HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT

Fans and enthusiasts of Route 66 drive through the weathered and forlorn old desert town but few stop for there is little to see, the heat is often unbearable, and available services are almost nonexistent. If they do, only two landmarks warrant their attention for photographs, the odd shaped "Keebler Elf House", a former cafe, and the non descript but ancient market that dates to 1908.

A former roadside oasis in Daggett, California

There were a few more services available sixty years ago but even in 1946 when Jack Rittenhouse rolled through town taking notes for his now famous A Guide Book to Highway 66, it was just a wide, dusty spot in the road. Rittenhouse gave the town and its history but the briefest mention before moving on to describe the services available in Barstow.
He and countless travelers since missed a real diamond in the rough, a true treasure hidden in plain sight the Stone Hotel. Since at least 1884 this venerable old building with walls of stone and adobe two feet thick has cast a shadow across the road that would later be signed with two sixes.

Stone Hotel, Daggett, California

The earliest historic record for the property, according to a fascinating thesis written by Teresa J. Jerry and lent to me for research on the Route 66 encyclopedia project, is a recording in the San Bernardino County Deed Book for the Railroad Hotel dated 1884. Unconfirmed reports place its founding to the year previous, which is one year after the Southern Pacific Railroad laid tracks to the town site of Calico Junction, Daggett, established in 1882.
The old hotel has played host to a wide array of historic figures including John Muir (his daughter lived in Daggett), Walter Scott, better known as "Death Valley Scotty", who used room number seven as his offices in the early twentieth century, Lt. Governor of California John Daggett, the town's namesake, and Bill Curry. Legend has it that Wyatt Earp was also a regular but this has never been confirmed even though the Earp family did have land holdings in the area.
The old hotel survived two fires, the bane of most mining camps, but was not unscathed. The single story structure that casts its shadow across Route 66 today, and the market to the west, is the Phoenix that rose from the devastating fire of 1908.
Before this date the hotel, fronting the railroad station, was a "luxurious" two story structure with glass and iron dome over the lobby. There were even balconies.
The Stone Hotel is but one of many dusty gems awaiting discovery in Daggett and Daggett is but one of many tattered tapestries found between Chicago and Santa Monica on a magic carpet of asphalt labeled Route 66. For many of these weathered and worn old towns even the resurgent passion for that legendary highway has failed to lift the veil of obscurity.
When my publisher, Voyageur Press, asked if there was a chapter in Route 66 history yet to be written, I thought of Daggett and the Stone Hotel, the tarnished glory of Afton, the remnants of Spencer, Lawndale, and forgotten Romeroville in New Mexico. And so it was an opportunity to give these forgotten places their moment in the sun that became the catalyst for my next book, Ghost Towns of Route 66.
I hope this book enhances your next adventure on Route 66. Moreover, I hope you find it as exciting to read as I found it to write.

RIDING WITH GHOSTS

Automobiles in their original configuration have to be the ultimate time machine. Encapsulated in a package of steel, chrome, and iron, or in some cases, steel, brass, and wood, is the dream of an innovator, a promising future that is now the past, the hopes and dreams of an aspiring worker, the fantasies of a young man with a freshly minted drivers license, and an old man with visions of youth dancing in his head.

J. Walter Christie and his front wheel drive racer, 1906.

Street rods and hot rods can, and often do, manifest an artistic and creative flair as well as tremendous mechanical aptitude. However, more often than not, with a transplanted Chevrolet heart, they are little more than glittering, garishly painted monuments to conformity with the soul of a brick. In either case they represent the flip side of the coin, a time machine designed by the imaginative folks from Walt Disney Studios that will only transport you to an illusion.
With an original vintage vehicle, even a simple act such as changing the oil becomes an intimate encounter with the technology, the people, and the society of the period in which it was manufactured. To pilot that vehicle along a road or highway designed before the unleashing of the age of mediocrity, before it was possible to drive coast to coast with no fear of being contaminated with new ideas, experiences, or sensations, is an immersion into a lost world.
The marvel that is the interstate highway system, the modern vehicles that insulate us from the cold, the heat, the sounds, and the smells, and street rods that emulate them, have made the destination more important than the journey. Travel is now little more than a white bread sandwich with no crust, no meat, no lettuce, no tomato, no mustard, no ketchup, and no mayonnaise.
On the narrow, twisted course of a two lane highway, where each stop is an opportunity for new adventure, even a sexless econobox or '57 Chevy built to the most exacting standards of conformity can become as thrilling and as exciting as a roller coaster at Coney Island. With a vintage vehicle each mile on this old road and each stop along the way is another opportunity to step into the past and another opportunity to see what has been lost and what has been gained with our progress.
It is the hunger for an illusion of time travel and an immersion into the past that have given rise to a new era on Route 66. On this narrow ribbon of asphalt the past, the present, and the future have collided, illusion and reality have been blended seamlessly, and cartoons overlap the reality.
International travelers follow its course in search of America and Americans follow its course in search of their soul. They come together under the neon as brothers and sisters on a quest but only those who dare follow its path behind the wheel of a vehicle that rolled from the factory while the asphalt was still fresh can share that journey with the ghosts of the past.

