Hotel Monte Vista Picture of the Week

Hotel Monte Vista - Built in the 1920s as an upscale hotel by Flagstaff investors. It was named the Community Hotel until a private corporation purchased it in 1960.
Hotel Monte Vista – Built in the 1920s as an upscale hotel by Flagstaff investors. It was named the Community Hotel until a private corporation purchased it in 1960.

Flagstaff’s downtown is split by the proverbial railroad tracks—but in this case, I don’t think there’s a wrong side. The north side is a historic district; on the other side, old warehouses fill the limited space between the tracks and Northern Arizona University. Each has a distinct vibe of its own.

Older masonry structures make up the historic district and crowd the sidewalks. As a result, the streets are narrow, and parking is limited. If you find a parking spot, it’s easy to walk about the 24 blocks downtown. When founders laid out the town, they included alleys so deliveries and utilities would be off the street. That may have worked in the mid-twentieth century, but retail space is at a premium, so landlords split the buildings, and now shops occupy the building’s front and back. That means there’s always a beer delivery truck clogging the street somewhere.

I get the feeling that since the city is Arizona’s “premier” ski area, the city planners are using other resort towns as models. There is the usual mix of restaurants, bars, souvenir shops, and galleries for you to spend money in. The building owners maintain the facades well and have decorated them with low voltage lights—for that Disney Main Street look. However, something’s missing. The Snow Bowl doesn’t draw the same skiers as Aspen, Telluride, or Park City (the airport couldn’t hold that many private jets). So, although I enjoy walking about and seeing the architecture of the old town, it needs more polish.

Nope - I spotted this sign in a tavern window and it confused me for days. Then I realized that it has a different meaning if you move the 'N' from the top, to the bottom.
Nope – I spotted this sign in a tavern window, which confused me for days. Then I realized that it has a different meaning if you move the ‘N’ from the top to the bottom.

If the area north of the tracks is all façade, the south side is another story. It’s more bohemian, rustic, and organic—as you’d expect from a college town. The merchants may slap paint on their industrial buildings and hang an open sign on this side of town. They depend on the product and repeat clientele to survive. You’ll get the same bar food, but without the pretentiousness. For example, this is where the youth hostel is. Over the past two weeks, I’ve shown motel signs from here, and this is where you’ll find a café called the Tourist Home. This eating establishment has good food, but they’ve replaced the wait staff and cashier with your cell phone—petulant geezers like me, beware (they dare to expect tips).

For this week’s picture, we’re going to cross the tracks north to the Aspen and San Francisco Streets intersection. Here we’ll see Flagstaff’s third oversized sign on scaffolding. But, this one is on the roof of the Hotel Monte Vista, one of the oldest hotels in Northern Arizona.

The Monte Vista has an interesting back story. It was built in the 1920s with money raised by local citizens. Including a big chunk from Zane Grey, they raised $200,000 to fund an upscale hotel the town desperately needed. It opened on New Year’s Day 1927 as the Community Hotel. It was a publicly held business until private investors bought it in 1960. Besides the hotel, the building was home to the Post Office, newspaper, and radio station, and its lounge was a speak-easy during prohibition. The hotel’s Website has a page with other histories, famous guests, and ghost stories. You can read it here.

I shot this week’s image called Hotel Monte Vista early in the morning before the sun was up and the streets were empty. The lack of light muted the building’s colors. It looks as if I was trying for a sepia-toned effect, but I wasn’t. It’s an unusual look for me, and I’m not sure it works. What do you think? I also noticed that the signs on all three of this month’s photos have the sign on the right. I would have changed that had I thought about a grouping layout.Teal 356 - I stumbled on this Porsche while on my morning shoot on the south side of the tracks. It proves that even the bourgeoisie appreciate classy cars.

Teal 356 – I stumbled on this Porsche while on my morning shoot on the south side of the tracks. It proves that even the bourgeoisie appreciate classy cars.You can view my Web version of Hotel Monte Vista on its page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy seeing this month’s trio of hotel signs. Next week, we start a new adventure from Northern Arizona, so be sure to join us.

 

 

Till next time
jw

BTW: A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about coffee cups, contests, and calendars. I asked for your advice and the response I got was: <crickets> – – Silence – – </crickets>. You’re not interested, so to paraphrase Seinfeld’s soup-Nazi character, “NO CUPS FOR YOU—ONE YEAR.” Now I have to shave my head before meeting up with Larry and Mo.

