1 comments/ 22400 views/ 1 favorites Jen: Route 66 Kicks Holbrook By: caprine [This is a work of fiction. The story is an unadulterated and unabashed attempt to tickle male fantasies and perhaps some female fantasies as well. It is a fantasy and as such, the story may or may not conform entirely with reality. With historical exceptions, all other locations, events, and characters are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.] Note: This is number eight in a series. Number One, Chicago, should be read first. ************ The morning sun was only an hour old as I crossed the New Mexico/Arizona state line a short time before reaching Lupton, at 1,536 miles past Go, that beautiful clear desert morning. I had just short of three-hundred eighty-six miles to go to get to the California line near Topok/Needles. But my immediate destination was Holbrook, Arizona, and the famous Wigwam Motel. My '63 Vette, split window coupe (a fully optioned Z06 model) that I call Miss Swifty, was purring like a cat at 100 plus mph as I sped along the Mother Road on the seventy some odd miles to Holbrook. I was twenty-three, single, footloose and fancy free at the time. If you've been following my sexcapades along the Mother Road, you know that back then, I had flaming, naturally red hair on my head and my full, but neatly trimmed bush, a pair of swinging thirty-eights, and the rest of a well proportioned and athletically fit body to complete my five foot four frame. I knew from my pre-trip notes that the first section of Route 66 in eastern Arizona passes across the southeast edge of the Navajo Indian Reservation--or as the Navajo prefer to call it, the Navajo Nation. The Nation is a large area, larger than the state of West Virginia and contains some 260,000 residents. The most famous landmark of the Nation is Widow Rock approximately twenty miles north of 66 between the state line and Lupton. Lupton itself, originally a railroad and cattle town, now exists on the tourist trade. Most of the exchange is in trading posts that feature Navajo-made arts, crafts, and souvenirs. Of course, there's a gas station or two. Route 66 continues on via Sanders and Chambers towards the city of Navajo at 1,567 miles past Go. Nearby are Navajo Springs where Arizona was established as a territory in 1863--just fifteen years after the U.S. had gained control of it as a result of the Mexican War. It was in Navajo that I picked up another hitch hiker. I'd stopped for coffee again and a pee. The hitcher was in the little cafe having a cup as well. A cardboard sign near him was labeled, Flagstaff. When I exited the ladies room, I ambled over to his table under his obvious scrutiny. "Do you mind if I join you? My name's Jen, what's yours?" "By all means, join me. I'm called "Red" for obvious reasons, but my name is James." "So, Red, have you ordered yet?" "No, coffee's all I was gonna have." "Sure you don't want something? It's my nickel." "Well, if you're gonna twist my arm, I guess I'd not turn down ham and eggs with toast to go with my coffee." "You a college boy?" "Yeah, I'm hitchin' home after summer session. I'll be a senior in the fall. I gotta late summer job waitin' for me in Flagstaff. I'm just a poor college student, too poor to have my own car just yet." "Well, Red, I think I'll have a sweet roll with my coffee. I already had my breakfast." A waitress ambled over and we ordered. I told Red what I was doing on Route 66 and he asked some astute questions. The guy was no adonis, but he was reasonably good looking, definitely masculine, and apparently horny as he copped looks at my exposed cleavage whenever he thought I wasn't looking. He finished his ham and eggs and we were drinking a last cup of coffee. Red had a dreamy look in his eyes and he wiggled around on his chair a bit more than what I thought normal. His left hand would disappear under the table off an on as along with his wiggling as though something was uncomfortable. "Tell me something, Red. Do you have cooties, or are you trying to accommodate a boner?" "Christ, nothing like being blunt about it, Jen." "Why beat around the bush? You appear to like what you see, and my bet is you'd like to have some of it. Right?" "Weeelll, damn it, as long's we're being blunt about it, yes." "Ok then. You know I'm headed west, so I can give you your lift to Flagstaff for a price." "I just told you, Jen, I'm a poor college student. I don't have enough money in my pocket right now to buy my own breakfast." "It wasn't money I had in mind." "Oh?" Red's interest had definitely picked up. "No. What I had in mind was a good roll in the hay in Flagstaff before we part company. A really good roll in the hay. You up to that." "I'm up to it right now--that's what all the wiggling's about. You were right about that. But I can wait 'til Flagstaff." "Good. I could use a little company on the road for a while. If you're a good boy, I might even let you drive part of the way." When we got to Swifty, his eyes bugged out at what he might get to drive. I got behind the wheel to start out "Jeeze, I never thought I'd be riding in a Vette. Gorgeous set of wheels, Jen." "thanks, Red." As we rode along, Red told me about the general area at my prompting and questions. Just west of the Navajo community we were just leaving was the entrance to the Petrified Forest National Park set up to preserve the amazing geological and archaeological features. Literally, a whole forest of downed trees was covered by silt and "petrified" over the centuries. We drove on down the