Author: jw

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

Blackout Why there's no picture this week

I consider weekends my workweek, and my routines are as regular as clockwork. Fridays, I record two albums from my collection so that I can listen to them in my car (we have terrible radio stations in Phoenix). On Saturday, I decide whether the oldest photo on my New Work webpage is worth moving into another gallery or getting rid of; then, I layout and upload the new Picture of the Week. On Sunday, I’m ready to crank out my weekly article. After I publish it, I’m free to spend the rest of the week as I wish.

It happened on Friday. I had finished my first album and was putting it into its jacket when boom (actually, it was silent, but I like making noises), the room went dark. There was a monsoon rain outside, but it wasn’t particularly violent. We sometimes get power outages that last an hour or less, so I was sure I’d finish the second record soon. I went out on the porch to enjoy the rain. The damp air was cool on my face as I sat down and drank my soda.

When the second hour passed, I opened the house to the cooler outside air. But the air was so still that none of it slipped past the screens. Finally, Queen Anne came home from her girl’s night out (she does that to avoid my music). She tried twice in the dark to find a parking spot, but she gave up when she backed into the garage door (why doesn’t my remote work). We talked about how the night had gone for another hour before going to bed in the dark. At least the temperature was pleasant, even if it was humid.

After an uncomfortable and restless night, we woke to her phone’s messaging buzz. The community gossip line was in full swing. “Did anyone else lose power?” “When will it be back on?” Finally, there was some positive information, “APS estimates it will be noon before the power’s back.”

I looked at Anne and said, “Come on, let’s go to Denney’s for breakfast.” There was nothing we could do without electricity, so we had time to kill. It turns out to be more than true. Next, the gossip line spits more bad news, “The wind took down 15 poles along US 93.” The bad part of the storm that we didn’t get had a micro-burst and snapped 14 wooden poles like a match. The newly installed metal one couldn’t carry the weight and folded like a straw. How was Arizona Public Service going to clean that up by noon?

There were lines outside the Wickenburg restaurants, so we decided to go to the Denny’s in town. Since we had time, we could stop a Lowes and Harbor Freight after breakfast. We spent a couple of hours buying air filters and looking at tools, generators, and battery-operated fans before the drive home. As we drove, the gossip machine spits out more realistic news, “APS says it may take three or four days to restore power.”

I sweat like a pig even when I think about being hot, so Anne and I swapped ideas of what to do. It’s Labor Day weekend, and people are crowding the roads. We checked Prescott Hotel prices, and even the Motel 6 was north of a hundred bucks. Who can we stay with? As we rounded the big bend in Wickenburg, I remembered that Aztec RV Park was on the south side, so I swerved across the yellow lines and two lanes of traffic into their driveway. When we stopped at the office, I was surprised that they had a space open that we could have for four days. I whipped out my credit card so hard that you thought I was striking a match. What great Samaritans these people are.

We then got home with four bags of ice and repacked the fridge and freezer to save as much food as possible. Then we filled our camping cooler with food and ice and loaded the little refrigerator in the Casita with as much food, drinks, and medicine as it would hold before we set off to our refugee camp and wait out the siege. Even though the outside temperature was only 105°, the first thing we did was to plug in power and turn the AC to South Pole.

After we splurged for a night-on-the-town Burger King meal, we returned to The Ritz for an evening in the trailer—under the bridge—down by the river. Camping is fun for us, but usually, we’re on a photo shoot away from home. It’s an adventure. We sit outside and relish the experience. On the other hand, sleeping in a cramped trailer just to get through the night 10 miles from my comfortable bed was not fun. The gossip machine groaned in the background, “APS has four crews on this outage and may have it fixed in a couple of days.” I fell asleep despite the air conditioner’s constant drone.

I woke this morning at dawn and began rousting Anne from her slumber. We needed to get home and check the ice in the fridge. As she got up, she was interrupted by the gossip machine, “The power’s back on. APS managed to route one line past the damaged area. The power came back on at 10 (pm).” I told Anne, “Oh jeez, we can go home and see if it’s true. Check-out isn’t until 11:00, and the office doesn’t open until 10. Let’s see if it’s true and come back for the trailer.” That’s what we did, and when we walked into the house, the temperature was perfect, my staging lights were still on, and the turntable was still spinning in the corner.

