Winslow Arizona is on the list and I can feel we’re getting closer. As a teenager I’d drive down the road singing, “It’s a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowing down to take a look at me.” In the meantime, there’s a lot to see today.
“Charly? Have you ever seen the Painted Desert?” I ask.
“Nope. Why do they call it the Painted Desert ?” she legitimately asks.
I explained, “It’s because the sands have these beautiful colors and patterns like a painting.”
Continuing, I added, “My grandmother gave me a shot glass she picked up in the Painted Desert . I had that as a paperweight for years. I wonder whatever happened to it. It was filled with layers of sand, supposedly from the desert itself.”
“That’s cool.” Charly said, “I would like to have seen that.”
“Perhaps we might find one at a gift shop, or some place,” I concluded.
About then we pulled in to the museum at the Painted Desert. A large adobe that fits right in with the southwestern desert facilitates the museum.
I pointed out a few things about native art inside.
“That’s Kokopelli“, I said while pointing at a piece of pottery with the design painted on it, “I’ve seen all sorts of plays on it. One was Bike Kopolelli – a Kopolelli riding a mountain bike.”
We both chuckled.
“Hey, Brent,” Charly said getting my attention outside, “I’m a Kopolelli,” as she danced across the patio.
“I’m going down stairs to check out what’s down there,” I responded as I got to roll my eyes this time.
She followed me down the stairs and sat down.
“You go ahead, I’m tired. We started early this morning,” saying as she yawned.
I strolled around the sparse museum, and when I returned, Charly sat there sound asleep.
“HEY,” I said loudly causing her to about jump out of her skin, “I’m ready to move on.”
Heading Towards Winslow Arizona
We were just about to exit the Painted Desert Park when we came upon a very old, very straight, section of old Route 66.
“Charly, check this out,” I said pointing west, “Old Route 66 went straight through here.”
“How do you know? There’s no road down there, just sage brush… that is, what you call it, isn’t it?” She asks.
“Yes,” I answered, “that is what you call it, and I can tell by the remains of some old utility polls that ran along the side of the road.”
“Oh, I think I see what you’re talking about,” she said squinting. “That’s impressive you noticed that.”
Running out into the desert, she struck a pose.
“Brent!” Charly shouts to me, “Check out my new ride!”
“Hey, we need to dress up like Bonnie and Clyde and stand by it,” I shout back.
“Who?” Charly asks.
“Never mind,” rolling my eyes for a second time today.
Pixar’s Cars made them in to road cones, but there are several places that have teepees for rooms. We stopped at this one. I soon found Charly primping in the mirror of an old truck.
I’ve driven by this 3 times previously, but this time I was determined to stop. I’ve wanted to check out the Meteor Crater for many years. (I also want to see if I can spot where a plane flew in to the side of it years ago.) It’s not far from Winslow Arizona.
The signs leading up to the entrance are funny.
Soon I saw the a painted wall. We just had to stop.
Getting out of the car, I stood by the wall and yelled back to Charly, “Look! It’s a flatbed Ford.”
There I was, standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona, and there she was driving by, slowing down, to take a look at me.
“Only in your dreams, Brent,” Charly yells.
Okay, this is getting creepy. Is she reading my mind?