I remember my last semester of college when Mary and I had first conceived of this plan to travel west. We established how cool it would be to drive down Route 66 and old highways and visit aliens and Mary said “I want to stand on a corner in Winslow Arizona!” and, for some reason, a lightbulb turned on in my head and I exclaimed “YESSS” (or something equally eloquent). The simple idea of migrating across the US to do something as frivolous as live out a moment in an Eagles song resonated with my spirit of adventure. Winslow, Arizona. A land where girls drive flatbed fords and offer rides to sexy, hitchhiking songwriters.
We’re not the only people who find this to be a magical idea. There’s a statue in the town next to a sign that says “standing on the corner.”
I picture us standing on multiple corners. In fact, I see a compilation of dozens of corners in Winslow, Arizona. I further envision the two of us driving hopelessly up and down the streets in search of a girl driving a flatbed ford, or possibly tallying the number of girls we might see. If you google Winslow, you’ll see a map of a town growing on a rock beside a giant crater. Images show signs pointing to Route 66; roads with white lines that go on forever; a “rock shop” with tons of nearly life-size dinosaurs sitting outside; and a thousand images of red desert on the land where wagons rolled through on their way to gold and manifest destiny. I get goosebumps when I see all those images and I think of all the new images we will make. We will east at the Casa Blanca Café, and spend the night at the La Posada hotel (the last Harvey House). The average high in Winslow for May is 79 degrees. I’m ready.