After unpacking the boxes, and the cooler and moving food around, we headed back to Wickenburg to fetch The Ritz. Since we didn’t set up the whole camp, it only took minutes to pack and hook up. On our way out, I stopped at the office to see if they’d be open to a refund. As you’d expect, the answer was no, “You made a reservation, and we require thirty days’ notice for a refund.” What great Samaritans these people are.

Till next time
jw

Secret Passage Picture of the Month

Secret Passage - The only door between units that I noticed was this one.
Secret Passage – The only door between units that I noticed was this one.

I’m going to shake the box and change the format of this week’s post because I want your advice on something. This is the last photo from Walnut Canyon, and I’m sure you’re tired of my bellyaching about stairs, so I’ll start with the background of this week’s picture, and then we can go into the conference room for the other thing.

This week’s picture shows a doorway between dwellings at Walnut Canyon. Since it’s hidden in plain sight, you probably wonder, “What’s the secret?” Well, as I hiked past ruin after ruin, this was the only inter-unit doorway I noticed. We may never know the secret— why weren’t there more of them.? Sinagua built their dwellings with shared walls, like our present apartments. I wonder if neighbors were extended family or strangers. The door suggests that family shared these homes—but it could also mean that the Sinagua Rockefellers lived here, and this unit was their equivalent of a south-facing Manhattan penthouse overlooking Central Park. As usual, there’s a larger version on its Webpage that you can get to by clicking here.

“Now, for something completely different” – Monty Python

I use my favorite coffee cup religiously in the mornings, and when I can’t find it, I panic. I search everywhere until I see it in the microwave. It was in there because I was heating yesterday morning’s dregs and forgot about it. I had it custom printed with one of my photos, but the picture is worn after six years of use. Reluctantly, I ordered a new one.

New Cup - On the front of my new coffee cup, I printed my photo of Dos Cabezas Mountain.
New Cup – On the front of my new coffee cup, I printed my photo of Dos Cabezas Mountain. Now that I’ve used it several times, I won’t order the black trim again. In the early morning, it’s hard to see where the coffee is with sleep in my eyes.
Coffee Cup Back - On the back, I put the title and some advertising.
Coffee Cup Back – I put the title and some advertising on the back.

When it arrived, I thought, “These could be great little contest prizes.” In the past, Queen Anne and I sponsored contests and gave away a photo as a prize. That’s how we got a name for Anne’s Mazda and our famous campfire treats. Now my brain is nagging me to work on another idea.

The second component is my annual calendar. As some of you know, I assemble pictures into my calendar and offer them for sale at cost. Because I usually print less than a dozen, their price is much higher than a Costco calendar, but I typically get a few subscribers that want one. After several years, I’ve figured out a system to make them come out as planned.

The next ingredient is these weekly posts. Over the years, my articles have evolved into a dependable format. Each month I pick a location, shoot pictures, and then publish the best photo each week. As Emeril Lagasse used to say, “I think I can kick it up a notch; Bam!”

My idea is: What if I added a picture of the month (POM) to the mix, and you helped choose them? Let me explain. At the close of each monthly project, I include a survey (like the example below), and you choose the picture you most liked. Of course, I could be the Supreme Leader and pick what I want and be done with it, but over the years, I’ve learned that my taste isn’t the same as the public’s. So a poll makes it more like the People’s Choice Awards instead of the Oscars. After three days(?), we tally the survey; I’ll lay out a design and print the winner on a mug—like a trophy. Then when calendar time rolls around, I will already have a dozen winning images selected.

What’s in it for you? I already have too many coffee cups, so I’d like to give them to you. The problem is that I don’t know how to give them away equitably. Each computer (or phone) gets one recorded vote with this survey app. The polls are anonymous, with no tracking, so I don’t know who’s voting. I can’t say, “The fifth voter wins the cup.” I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out a solution, but it pulled a synapse and passed out. I need your ideas.

