The End is the Beginning is the End

Sam and I woke up early Tuesday morning.  Our thought was that Arizona monsoon season in addition to Route 66 splitting so far away from the interstate in Western Arizona and Eastern California would make driving through any potential storms a little dangerous.  If we got up early and drove, we could avoid any sketchy situations, and enjoy a relatively cloudless drive. 

I figured we would make it to Kingman... Needles if we were lucky... based on my drive the first time and the amount of time it took me to get through Arizona, I assumed driving from the Grand Canyon would add time, and time wasn't what we had this time around.

Oatman and the wild burros.

Additionally, I had received an Arizona Route 66 Passport in Ash Fork on part one of my journey.  Seeing as I was stopping at every visitor's center on the Mother Road, I began to get the passport stamped.  Sam and I decided to finish the book on the way back, which meant that this, too, would add more time.  Time to talk to people in these towns, to look at the sights, to drive the way the Mother Road intended. 

The Hackberry General Store

We arrived in Kingman at around noon, Oatman at one-thirty and Needles by two.  We pet burros, looked at gift shops, snapped pictures... and we drove.  We drove through the cool mountains, past long abandoned ghost towns, through the prickly desert... the wind in our hair and dust clouding behind us.  By Needles, we had a choice:  stay the night in town, or drive through the Californian desert to Barstow.  If we decided on Barstow, it made sense to push on to Los Angeles, as it is only a couple hours away. 

The clouds were only gathering in the east and the day was still young, so Sam said to keep going.  Go we did.  And the clouds didn't catch up until we were almost to Victorville.

Bottle Tree Ranch

I had passed the Bottle Tree Ranch on my way east, but it was fenced off and closed. By the time my brain registered what I had passed, I was already a mile or two away.  This time, Sammie and I needed to visit the Bottle Tree... it would be our thank you to the Mother Road for an amazing journey, and a time for us to take a moment and appreciate what we'd accomplished, to honor what we'd experienced. 

This time, the Bottle Tree was open, and the owner greeted us.  We chatted briefly about where we were going and where we had been.  It's the usual conversation that takes place on the road- in every town, at every stop.  We politely asked if we could add to his collection, and he welcomed the additions.

Our bottles added to the trees.

Sam found the empty spokes for our bottles, on a "tree" somewhere in the back of the "forest."  We took a moment of silence before sharing some of our favorite moments of the trip.  Then we placed the bottles on the tree, and walked away leaving a little piece of ourselves behind. 

I like to think that it was then, the Mother Road blessed us with two of her greatest gifts: conversation with interesting people, and safe travels. 

When we finished, we walked back and thanked the owner for letting us look at his installation.  Suddenly, we found ourselves chatting with him and his wife, about the road, about life, and about the funny way so much about both surprise you.  Life takes you down unexpected paths, and you never know where it will take you. 


In the car driving through the desert.


The storm clouds gathered above our heads during this conversation... they threatened and loomed like they always did, but this time... this time, we weren't nervous.  We just hopped in the car and drove.  When we hit the interstate junction, it was time to say goodbye to the road that took care of us all this way.  For me, it was over 5,000 miles of land, spanning three timezones, three major rivers, and nine states twice over. 

Steinbeck said that the last legs of his trip were a blur.  That the yearning for home took over, and the journey ceased being a journey and became a long, never ending haul. But when he finally made it to the Holland Tunnel, the world lit up... the sky was bluer, the air was cleaner....

Heading towards Hollywood on the 5.

When we drove through San Bernadino, in between the dark storm clouds towards the cloudless sky of the coast, the sun shined brighter, the polluted air smelled sweeter, and the sight of urban sprawl was as welcoming as the front porch of my parent's house after a long plane ride.

Sam and I had made it... nay, if I may be selfish for a second... I had made it back.

Things had changed... I had changed, but how, I still had no answers. 

She and I decided to take the day off on Wednesday.  We did laundry, we unpacked, we cleaned Mrs. Brisby's cage.  We were lazy, and happy to be in one place. 

The Santa Monica Pier

End of the trail.

We didn't drive to the pier on Tuesday.  It was decided that we would do that another day, a day where we could spend the time on the beach and see the sights before shops closed up and the sun went down.  Today was that day.  

My Bench.

The end of Route 66 is actually on Lincoln and Santa Monica, but over the years it has moved to the edge of the pier in order to promote tourism, so I drove Sam through the intersection of Lincoln and Santa Monica with little fanfare before we parked the car and trekked to the end of the pier.  A month ago, I began my journey here... on an empty bench, staring out at a cloudy seascape.  Today, I walked there with my sister.  The sun was shining and the water glistening. 

The Bottle Tree was the end of the journey, but the pier was the end of the trip, an end to a beginning that I only dreamt would happen.  And now it has. 

Where life goes from here... well, I guess we'll have to see.




The end of the pier.  The end of the trip.

-B-