Motel Downtowner Picture of the Week

Motel Downtowner - The 1930's sign was built on a tower to lure tourists off of Route 66.
Motel Downtowner – Nackard built the 1930’s sign on a tower to lure tourists off Route 66.

Tourism is Flagstaff’s biggest money maker. According to one ASU study that I found, tourism accounts for 84% of the town’s employment. Some of our non-Zonie friends may wonder what’s the attraction; after all, most out-of-state people don’t know much about our state and can only name two Arizona cities. Every season has a reason to visit the town at the bottom of the mountains. As I said at the beginning of this project, its 6,909-foot elevation (1,600 feet higher than Denver), mild weather is an excuse we valley lowlifes to visit and escape the heat. Fall ushers in colorful aspen trees that the annual fires haven’t burnt—both of them. Then in winter, some people like to strap planks to their feet and slide down the big hill outback of town. Finally, everybody goes to Flagstaff to toast marshmallows during the spring fires.

In the above list, I didn’t mention the daily traffic on Beal’s Road—Route 66—now Interstate 40. It’s an excellent place to stop for a meal or to get some sleep. And—oh yeah, I forgot—it’s how you get to the Grand Canyon.

It’s no wonder overnight lodging shaped and dominated Flagstaff architecture—from abandoned stone ruins to tacky Route 66 motels to today’s boring corporate three-story shoeboxes lining I-40. I think it’s understandable but sad that, as highways evolve, the old buildings and signs are disappearing. I get a big grin when I see one standing and add it to my collection. It must be the same thrill a hunter gets when shooting a Moose, Elk, or Kiwanis.

Apartment House - I shot this down the street from the Downtowner sign. I'm positive that if my wife ever set foot in this building, it would rip a hole in the space-time continuum.
Apartment House – I shot this down the street from the Downtowner sign. I’m positive that if my wife ever set foot in this building, it would rip a hole in the space-time continuum.

Last week, I wrote about Du Beau’s novelty concept—lodging catering to the motor car traveler. His motel was the second of its kind in the country—the first was in San Louis Obispo, California (that one burnt down, which makes Du Beau’s the oldest survivor). The buildings in this week’s image are ten years older but were initially used for other purposes. According to one account, it was a brothel. How scandalous. There were whore houses in the west—who knew? It wasn’t until the 1930s that K. J. Nackard bought the place and turned it into a motel. At the time of its opening, the main road through town was on the south side of the tracks. Later, the highway department realigned Route 66 to the north side. That’s when the sign wars began.

If you’re fishing for customers and they drive by your door, you can hook customers on a bamboo pole, but when the traffic is on the far side of the train station, it’s time to break out the surfcasting tackle. Both motels began building bigger and brighter signs to lure travelers to the Bohemian side of Flagstaff. These signs make today’s city planners shudder.

I took this week’s photo that I call Motel Downtowner with the rising sun. I had been walking around town in the twilight, and the tower was one of the last places I shot. It was after 7:00 by then, and I needed a cup of coffee (Macy’s European Coffeehouse—he’s also a fellow photographer). I have tried to get a shot of this tower for years, but I’ve never been happy with my results.

Ford GT40 - Evidently, not all residents at the Motel Downtowner are lowlifes. I found this car parked in the motel's portico, and is rare, even for Route 66.
Ford GT40 – Evidently, not all residents at the Motel Downtowner are lowlifes. I found this car parked at the motel’s entrance ten years ago, and it is rare, even for Route 66.

You’ll notice that the characters are angled so that they’re readable while driving the Mother Road, and that angle points to Route 66. The motel is no longer open. Another type of business has taken over the buildings, but the sign remains; somebody in Flagstaff appreciates good kitsch and history as much as I do.

You can view my Motel Downtowner web version on its page by clicking here. Next week, we have another historic Flagstaff hotel sign to show, so be sure to join us then.

Till next time
Jw

BTW:

Oh, you’re still here even though the show is over. You must read to the article’s end. Good on you, mate. You’re probably wondering what’s down here in the basement. This is my new ongoing section with announcements, follow-ups, answers, etc. I intend it to be a paragraph long (my fingers are numb) so I don’t have to clutter your inbox with extra mailings. I hope you find it helpful.