highway. Red said, "On the north edge of the Petrified Forest Park is another tourist attraction, the Painted Desert." "What's that?" Of course I knew most all of this information from my pre-trip research, but it was a way of keeping Red talking. Besides, every once in a while, new little tidbits of information came out that I'd known nothing about. "The Painted Desert is an area of very richly colored rocks and earth created by the gradual erosion of ancient lake beds. The park also contains quite a number of excavated remains of Native American sites as well." We drove on in silence for a bit. In due time, Holbrook hove into view at 1,609 miles past Go. This community is another example of how the railroad was the making of the American West. In 1881, The Atlantic and Pacific Railroad laid its tracks through an area that was know as Horsehead Crossing. The following year, a railroad station was built and the small settlement's name was changed to Holbrook in honor of H.R. Holbrook, the first chief engineer of the railroad. "And Jen, the 'painted ladies' far outnumbered the 'proper women' in the early days. Yes, early Holbrook was a cattle town first, then the railroaders mixed in and the town soon developed all the vices of a typical wild west town." "Red, I recall reading something about the 'Hashknife Outfit' around this area. What was that" 'Yes, Jen. The Hashknife's formal name was the Aztec Land and Cattle Company that began operating in 1884, I think it was. They were the second largest cattle ranch in the U.S. with something like 60,000 head of cattle and the owners employed hundreds of cowboys." "Well, think of that." "Yeah. Holbrook became the county seat in 1895, which ensured its continued existence. Things slowly settled down, especially with the coming of Route 66 some thirty or so years later." With little difficulty, due to the proliferance of signage, I drove up to the Wigwam Village in Holbrook. Since I first read about it, I'd wanted to visit the Wigwam Village (motel) and fuck my brains out in one of its concrete Intian Teepees. The tourist "cabins" (individual teepees or wigwams) of the court was one of the first of seven such complexes built from Florida to California between the thirties and the fifties. This one at Holbrook had fifteen concrete wigwams that are fourteen feet in diameter at the base and thirty two feet high. Guests face either one or two beds (we rented one with only one bed) as they walk in the door. There's a window and a TV on the right side with a desk and an air conditioner on the left side. The bathroom door is beside (or between) and behind the bed (s). Red, and I walked into a relatively cool wigwam as the A/C had been on low. We were both more than ready to get out of the hot, Arizona sun. I was also more than ready for something else, as was, I think, Red. I'd been flirting with him ever since I picked him up in Lupton at breakfast. My usual traveling attire of halter top and short shorts, sans bra and panties, along with bare feet in sandals, gave him numerous and extensive views of my cleavage. This is not to mention my nearly exposed pussy as the seam of my shorts rode up tight into my pussy slit, making a well defined cameltoe. Red was nearly drooling much of the time and a large bulge was showing in his shorts. As we dropped our bags, I turned to face him, slipping out of my halter top and dropping it to the floor. My swinging 38s stood out proudly, led by my erect nipples, to stare straight at him. "Like what you see now, Red?" He needed no further encouragement. Red immediately dropped his mouth to the succulent treat I offered. He expertly kissed and licked his way around the topography. Electric currents radiated outward and downward from my tits to meet the tingling sensations rising from my aching pussy. "Oh yes, just like that, Red." I grabbed Red's crotch and gave it a not too gentle squeeze. He yelped and bit my nipple. I squeezed his bulge again and he bit my other nipple. He then straightened up, stepped out of his sandals, and dropped his shorts (sans underwear). Out bounced a vividly pulsing, gorgeous dick of a size to please any woman. The pearling precum indicated he was more than ready. I was on my knees in a flash and that big fuck stick was in my mouth. God, but he tasted good! Red was trembling from head to foot, he was so keyed up and horny. His dick was throbbing in my mouth. I swallowed and tongued his circumcised head, sticking the tip of my tongue into his prick hole. I felt that dick tense and quickly grabbed it around the base, squeezed hard, and held on. I just managed to stop his latent orgasm in time. "I don't want you to cum yet, I want to play some more first!" "Ummm," was all Red could say. As I dropped my shorts and stepped out of my sandals, I said, "Lose your tank top and let's move to the bed." I grabbed hold of his bobbing flesh pole and pulled him to the bed as he tossed his top to the floor. I dropped on the bed on my ass and laid back. "Fuck my tits, Red." So, he straddled me on his knees and plopped his big stick between my tits. I squeezed those thirty-eights into his cock and he proceeded to thrust up and down. "Go slow so we can both enjoy this for a while." I would nibble on his cock head as he reached the top of his up thrust. When Red again pulsed in anticipation of an ejaculation, I once more grabbed the base of his cock in a tight squeeze to shut it down. Not yet, buddy, not yet. I was really excited by then too. My pussy mound was rising and falling in time with the