Another question that I have is how limited the cups edition should be. I can’t imagine that any of you would pay $12 plus shipping for a $5.00 Walmart mug, but who knows? I am inclined to print one and be done, but I could limit it to a low number—such as five—if you prove me wrong.

I’m looking forward to reading your thoughts. Does this concept interest you? Should I grow messy white hair like Einstein’s or shave it off like Curly’s? Would you vote for a cup? What’s an excellent way to pick a winner? You can share your opinions by leaving a comment below, or if you want privacy, then use my Contact Form (the answer to the robot question is “5” if you can’t figure it out). I’ve included a poll so you can see how simple this is. Pick your favorite and click the Vote button. There’s no cup this month, but see if you can break the survey in beta testing.

Till next time
jw

Corner Unit Picture of the Week

Corner Unit - I found this unit at the end of a row of homes. It shows all four walls inside and out, so you get and idea of how large these home were.
Corner Unit – I found this unit at the end of a row of homes. It shows all four walls inside and out, so you get an idea of how large these homes were.

“283 steps” were the first words out of the park ranger’s mouth when I asked about the Island Trail. “It’s 283 steps down to the loop, and there are 67 steps around the island,” (that number could be wrong—I stopped listening after 283), “and then back up those sane 283 steps.” I thought, “It’s the cool of the morning, it’s cloudy, I’ve got water, I need pictures from the trail, so let’s do this.” Then I walked over to the top of the staircase.

Although the Island Trail is less than a mile, it’s the harder of the two in Walnut Canyon National Monument. You’d be correct to believe it went down to the creek with that name. Instead, it drops 185′ to a land bridge where you cross to an unnamed promontory that you circle counterclockwise. The trail is asphalt paved except for the sandstone steps.

The path is on a shelf where the limestone sits above white sandstone, like found in Zion National Park. The limestone erodes faster than its foundation, and like an ice-cream scooper, that erosion has gouged shallow caves into the white stone. Here is where the Sinagua built their homes. While descending the stairs, I could see dwellings on the opposite side of the creek. They’re spaced apart, so I thought that I get to shoot one or two of the rock dwellings. I was wrong. The canyon’s far side faces north—not the ideal winter location. On the island, the homes were south-facing, which helps keep them warm. As soon as I rounded the first bend, rows of rock dwellings were there for me to explore and photograph. But, I had to sit down first and rest a while—I was still shaking from coming down the stairs.

Before I got to the pictures, I had another interesting observation. I thought that since I had made it a third of the way down the canyon’s bottom, I would be able to catch a glimpse of the creek. With the heavy monsoon we’ve enjoyed this summer (yey), the foliage growing on the canyon floor was so thick it completely obscured the creek bed.

I took this week’s picture—that I call Corner Unit—at the end of several homes. Since they run into one another, they usually share a common wall—like our modern apartments. So, this one has two exterior walls, which is unusual for this neighborhood. Since the Park Service didn’t fully restore the walls, you can see the cave’s overhang and back wall. With it being open to the outside, you can get an idea of its area. The Sinagua people must have felt comfortable with this size because it’s representative of them all. If you think about it, this is a perfect size for a man cave. There’s room for a corner TV, and you can grab a brewski without getting out of the Barkalounger. Once again, however, you’d be stuck at home all day waiting for Larry to show up.

The problem with the man-cave theory is that the women built them and were primarily concerned with keeping in the warmth. In the second image, you can see where they left a vent near the ceiling. These vents allowed them to have small fires inside and let the smoke out. They were their chimneys. The families could survive the high-altitude winters by draping an animal skin or rug over the door and building a small fire.

Fire Vent and Clay Finish - The Sinagua People built vents into the walls so they could enjoy a fire and not suffocate. They also stuffed clay into the rocks to seal the rooms from drafts.
Fire Vent and Clay Finish – The Sinagua People built vents into the walls so they could enjoy a fire and not suffocate. They also stuffed clay into the rocks to seal the rooms from drafts.