ADDING SOME MEAT TO DRY BONES

There are three kinds of history buffs. There are those geeks that developed a passion for the subject even though it was often taught in a manner that was as dry as burnt toast and as exciting as watching paint dry. There are those that were slowly lured into a fascination with it through stories of lost treasure, cars with tail fins, or that have simply lived long enough to remember a youth that is now taught as history.
The third kind are special. They are the ones who have yet to discover the fact that history is an addiction. These are the folks that blissfully sail through life severed from the past and as a result suffer dramatic mood swings when ever a case is made for this being the worst of times or the best of times.
In my world there is a reassurance in history that allows me to look to the future with a degree of excitement and enthusiasm. It is an ever developing understanding of the world as it was before I arrived that enables me to know with certainty that these are the best of times and the worst of times.
The precise moment when I discovered that time travel was possible and that portals to the past were all around me is difficult to pinpoint. In fact, I often find myself reflecting on one of my mother's favorite admonitions, "Jay (her nickname for me), I swear you were born ninety and never seemed to grow older."
Through my Uncle Max, blinded and gassed in the Great War, I had a window into the world of the teens, a time when this nation strode proudly onto the center stage of world history. Our neighbor, also a veteran of the war to end all wars, added depth, dimension, and color to that lost world which these men opened to me through sepia toned photographs and stories told in that voice reserved for old men who have passed through Hell and lived to tell the tale.
The first portal into the lost world of the Native Americans that hunted the forests of Michigan in a time when the French and English were interlopers came to me in the form of an arrowhead. Our neighbor, the World War I veteran who had lost his innocence and two fingers on his right hand at the age of 19, gave me that arrowhead and for a brief moment was again a child scampering through the forest as he regaled me with the tale of how he had found that chipped piece of flint.
The American Civil War became more than dates to be remembered for a test when I discovered a tin type photo, a letter, some pressed flowers, and a crumbling newspaper notice in my grandmothers attic. I still remember the humid heat as I sat under that bare bulb,  looked into the face of a proud young soldier whose children's children were now forgotten historic footnotes, unfolded the water stained pages, saw the dried flowers fall onto my footprints in the dust on that rough pine floor, and began to read.
It was a letter of reassurance from a frightened young man to his wife so far away. With the reading of each carefully chosen word, his longing to smell the fresh mown hay, to again stare into the deep blue eyes of his loving wife, and the hunger to hear his children's laughter around the fire were tangible and sorrowful.
Then I slowly read the crumbling clipping that told of this young mans funeral and his bravery at a place named Antietam. One day, 24 very short hours were all that separated this mans last note from his passage into eternity and less than 120 years stood between the young boy filled with doubts, worries and fears, reading those words, and the man who wrote them that knew those feelings so well.
I learned of sorrow for a well fought lost cause and the strength that comes from looking toward the future with hope in a small hole with a million dollar view. The sorrow was made manifest in a stained and creased Confederate States of America ten dollar bill left in a tin can on a shelf carved in the wall of that little cave. The hope was made evident in that someone had left what was once their treasure behind as they pursued a new dream. 
Many of the men and women who wrote what we now label as history may be dust but in the lessons they learned and the challenges they overcame are the answers to the tests we face. The portals to their world and their times are all around us in a watch, a faded photograph, a highway signed with two sixes, an old Ford, or a weathered face.
One of the great passions I derive from writing is the ability to provide a bridge from the past to the present. Another is to know that something I wrote was enjoyed. So, I take great pleasure in notes received from readers, especially those that open new portals for me.
A few days ago I received this note pertaining to The Big Book of Car Culture, the subject of a forthcoming interview with Jay Leno that will be posted on his website.
"Hello,
I thoroughly enjoyed the informative Big Book of Car Culture--kudos on a job well done!! If I may, however, point out a few corrections to your License Plates story on page 284. I am the editor of PLATES Magazine, the official publication of the Automobile License Plate Collectors Association (ALPCA), the world's oldest and largest license plate collectors organization since 1954.
After West Virginia and Pennsylvania issued the first dated state-wide plates in 1906, Massachusetts added a date in 1908, New Jersey had dated 1908 state plates and Minnesota issued a dated plate in 1909--all before Maryland in 1910.
Several cities issued dated plates earlier than this too--1903 Philadelphia is the first dated automobile plates in the USA. Cincinnati, Chicago, and St. Louis all started issuing dated plates before 1910.
Arizona's plates in the 1930s were not commemorative, but rather regular state issues.
While the 1921 Alaska is still regarded as the most sought after plate, a 1913 Mississippi is rarer than a 1912 Mississippi.
Your caption about 1929 as the year all plates had evolved into a modern standardized form--I'm not sure I understand that reference. American and Canadian plates became standardized size in 1957 due to Federal Highway Act of Eisenhower administration. 6"x12" has been used by all 50 dates and most territories since 1957 (American Samoa not until 1977). License plates are unique in that their appearance, design, and composition has been roughly the same across three centuries now--from the first motor vehicle plates in the 1890s right through today. In fact, a 1911 Massachusetts plate is not that much different really than a 2011 plate.
Also long before the automobile, numbered registrations were required by several jurisdictions for carriages, mostly livery (hackney) and royal mail. We know of dated carriage plates from 1860s St.Petersburg, Russia and St. Tamany Parish, Louisiana and Toledo, Ohio both had dated registration plates for carriages in the 1890s.