thrusts he was making in my cleavage. So, at last, I said, "Enough already, now I want you to eat me and then fuck me. Fuck me stupid, until you fuck my brains out!" "Not just yet, Jen, now it's my turn to tease," Red kissed his way down my chest to my navel. There he made three licking circles around that cavity, which nearly sent me up the wall. He continued kissing and licking down to the neatly manicured lawn on my pussy mound where he made slow circles with his index finger, chasing that finger with his tongue. He had a time trying to contain the thrusting of my pussy while he did that. Suddenly changing tactics, Red went to my right foot and gave my toes a tongue bath. He worked his way up to my ankle and then kissed his way up to my knee. He worked his way up my calf before he lifted my leg to lick and kiss behind the knee. I was shaking and quivering to beat hell. Keith kissed and licked his way up my inner thigh and back to my pussy mound, all without touching my pussy lips. By that time, I was issuing pussy juice like a leaking faucet, but Red ignored that. After making two circuits of my mound again, Red went to my left leg and repeated the process in reverse, down the inner thigh to my toes. I just thought I'd been shaking before. "For God's sake, Red, I need your cock. Give it to me. Fuck me. I'm dying, Red, damn it all FUCK ME! Ohhhh GOoood, plug my burning hole, you fucker." He looked up and winked at me with a smirky smile. Red then moved up into the saddle to rub his cock head up and down my labia, still avoiding my pussy slit until, at last, in rapid succession, he made two swipes with his cock head up and down my soaked and glistening slit. He centered himself on target and plunged his fat cock in to his balls before I knew what hit me. I was so pent up and heated, I couldn't hold back any longer. As that big, fat dick hit bottom, I exploded into a mindless and raving orgasm of pussy juice and screams that went on for some time. Red unloaded right behind me, pumping and pumping and pumping his hot cock cream deep into my pussy. Red was still humping me hard as he squirted. With a final squirt and a feral moan, he collapsed on top of me, still fully hard and coupled to me. We lay like that for quite some time. Red did take some weight off me, but remained hard and plugged in. Then, unbelievably and still hard, his cock did a slow twitch that became a minute thrust that then built into full length thrusts as he came alive again. With very little difficulty, I came alive again as well and met him, thrust for thrust. That time, our coupling was much more gentle and slow, sensual, and incredibly pleasurable. On that one, we orgasmed together in absolute ecstasy. I looked over at the clock which read six p.m. and said, "Why don't we shower and go to supper?" "Sounds great to me, Jen." Red proceeded to uncouple and get up. We showered separately, dressed, and went out to Miss Swifty. We found a nice place to eat and enjoyed a great supper. As we were leaving, Red tripped on the sidewalk and fell. Cringing in pain, he said, "I'm pretty sure I broke my leg, you better call an ambulance." At the hospital, after treatment and splinting, Red said, "Don't worry, I'll call my brother. You can go on with your trip. I won't be doing much traveling for a bit now." When he hung up the phone, Red said, "My brother will be here by mid afternoon tomorrow. The doctor wants to keep me overnight for observation anyway as it was a tricky break. You go on ahead with your plans. By the way, you were the best piece of ass I've ever had and I wish you the very best for the future!" "Oh, Red, thank you. You weren't so damned bad yourself!" We had a passionate and lingering good-bye kiss before I left his hospital room with a wave and a swish of my ass. I went back to the wigwam, stripped, and tried to nap. I didn't sleep well. I woke up several times to pee and groggily crawled back into bed. The next morning, I phoned Red and found he was doing well and feeling fine. We said good-bye again and I hung up. Back at the Wigwam, I checked out and hit the Mother Road for Winslow, headed for Meteor Crater. Joseph City was next up, just ten miles down the road. My near photographic mind recalled some the information about this tiny little wide spot in the road, population of around 1,500, or less. It dates back to 1876 when it was first known as Allen's Camp by its Mormon founders. That makes it the longest established, non-Indian community in Navajo County. In its early days, it was nearly destroyed by flooding of the Colorado River fourteen different times until a successful dam was at last completed. Nearby was a place I just had to stop in out of pure curiosity. The place is called the Jackrabbit Trading Post, dating from 1949. It became so famous that it announced itself in simple signs: a large black silhouette of a sitting jackrabbit on a big yellow sign board and the words, "Here It Is." As originally opened, the building had thirty, twelve inch jackrabbit cutouts hopping along the roof line and a large rabbit painted on the side of the building. A three foot high composition rabbit with yellow eyes was installed just inside the entrance door. That rabbit had more young children on its back for a family picture than anyone can count. I looked around and finally purchased a small jackrabbit stuffed toy as a souvenir and then got back on the road. As I drove, I chuckled over what helped make the post a legend. It was the advertising. To compete with the numerous other trading