Motel Du Beau Picture of the Week

Motel Du Beau - This 1929 establishment was one of the first to cater to tourists driving those new-fangled motor carriages.
Motel Du Beau – This 1929 establishment was one of the first to cater to tourists driving those new-fangled motor carriages.

When Queen Anne and I spent a week in Flagstaff last month, our primary goal was heat relief, but I was confident that I could snap a few shots of historic buildings and signs to add to my Route 66 collection. In this journal, I’ve written several times about my experiences traveling the Mother Road as a kid, so I’ll spare you from repeating them. Instead, I must say that I was disappointed at how hard it was to find kitschy motel and dinner signs along the main street. More profitable strip malls and professional offices are rapidly replacing them. Interstate 40 travelers prefer the newer hotels on Butler Street, where the Little America Hotel is. Nobody drives 66 anymore—too many lights and too much traffic.

John Steinbeck’s novel The Grapes of Wrath, the depressing story of dust bowl migrants, searching for survival, didn’t make Route 66 famous. Nor did that fame come from my father’s generation, who—like the Joad family—moved en masse to California after World War II. It came when Angel Delgadillo—the Seligman barber—pitched a historic highway idea to the State of Arizona. When that designation came through, tons of beer-guts had a play-pen to gather and drive their car toys. We’re dying off now, and like the coals in your Webber Grill, that passion is dying with us.

Master photographers Ansel Adam and Minor White influenced how I photograph the world. Still, in 1975, the George Eastman House showed a photo exhibition called The New Topographics: Photographs of a Man-Altered Landscape. The show still floats between museums today. It was a collection of ten photographs made by ten photographers that were opposite the landscapes I embraced. It was heresy. The photos are stark images of industrial buildings and houses devoid of people. I didn’t even think some of the artists printed very well. But I did kind of like the ones John Schott did. His pictures were of Route 66 motels. You can see where this led.

Flagstaff Train Depot - Either this is new or I've been blind, but the coolest Route 66 sign that I saw was the train station's address.
Flagstaff Train Depot – Either this is new, or I’ve been blind, but the coolest Route 66 sign I saw was the train station’s address.

I’ve considered compiling a book of my Route 66 photos. I have several, but most are from Arizona, with a couple from California and New Mexico, but nothing east of Texas. If this horse hadn’t been flogged to death, I still could work on my own Mother Road project. Now that I’m retired, I have time. I figure a month on the road should do it. To do it properly, I’d have to drive a classic car—something from the ’50s or ’60s. However, it needs air-conditioning, cruise control, and a good stereo (I won’t put up with AM radio stations dropping out under bridges). My ultimate ride would be a red ’62 Corvette—like the one Buzz and Todd drove—but hold the whitewalls. I could haul my camera equipment behind it in a small aluminum trailer like the autocross guys lug their race tires. October is a perfect month for a road trip, so if anyone out there wants to be my Angel investor, let me know. You’d get all the bills, half of the proceed, and a free book out of the deal.

This week’s featured image is of a prominent Flagstaff landmark. It’s called Motel du Beau, and the subject is the sign. It’s one of three hotel signs towering above the city (can you guess what this month’s project is). With the Lowell Observatory on top of the hill, Flagstaff has adopted a dark-sky policy, so the zoning people would never allow these enormous signs in town. If they weren’t historical landmarks, the city would tear them down.

In the late 1920s, Albert Eugene Du Beau vacationed in northern Arizona and envisioned a new way to make money. Instead of building a multi-story building for railroad and train travelers to stay, why not create a place for people traveling in these new-fangled motor cars? So, he designed and built a single-story motor-hotel (later shortened to motel) to be convenient to unload and load their vehicles in 1929. His design featured a U-shaped layout with steam-heated garages (they burned down in a 1970s fire) and indoor toilets. He built his motor court adjacent to downtown’s main street, which was brilliant because, in time, the busy highway became Route 66. The Motel Du Beau was one of the pioneering businesses to use neon signs and elevate them on towers.

In today’s modern world, the Motel Du Beau still looks like a nice place to stay, with rooms starting at $75—a far cry from the original price of $2.50 per night. Their website shows various room types, and they have a lovely little wine lounge called Nomads. I’d certainly be willing to try it after they reopen the bar.

I hope you enjoy seeing a part of Flagstaff’s history. You can view my Motel Du Beau web version on its page by clicking here. Next week, we’ll look at another historic Flagstaff motel sign, so be sure to join us then.

