The ruin from a distance.
Heading back to I-40 from Meteor Crater I saw down a side road what appeared to be a large ruined structure, of a kind of stony substantiality very unusual in these parts – indeed it looked from a distance like the ruins of Gabii, one of the little towns which had vanished into the maw of ancient Rome. I turned down the road to investigate. The road was in terrible condition – with weeds growing in the pavement, and large potholes. One pothole five feet across and two feet deep took me entirely by surprise, and my truck fell into it, bouncing back out of it with a terrible cracking sound I thought might be a broken axle. I stopped, got out, and checked for damage but found none. I proceeded thenceforth at five miles per hour rather than fifteen.
The ruin was an old stone building, built of the local red sandstone, a beautiful stuff. The construction, though of stone, was of the poorest; stones were frequently laid on end in order to create smooth surfaces rather than bedded to create strength; the mortar which had been thinly applied was vanishing. Not surprisingly, the whole was quickly collapsing. A giant nest, as of a stork, occupied an old window, but it was not even clear the building could support even a stork’s nest: the whole looked in danger of imminent failure, dashing the eggs on the ground.
Gravity will destroy stonework of this sort.
The building was beautifully situated, on a fine eminence which had the building appear much taller than it actually was. A bathroom had been added to the building, which did not look old so much as ruined. There was no indication of what it might have been used for, though of course I presumed it had been a home.
Beneath the hill were two abandoned cars, left there decades ago to no apparent purpose. Someone had spraypainted RANDOM on the trunk of one of the vehicles. As I climbed back into my truck I looked at the weedy, potholed road the ruin lay on; the road stretched off into the distance. It had not been built to reach this one solitary house; the house had occupied a fine site on the road. This must have been old Route 66. I did not know how far I could drive it, but still I preferred to go forward rather than back. As I went along a large pickup truck came down the road in the other direction. We were both going slowly, so I waved the driver down easily.
“Excuse me, what road is this?”
He appeared to be an Amerindian of some sort. “This road? This is Route 66.”
“I thought so. Do you know what that old stone building was?”
“It was a store… they sold souvenirs and ice cream. They closed when the road closed.”
“How far does the road go now? Does it go through to Winslow?”
“I don’t know where it goes. I think it just stops right at the rest stop about a mile down the road.”
“Well that’s all right. I like following the old roads. I’ll see. Thank you.” And we each drove off.
Sure enough, the road went to the rest stop, but there was a barrier there and I had to turn back. The old road obviously crossed the highway there, and so I could follow it no further.
Route 66, Meteor Junction.
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