Tim Stentiford
PLATES Magazine
ALPCA, Inc.
PO Box 1111
Kennebunkport, ME 04046

HENRY FORD, DAVID BUICK, AND THE ROUTE 66 DETOUR

It was a fascination with the infancy of the American automobile industry, men like Henry Ford, David Buick, Walter Chrysler, Charles Nash, and Louis Chevrolet, and curiosity about how my grandfather fit into the puzzle that initially kicked off my writing endeavors. At some point my obsession with America's highways, back roads, and their history kicked in. Then the two interests began to merge.
The result was travel books peppered with tales of Barney Oldfield racing across the Mojave Desert on the predecessor to Route 66 in the 1914 Desert Classic "Cactus Derby" race, automotive articles seasoned with tidbits about the intricacies of operating a V8 powered Ford truck loaded with produce over the Cajon Pass in 1936, and interviews with Jay Leno about the eccentricities of the Checker Cab Manufacturing Company. In retrospect, I suppose all of this writing, all of this research was an effort to gain a better understanding of my grandfather, a man who was more than sixty years of age when my father was born in 1928, and the world he lived in.
My dad knew little about the man behind Hinckley Boulevard near Jackson, Michigan. He knew even less about the extensive patents, many automotive related, the bathing beach resort at Vandercook Lake, or the photograph of my grandfather on the front porch of the Hinckley Boulevard home with Henry Ford.
To begin my search and quench the curiosity all I had was an inquisitive mind and a growing number of broken strings. There was the Hinckley Meyers specialty tool company in Jackson, the specialty contract work for Henry Ford at the machine shop in Vandercook Lake, and the mill race many now think of as a stream, the receipts for automotive repairs incurred in Albuquerque on a business trip to Los Angeles from Jackson via automobile in 1919, and a box of yellowed automobile titles for a Jackson, an Essex, a Packard truck, and a Hupmobile.
Business trips by automobile to Florida and California seem to have been a regular part of my grandfathers life in the post World War I period through the late 1920s. Why by automobile and not by train? Did he have business interest in New Mexico as Albuquerque seems to have been a regular stop?
As the years progressed and my writing endeavors led me on various paths to new discoveries more pieces to the puzzle were uncovered. More often than not, the pieces themselves were missing pieces.
Patriot and Republic trucks in the late teens and early twenties utilized Hinckley engines. Was there a connection?
Fledgling attempts at automobile production by David Buick began in Jackson. In his employ was a machinist named Fred. Then, in an unrelated search, I found this tantalizing tidbit buried in a genealogy report.
"The 1900 US Census enumerated him as Fred P. Hinckley (given age 33), the head of household at 304 West Morrell Street, Jackson, Jackson County, Michigan, on 1 June 1900. Also living in the household was, his daughter, Fern Hinckley (given age 11) . Fred was employed as a Machinist."