Till next time
jw

Sunset Wall Picture of the Week

Alright, class, settle down. Get out a sheet of paper and a pen, then put away your backpacks. Today we’re starting with a pop quiz. There is only one question, and you have 15 minutes to answer with 10,000 words—or more. You must cite your sources. Spelling and punctuation will be graded. Are you ready? Your question is, “What do Memphis, Tennessee, and Kingman, Arizona have in common?”

I have talked before about old trading trails morphing into the well-laid-out highway system that we have today. Most of us don’t care how it happened, and we just drive on them. They think that Eisenhower signed a paper in 1956, and the freeways just popped into existence. I think that’s because people younger than me—and that’s pretty much everybody—didn’t experience the change first hand. Our forebearers built most roads over existing paths, and there are reasons someone blazed those original paths. Mark Knopfler describes this phenomenon well in his 1982 song Telegraph Road from the Dire Straits album Love Over Gold.

There have been trading trails across Northern Arizona since the first Pueblo inhabitants. European settlers didn’t use them much because the New Mexico territory was Spanish. Their roads came up from Mexico to towns like Santa Fe and the Old Pueblo at Tucson. Those roads followed the Rio Grande and Santa Cruz Rivers because there was always reliable water. The rest of the desert was a wasteland. What changed that? It was gold.

In 1848, James Marshall discovered gold at Sutter’s Mill in California. In less than two years, California became a state—that’s instantaneous in government time. They needed to move goods and people to the Golden State—and get the gold back to Washington. But, there were no east-west roads, so they put Captain Lorenzo Sitgreaves in charge of a surveying expedition, and he laid out a railroad route around the 35th Parallel.

Then in 1857, the Fed’s paid Edward (Fitzgerald) Beale to build a wagon road from Ft. Smith, Arkansas, to Los Angeles—again along the 35th Parallel (remember, Tucson was still in Mexico). He built his road in a year using camels because they needed less water and food than oxen and horses. By all accounts, it wasn’t much of a road, but Beale bragged that it was the shortest route by 300 miles and “It is the most level: our wagons only double-teaming once in the entire distance, and that at a short hill . . .” His road became the Santa Fe line in 1880, then Route 66 in 1926, and finally Interstate 40 in 1978.

SR 68 through Union Pass - Arizona State Route 68 (on the right) as it enters Union Pass through the Black Mountain Range.
SR 68 through Union Pass – Arizona State Route 68 (on the right) as it enters Union Pass through the Black Mountain Range.

His wagon road wandered a bit from the 35th as it meandered across the desert, but wagon tracks are visible in places on Google Earth. As vehicles became more efficient, each of the subsequent roads shortened its length. Some silly people hike the old road just for giggles. I’m not that ambitious. However, I do know of a place where you’ll be in Ed’s footsteps. Yep, you guessed it. It’s our Union Pass on SR 68. While Sitgreaves went through Oatman, Beale found a more accessible way to Fort Mohave and his river crossing.

Sunset Wall - Layers of volcanic rock upended vertically in the Black Mountain Range.
Sunset Wall – Layers of volcanic rock upended vertically in the Black Mountain Range.

I took this week’s picture on the west side of Union Pass, and it shows layers of lava and ash (tuff) that have been turned horizontal by geological forces. As Don Sprinkle commented in another post; “. . . just like the Grand Tetons.” It was sundown as I took this photo, and that’s why the ordinarily dark rock has a beautiful red glow, and that’s why I called it Sunset Wall.

So, back to your quiz; I’m going to let you grade your papers. What did you answer to: What do Memphis, Tennessee, and Kingman have in common? If you said that they are both along Interstate 40, you get 50%, and if you said that they both have a Beale Street, you get another 50%. I must add that there is a difference too. While Kingman knows who they named their street after, according to the Wikipedia entry for Memphis’ Beale Street, nobody remembers who Edward Beale was, which I find amusing. Maybe it’s forgotten because he was a Union Naval officer.

You can see a larger version of Sunset Wall on its Web Page by clicking here. Please come back next when we begin December’s project and new pictures.

Until next time — jw

Grand Canyon Hotel Picture of the Week

Almost two centuries ago, a peculiar group of men earned a living by hunting and trapping wild game in the mountain west. That’s right; they were the Mountain Men. Although they were legendary, there were only about a thousand of them, and their heyday only lasted 20 years. They preferred pack mules to people, so they traveled alone. One of these men was exceptional and was admired even among his peers. They called him Ol’ Bill Williams.

