08/15/2021
It seems all roads lead to Amboy when driving through the Mojave Desert. Last week we made the dramatic descent from the lush forests of Big Bear to the stark Mojave below. Cedars, spruce and pine quickly gave way to yucca and Joshua Trees. But there wouldn’t be time for photo ops or Route 66 sojourns; not on this trip. We had to traverse the desert to pick up the dog. Yep. The dog. Not to mention the specter of work the next morning. Turns out nature had other plans, though, and I’d like to say I was disappointed.
We took Highway 62 through TwentyninePalms where we would efficiently cut through the desert once it met with the 60. With a number like “62” I imagined “66” was not far away. We passed cute, historic looking motels near Joshua Tree, and the sky was dramatic and brooding with incoming storm clouds. I winced at every photo opportunity that passed me by. And there it was, a sign for Amboy, some 40 miles away. We had passed through very recently, for the first time, en route to Barstow, San Bernadino and points west - as far as we could get, anyway, before we had to surrender to the LA Interstate. I really wanted to go back, someday, and take a “shot” at another photograph of my own. I subtly quizzed my husband on the logistics of an Amboy detour and realized it wasn’t in the cards.
Well, for future reference, on a rainy day in Twentynine Palms, during a stretch of monsoon that’s been drenching the Western states consistently over a multi-day period, Highway 62, eastbound might not be your best choice. The storm clouds gathered and unleashed their torrential offerings as the road ahead succumbed to mud-colored streams and large puddles gathering at the edges, eking toward the centerline. Eventually, we were faced with a series of spontaneous sediment-ridden streams crossing the road way, and lastly a fairly impressive creek. One man chose to wade-in ankle-deep and direct bold traffic. It was time to turn around.
So, we could either cut through Joshua Tree National Park only to face more of the same, or, take our chances and head north to I-40. That’s what we did, and long story short, we took the smooth, solitary stretch of gray asphalt, gliding through the Mojave along graceful, slow arcs, past little more than salt mines until we were forced to stop at the railroad crossing, as the train, which, along with trucks, carries all provisions to this outpost of civilization such as water and gas, passed through Amboy. The man in the car in front of us got out, stood up, and surveyed the surroundings. Why not? There was nothing around.
At Amboy I jumped out, as my less than enthusiastic husband visited the restroom, and quickly set-up my tripod for the low light of dusk. To my annoyance, a white SUV with fellow enthusiasts careened fairly close to my rickety tripod - did they not know I had mere minutes to accomplish this shot??
I took the wheel at Amboy and we eventually met up with the Interstate. Here we began our whirlwind, “bird’s eye,” tour of all the Route 66 towns we had slowly ambled through before, piecemeal, one weekend adventure at a time between Amboy and Kingman. It was strange to retrace the path so quickly and see these now familiar places from a different perspective.
Needles blew by as a name on a sign with the tops of a few palm trees visible from the off ramp. I mentioned the Harvey House, and how I wish they would convert it into a museum. I remembered stopping on the banks of the Colorado for a picnic and taking a photo of their cute sign on Route 66. Then, we saw Old Trails Bridge crossing the river at Topock, the junction of pre and post 1950 Route 66 (when the new route, straight as an arrow, avoided the sinuous mountainous crossing of Sitgreaves Pass into Oatman). The setting sun on the mountains in the distance through the white arc of the bridge was striking. We quickly skirted Kingman, and I was wishing we could pass under the drive-thru sign that I’d begun seeing photos of on social media.
We ate at Taco Bell just mere miles away (isn’t this terrible?!) without stopping by. Eventually, we had to cry uncle, as our desert sojourn had made us too late for the dog. He would have to wait until morning. Still, I didn’t have the nerve to ask my poor husband if we could backtrack into downtown Kingman. We would come back another day, when we had more time. So, we ended our Route 66 foray that night by stopping for gas in Seligman. And I took a night shot, just for fun, of the cute motel signs just down the way. We talked about Peach Springs and Grand Canyon Caverns, and our plans to finally eat at a couple diners in town and explore the shops, as my daughter and I were still the only ones to really have a chance to explore Seligman. We knew we’d be back.