The 1920 census reflects a bit more prosperity in the life of Fred P. Hinckley. "The 1920 US Census enumerated him as Fred P. Hinckley (given age 53), the head of household at 410 Hinckley Road, Summit Township, Jackson County, Michigan, on 6 February 1920. Also living in the household was his wife, Helen Hinckley (given age 51). Fred was employed as a Manufacturer of Machinery."
Fred was also a land developer, an inventor, and kept a Buick in storage in Los Angeles. He was also political and in 1920 ran for County Road Commishoner with the need for iron bridges and all weather roads his primary platform.
For years my search into the life and times of Fred P. Hinckley has simmered in my mind as the cornerstone for a book. Not a myopic biography about an obscure figure from history that may or may not have played an important role in the societal evolution of America through industry but a book with him serving as the window into the transformation of a community, Jackson, Michigan, and the way a nation did business.
This would be similar to the wonderful book written by David Lyon,
The Kalamazoo Automobilist. However, it would also be a book about a nation transformed by the automobile as chronicled through Fred's trips to California and Florida.
There are still to many loose threads to weave that tapestry. So, I turn to the project at hand and weave the colorful story of America's most famous highway that will manifest as the first volume of a Route 66 encyclopedia and atlas.

ON ROUTE 66 WHERE IS THE OLDEST MOTEL OR BEST RESTAURANT?

After losing two months on the Route 66 encyclopedia project as a result of family crisis and business obligations, I am ready to kick this in to high gear. The goal behind the project is a simple one - create a ready reference source for the first 85 years of the highways history as well as a promotional vehicle for the highway as well as businesses along the route.
To accomplish this daunting task, and to ensure accuracy and relevance, I am requesting assistance. Here is a copy of a letter that was posted on the Route 66 Association of Missouri website.
Author Seeks Information for Route 66 Encyclopedia & Atlas
by Jim Hinkley

My goal with this project is to chronicle the first 85 years of Route 66 history, to preserve it for future generations, and to further fuel the resurgent interest in the highway.
To ensure this work is historically correct, provides a comprehensive overview of Route 66, and is as current as possible, I am petitioning historic societies, museums, businesses, and Route 66 organizations for assistance in the form of suggestions for material to be included, contact information, historic information, and information pertaining to the acquisition of material to be used as illustrations.
General topics for inclusion:
1) Community profile – a profile of each community on all alignments of Route 66.
2) Biographies – concise biographical sketches of individuals that have played key roles in the roads history. Examples; Bob Waldmire, Cyrus Avery, Michael Wallis, etc.
3) Notable events that are directly associated with Route 66 or its predecessor auto trails such as the National Old Trails Highway or Ozark Trail. Examples; the Desert Classic automobile races 1908 – 1914, the Bunion Derby, etc.
4) Predecessor highway history – the National Old Trails Highway, Ozark Trail, etc.
5) Current businesses and their history – this category would be historic or new businesses such as Pops in Arcadia and Afton Station in Afton.
6) Historic businesses now closed – examples for this category would include the Painted Desert Trading Post and Coral Court Motel.
7) Route 66 entertainment – television shows and movies filmed on Route 66 or locations that were used in these films.
8) Personal stories – short stories of personal experiences on Route 66 that will serve to illustrate its evolution.

Thank you for the assistance.
Contact information:
Jim Hinckley
1308 Stockton Hill Rd.
Suite A, PMB 228
Kingman, AZ 86401-5190
jimhinckley@yahoo.com

Voyageur Press/Quayside Publishing – publisher
Text and photography by Jim Hinckley, author of Ghost Towns of the Southwest, Backroads of Arizona, Route 66 Backroads, The Big Book of Car Culture, Ghost Towns of Route 66 (fall 2010), and contributor for the compilation Greetings from Route 66 (fall 2010).

It is already looking as though the liberal editorial guidelines of 125,000 to 150,000 words will be inadequate so this may very well be volume one. Now, there is an interesting thought.