The Arizona historian—Marshall Tremble—describes Bill as a 6 foot, skinny redhead with a high-pitched voice and a peculiar walk—more of a stagger. His Osage wife must have had olfactory problems because even his cronies complained that he should take a bath once in a while. I didn’t find any references about Bill’s Arizona travels, but he must have impressed many Arizonans because our state has a trail, an annual gathering, a river, a mountain, and a town named in his honor. That town is the anchor for our October project—Williams, Arizona.

Williams is another railroad town along Arizona’s northern east/west corridor. First Nation people, trappers, railroads, and dust bowl migrants stopped here because there’s water. It’s located on the Colorado Plateau about an hour west of the Flagstaff volcanoes. A few miles west of Williams, you quickly descend into the transition zone and the grasslands around Ash Fork.

Sultana Bar - Williams has a couple of proper dive-bars right out of a Micky Spillane novel.
Sultana Bar – Williams has a couple of proper dive bars right out of a Micky Spillane novel.

The current attraction of Williams today is Route 66 memorabilia. Shops line the historic downtown area selling posters, t-shirts, car signs, and other useless trinkets of that ilk. But that’s not what we’ll be concentrating on this month. I’ve already covered that in our Seligman series. Besides, I’ve already said that Route 66 may have already jumped the shark. Car stuff was important for my generation, and maybe the one following us. Millennials don’t seem interested in cars or property. Owning a car was our independence. To them, it’s a ball and chain.

Williams began as a railroad town on one of the busiest routes in the country. It also has a couple of exciting spurs. One that goes past my house into Phoenix and another that runs to the Grand Canyon. Santa Fe built that line to lure eastern tourists into seeing the park. That ride is still famous today, and passengers get dumped at the El Tovar Hotel. If you had deep pockets, you could hop a train at Grand Central Station and stay in two of Arizona’s historic hotels—the Railroad Hotel in Williams and El Tovar at the canyon.

Grand Canyon Hotel - The historic Grand Canyon Hotel's neon sign lights up a couple of blocks in downtown Williams.
Grand Canyon Hotel – The historic Grand Canyon Hotel’s neon sign lights up a couple of blocks in downtown Williams.

As I said already, I’m not going to focus (get it?) on the Route 66 stuff this month, but I couldn’t help myself when I saw the historic and bright neon lights—ooh, shiny. I love them, especially when they’re not working completely. So that explains this week’s featured image that I call Grand Canyon Hotel (or should it be H tel). I’m not sure that I’d stay there. It would be like staying at Miss Kitty’s Long Branch Saloon—dancing girls, cards, drunks, and gunfights all night long. The sign is the brightest on the street, and it casts its red glow for blocks.

Also, in the lower-left corner of the photo, you can see the Red Raven’s awning. Trip Advisor rates it the top restaurant in Williams. Queen Anne and I had a wonderful meal there. It’s a bit pricy but better than the rest of the burger-and-fries joints in town. I’ll write a complete review if you’re interested—that means begging me in the comments.

You can see a larger version of Grand Canyon Hotel on its Web Page by clicking here. Next week, we’ll start our tour of the Williams area, and you can see what we found. Come back then.

Until next time — jw

Warm Springs Cholla Picture of the Week

This morning, when I got out of bed and looked in the bathroom mirror to see if I still had a reflection, I scared myself. What little hair that I still have was standing perpendicular to my head. I think I stuck my finger in a light socket last night. I’m puzzled at how the remaining five hairs on the top of my head—which are invisible when I comb them—manage to stick straight up like a coastal lighthouse. A less intelligent Albert Einstein stared back at me. I need a haircut.

When I got out of the Army, I had thick wavy red hair, and I went to a salon every other week to get it styled. I was on the hunt for a mate back then, so I had to look my best. I patronized one of those places that charged more because they cut your hair with a razor. I paid $30 for a wash, cut and blow-dry. I spent too much time each day trying to get that Glen-Campbell-look that was popular then. Then came the 70’s, and we just let our hair grow long. When my hair curled over my ears like Bozo the Clown, it was time to go to Floyds.

I turned gray when I was in my thirties, and suddenly I was an old man. As my hairstyle paid fewer dividends, I gave up and started combing it straight back. I only got a haircut three or four times a year, whether I needed it or not. Now I visit the barber when we make a Mexican pill-run. It’s cheaper there, and—because I’m a senior—I get a discount. The tip is more than the cut, and I still get change. I don’t even care what it looks like as long as it’s shorter than when I walked in.