The second picture also shows another innovation the women used to make winter life bearable. They hiked to a place up the creek where they could dig gold-colored clay (the color’s not essential—this isn’t The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills), then they packed it in baskets, lugged it back, and smeared it over the rock walls—inside and outside. Like caulk, the clay sealed the wall gaps and stopped drafts. The women put a lot of thought and work into their homes—the men were too lazy to take down the Christmas decorations.

After I finished my tour of the loop and got the needed photos, I was back at the foot of the stairs leading to the visitor’s center. I found out that the ranger lied. Somehow while I was out of sight exploring ruins and taking pictures, the park service snuck in and doubled the stair count. How do I know; math, simple math. I knew I would have a tough time with the climb, so I devised a system where I would climb 50 stairs at a time—then stop for water and catch my breath. Instead of five rest stops, I made 10, and I drank both of my water bottles dry. Near the top, where I could finally see the building, I made one last effort; one, two, three, four, twelve, fifteen, thirty-five, fifty. I need another rest.

I hope you enjoy seeing the ruins in Walnut Canyon. You can view the Web version of Corner Unit on its page by clicking here. Next week, I’ll have another shot from the Island Trail for you to see, but please don’t make me go down there again.

Till next time
jw

Sinagua Pueblo Picture of the Week

Sinagua Pueblo - A two room stacked-stone ruin that the Sinagua people used for ceremonial purposes.
Sinagua Pueblo – A two-room stacked-stone ruin that the Sinagua people used for ceremonial purposes.

When Queen Anne and I married, we lived most of a decade in a second-floor condo. Besides living in cramped quarters, the thing we most disdained was lugging groceries from the parking lot and up those stairs. My right knee cracked with each step. We swore then that we’d never live in a two-story house.

The Sinagua people would’ve considered us Snowflakes. Imagine your family living in a small cave with a plastered rock façade built on the side of Walnut Canyon. They scaled the canyon walls (without stairs) to get to work. Once on top, the men tended small patches of fertile soil along the edge. They grew drought-resistant crops because their name means Without Water. At least, the Spanish called them that when they first visited the canyon. For protein, they hunted deer, elk, and big horn sheep. After butchering the game, they stuffed the meat into Safeway plastic bags and lowered it on ropes.

Given my extreme age, my most significant anxiety would be getting up in the middle of the night for a glass of Water. As it is, I struggle to find our kitchen in the dark, much less climb down to the creek and back. Of course, their local wise man was in his thirties, and he knew when to stand up and declare, “Today is a good day to die.” Then as he tossed his blanket over his shoulder, he’d tromp out of the camp to the nearest mountaintop, where he’d sit for weeks until dying of starvation. Once again, I’ve proved that exercise is unsuitable for you.

There are many disadvantages to living on a cliff-side cubby hole, but for me, it’s the TV reception. It’s lousy down there. You’d need to get cable or a satellite dish. Then you’d waste time waiting for the cable guy to show up.

There are two trails for you to explore when you visit Walnut Canyon National Monument. Both are under a mile long. The Island Trail is a loop that drops into the canyon, past several dwellings, and then climbs back to the rim. We’ll explore it next week. The Rim Trail stays on top of the mesa and is easier to hike. It goes past some old crop fields and a couple of ruins. I took this week’s picture on the Rim Trail.

The image that I call Sinagua Pueblo shows a two-room stone building of generous size. This structure was probably a communal building for ceremonies and grain storage, like your condo’s community center. Here is where the Sinagua unloaded their trucks after a Costco run. Surely you realize that I’m joking. Flagstaff doesn’t have a Costco. Recovered artifacts show that the Sinagua traded with the villages at Eldon Mountain, Wupatki, and Homolovi—after a short train ride to Winslow.

As you quietly stand and admire the pueblo’s stonework, you can hear Sinagua ghosts laughing, smoking peyote, and chanting with the rhythm of deerskin drums late into the night—until the neighbors come by and yell, “turn down those damn drums.” More cowbell.

I hope you enjoy seeing the pueblo at Walnut Canyon. You can view the Web version of Sinagua Pueblo on its page by clicking here. Next week, we’ll explore the Island Trail and show those photos—if I can only make it up this last flight of stairs.

Till next time
jw