicles lined up in salute to the ralliers.  They had lawn chairs and surfboards out in the freezing temperatures and wind, and were dressed like they were on the beach.   They were bestowing “the wave” on the vehicles of which they approved.  I watched them offer up several waves to the 1911 Cadillac and the two Mustang scooters that went putt-putting by at about 30.  They, too, offered nothing to the Corvettes.  I watched as a couple of them spotted Molly Blue descending the long, gentle slope.  They began pointing and gesturing, but they were too cool for that running out into the road thing.  But a few of them came to the edge of the road and leaned out to see better.

The whole group moved quickly to the lawn chairs and took their seats.  As we approached, they all went to their knees, and issued Molly Blue, “the wave”, but in the form of bowing down like Bill and Ted, you know, “We’re not worthy”…  I was actually stunned, even a little dazed by such a gesture of respect from such a jaded group of show-goers.  I issued them the standard Hawaiian thumb and little finger fist, like drinking a toast with a mug.    Then I wiped away a tear.  I love my Molly Blue, and I am appreciative when others offer her love as well.  Once again, we all looked at each other like, “What is the world coming to?”

We rolled on by the entrance to Grand Canyon Caverns.  There’s an old closed-down gas station there.  Glancing over, I noticed a white 61-63 Rambler American under the awning, up on jacks.  Up till this point, Molly was the only AMC I had seen at the event besides Jeeps.  Earlier, during the parade, the rest of the party had seen a gorgeous 56 Rambler Super roll through town the opposite direction, but I had missed it. At any rate, I was going to have a snoop around that little Rambler American.  We stopped to see it, coming back the other direction, after checking out the Hualapai tribal barbecue at Peach Springs… where I finally saw the 56 Rambler Super. 

This Rambler was one of the 10 nicest cars of the whole event for fit and finish.  Gorgeous, and drawing crowds as well.  The owner of that car noticed how the rear quarter windows are the very similar to a Gremlin’s. 

Going out, and going back, there were probably a dozen people constantly circulating around that little Rambler American at Grand Canyon Caverns, even with it sitting on jacks.

I took away the impression of a good, clean time, something with meaning and focus.  Even a purpose, if you will, for being there.  For a whole weekend I forgot the world had changed from when I was a child.  It seemed for those few days, there was no need to lock the car, to worry about letting your kids wander like we used to, or to worry about how fast we would reach our next two-lane destination…     
mike

 baggage, and a bundle on the roof.  With not one hint of trouble.   Not any kind.  I didn’t even have to re-tune her at 7,000 ft.      What a great car!