We’ve suspended our trips to Algodones during this pandemic, so I’m taking matters into my own hands. I ordered hair-clippers from Amazon. They were supposed to be here on Friday but didn’t arrive. I’ve worked up the nerve to let Queen Anne put it on the shortest setting and shave it all off. How bad could it be? Besides, that’s why I have hats.

The day that Queen Anne and I traveled down Old Route 66 was the exact opposite of a ‘bad hair day’ (see how I did that?). The trip produced more good images than I usually get, and with good reason. The Black Mountain Range is an exciting pile of rocks. I can see me spending more time exploring them—especially when one of you coughs-up the funds for my hover-bike.

Warm Springs Cholla - Cholla along the roadside provide a good foreground contrast for McHeffy Butte at sunset.
Warm Springs Cholla – Cholla along the roadside provides an excellent foreground contrast for McHeffy Butte at sunset.

This week’s featured image is called Warm Springs Cholla. As you can tell from the colors, I took it as the sun was setting. We were several miles south of Oatman, and I was studying a  peak—McHeffy Butte—as we drove along. Suddenly (ta-da), a patch of cholla popped up, making a perfect foreground. After I stopped the truck, I hiked a short distance uphill into the Warm Springs Wilderness and fired off a couple of shots. I think the resulting image makes a great wrap-up to our Route 66 trip.

You can see a larger version of Warm Springs Cholla on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy it. Next week is June and another back road adventure. I hope you’ll come back and hear about our road trip.

Until next time — jw

Boundary Cone Picture of the Week

Traveling west from Oatman, on the old Route 66, it’s only a couple of miles before the Black Mountains fill the rearview mirror. The Mohave Valley sprawls beyond the truck hood, and the road descends the talus slope to the river. There aren’t any signs here, but the beautiful view takes in three states. Arizona stops at the river, of course, but beyond the blue water, California is on the truck’s south side while Nevada is to the right.

The highway passes a rounded cone that resembles the hat style worn by the Seven Dwarves. The road has a fork here, and if your destination is Bullhead City, then go straight. But, the left fork is our historic road, and it leads south to the freeway and railroad bridges at Topock Marsh. We’re not done with the mountains yet because—for most of the way— the Warm Springs Wilderness is outside of the driver’s side window.

The Black Mountains in Mohave Country always delight me. There’s a lot in them to photograph. I understand why chunks of them have been set aside as wilderness areas. I could spend years exploring and capturing their beauty on film. As an aging dotard, however, I need my truck to do that. I’m intrigued about the new riding drones that police departments are buying. They look like a motorcycle with four propellers strapped to the sides (like in this Dubai video). One of you needs to come up with the money to buy me one. With my luck, however, I’d fall off into one of the blades and become sliced salami. Besides, the government doesn’t allow drones in wilderness areas (national parks, wildlife preserves, or recreation areas). What’s that old saying? “I would have taken better care of myself if I knew that I was going to live this long.” Why did we ever laugh at Jack LaLanne?

Boundary Cone - On the right is Boundary Cone, the center of the Mohave Tribe's world, and a handy marker to keep you dry.
Boundary Cone – On the right is Boundary Cone, the center of the Mohave Tribe’s world, and a handy marker to keep you dry.

This week’s featured image was a call at the line—sorry for the sports metaphor. I had another picture picked out, and already published, but when I started researching the area, the image that I call Boundary Cone has a better story. The 4000’ peak sticks out like a sore thumb from anywhere in the valley. The Mohave Indians consider it sacred, and it is the center of their homeland. Imagine how upset they were when miners started digging at it.

Coincidently, if you could walk from Boundary Cone due west to the middle of the Colorado River, and then north for a couple of hundred yards, you would be standing—or swimming—in Arizona, California, and Nevada at the same time. Just like people do at Four Corners, and nobody would charge you (I sincerely think people would pay to see that). The actual point where the three states meet is the intersection of the 35th parallel and the Colorado River. But, I think it’s cool that you can tell which state you’re in by glancing at Boundary Cone without getting wet.

You can see a larger version of Boundary Cone on its Web Page by clicking here. I hope you enjoy it. Next week, we’ll continue our Route 66 journey to the freeway. I hope you’ll join us then.

Until next time — jw

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