RUST, LOST HIGHWAYS, AND PLACES TO HIDE

To kick off the 2011 edition of our weekly book review and travel tip feature we have an international perspective on derelict automobiles, legendary American muscle cars out to pasture, a suggestion for an ideal weekend getaway, and a few other items we hope you will find of interest. As always, please feel free to share your thoughts, ideas, suggestions, and experiences.
Item one is another wonderful little book from Veloce Publishing of England. In Sleeping Beauties USA, Bjoern Marek, an automotive journalist with an intimate knowledge of the United States and a fascination for American automobiles, captures the forlorn beauty of vintage vehicles found along the highways and byways including legendary Route 66.
In this relatively small publication, 96 pages with 62 color photographs, Marek successfully manages to blend rusting hulks framed by raw scenes of natural wonder or equally faded roadside remnants from the era of the Edsel, in a manner that evokes fine art. As a simple, inspirational book for the initiation of lively conversation this book rates as more than a mere shelf filler.
The books is available through Amazon.com as well as direct from the publisher at http://www.veloce.co.uk/. Of course, it is also available through my favorite book store, Auto Books - Aero Books in Burbank.
The next title is an American chronicle of vehicles out to pasture but in this book by CarTech (http://www.cartechbooks.com/) the focus is on legendary muscle cars. I found this book to be more in the realm of automotive archeology as the author Steve Magnante, provides a bit of substance for the eye candy by providing information on the pictured vehicle by decoding the vehicles vehicle identification data plate.
Rusted Muscle: A Collection of Derelict Dream Machines is more than 176 pages packed with 420 color images of legendary muscle cars out to pasture, it is the stuff of dreams. If your fantasies lend themselves to resurrecting a vehicle from the era of raw, tire smoking horsepower, this book might just be the inspiration you need to transform them into realities.
Okay, our next title is, in essence, a giant, hard cover post card from America's most famous highway, Route 66. Heavily illustrated with concise entries from then pens of a number of authors intimately associated with this highway and its history, Greetings from Route 66, is a great addition to a roadies library. In addition it is also an excellent introductory course to the highways mystique for those unfamiliar with its captivating charms.
There is, however, a small flaw with this title, some of the material is out of date. Rather than reinvent the wheel, and as I am not a wholly impartial judge since I too am featured in the bylines, here is an excellent review written by Ron Warnick of Route 66 News that details the flaws as well as the merits.
Now, lets talk road trips, even though scouting for junk yards constitutes a good reason for a road trip in my book, with my weekend getaways suggestion of the week. Located less than fifty miles south of Route 66 and Ashfork, is the delightful treasure that is Prescott in Arizona, the former territorial capital.  
Summer is the best time for a visit as the elevation keeps it relatively cool. However, even winter is an excellent time for a visit even though they do get snow on occasion and the temperatures are a bit cooler than Phoenix with mornings often well below freezing.

The heart of Prescott is its charming historic district and courthouse square. With the exception of the traffic parked along the curbs, the area is a near perfect time capsule from the pre suburbia era with its malls and sprawl.
There are well preserved and restored hotels that have been meeting the needs of travelers for a century, a wide array of restaurants, museums, fine art galleries, and even an authentic western saloon with original bat wing doors. Encapsulating this rare gem are national forests and all the trappings of modern American from chain restaurants and malls, to auto plazas and housing tracts.
There are two historic hotels that I can recommend, the Hotel St. Michael and the Hassayampa Inn. The Hotel St. Michael is at the heart of everything on historic "Whiskey Row" and as a result quiet for a good nights sleep can be a rare commodity, especially during one of the many weekend festivals that give Prescott a vibrancy.

Hassayampa Inn in Prescott

So, when business or the need for a weekend getaway takes us to Prescott, we lean toward the 1920s era Hassayampa Inn, several blocks to the east. The price is reasonable, its always clean, the staff is friendly, the restaurant and lounge are wonderful time capsules, and the property is maintained in a near perfect balance between historic preservation and modern convenience.
Dining in the historic district of Prescott runs the gamut from Mexican restaurants in the same location for a half century, a micro-brewery that serves excellent food, and simple, small cafes. In  our travels we choose the historic restaurant in the Hassayampa Inn for breakfast.
The ambiance and food are wonderful as is the service. It also allows us to start the day on a more leisurely pace.

The lobby of the historic Hassayampa Inn

Now, if you happen to visit in the months of summer, have a vehicle with a bit of ground clearance, and really want to glimpse frontier era Arizona, the Senator Highway to the historic mining town of Crown King, an interesting attraction in its own right, is must. The old road twists and turns through the Bradshaw Mountains, past historic mines, and an authentic stage stop, the Palace Station, crosses small streams and through forests that present the illusion that it is 1880.
When traveling back roads, and this is a back road as it is a highway in name only, always check locally about road conditions. In Prescott the forest service office is downtown near the courthouse.
As a final item of the day we have an update. The new camera system has arrived, the learning curve is well underway, and, if anything goes according to schedule, we should be able to show you what makes Kingman such a special place in the next few days.