posts of the road, founder, James Taylor, joined forces with Wayne Troutner who owned a For Men Only store in Winslow. For a thousand miles, from Springfield, Missouri to Joseph City, the two put up billboards of hopping rabbits paired up with a lusty, dancing cowgirl. Thus were travelers enticed into stopping at the Jackrabbit Trading post with its huge, red on yellow sign saying simply, "Here It Is," and the Men's Only Store in Winslow. As merchants have long known. sex sells. I'd just left the Trading Post with Winslow up next when I checked my rearview mirror to see the flashing lights of a squad car on my tail. Then I heard the siren and saw the officer motioning me to pull over. "Shit! I sure don't need to be tied up in traffic court now." I slowed and pulled over onto the shoulder apron and stopped. The officer took some time as he checked out my plates, but he eventually came up to my window. Miss Swifty had been idling, cooling down. The officer first said, "Good afternoon, Miss. Would you turn off the ignition please?" I did. "Thank you. Did you see that little town back there a couple of miles?" "Yes sir, I did." "Well, I'm surprised that you did. You were running forty miles above the speed limit on the way through and you've been scorching the road ever since. I was barely able to catch you. You could've taken out any one of our citizens on the street and probably never known it." I remained silent. The officer was getting an eyeful of my cleavage and between my legs as I was dressed in my usual short shorts, halter top and sandals. Naturally, I was sans socks, panties, and bra. He noticed that I noticed that he was looking. Prefaced by a large gulp, he said, "Er, ah, um, may I p,p, please see your license and registration?" I got bold then and said to the officer, "If you like what you see, I'll make it worth your while to write me a warning ticket only rather than a full blown ticket." I batted my eyes and smiled demurely as I leaned into the door so he could get a really good view of my valley. After a moment or two of hesitation and a swift look around, the officer said, "Ah...step out of the car, please." As I stepped out, I noticed for the first time, the crumbled remains of an old adobe dwelling under a big mesquite tree af few yards back from the road. The officer led me that way. "Why don't we get out of the sun, Jennifer, and discuss this in the shade?" The shade just happened to be behind the ruins, out of sight of the road. The officer's name tag read, "Joe Jeffers." "Well, Jennifer, it looks as if your license, registration, and insurance are in order. Let's see what you look like and then I'll decide on what ticket to write. Do the top first." So, teasingly, in slow motion, I lifted my top, exposing my swinging thirty-eights with their half dollar size aureole, inch by inch. Officer Jeffers gave a low whistle as my big mounds were finally revealed in their full and naked glory. "Now, the shorts." Once again, I did a teasingly slow wiggle and push down of the shorts, inch by inch until the waistband had reached my knees. Then I dropped them to the ground. Jen: Route 66 Kicks Holbrook Then, there I stood before officer Jeffers, naked as the day I was born, except for my sandaled feet. "Now, I want to cop a feel or two, pun intended, honey, before you blow me." Officer Jeffers stepped up to me and ran both his hands all over my big boobs. "A hell of a lot better than I got at home." Officer Jeffers left his right hand to continue his tit play while he took his left down my back to my crack and then dropped that hand down and between my legs to go after my pussy slit from behind. Though I'd not planned to, I felt my pussy flood with moisture and knew Officer Jeffers was getting me steamed up, sexually that is. I could feel he was getting steamed up also as the bulge in his pants grew larger and larger and pushed up against my pussy from the front. After playing with me like that for some time, he dropped his hands and stepped back a pace. He unzipped and reeled out a fuck stick that would make any whore cry for joy, it was so large and fat. "Do me, slut, and do a good job of it!" I went to my knees in front of him and worked over that big cock of his. Using two hands, I stroked him up and down while I licked that monster bulb of a cock head. I could feel him getting awfully close to shooting his load, so I grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed his jism to a stop. "Whoa, boy, you got me so worked up now and you're not leaving me with a head of steam and the safety valve locked down!" I knew he wouldn't want to get his uniform mussed up, so, backing up against the crumbling wall, I said, "Now stick it in, buster, and you had better do a good job of it, too!" Well, Officer Jeffers did stick that big dick in and he did do a damned good job of it. The problem was it didn't take very long. We were both carrying a super heated head of steam by that time and we both exploded into a messy orgasm before he could give a half dozen thrusts. He backed out pretty fast in order to keep his uniform front from getting wet cum stains all over the front of it. He was still panting pretty hard as he did so. "Well slut, that was good enough that I'm not going to give you a ticket of any kind, just a verbal warning. Slow Down, especially in a populated area." With that, Officer Jeffers used my shorts to wipe his big dong clean, the bastard. Then he tucked his cock back into his pants, zipped up, and retreated back to his cruiser. I scrubbed my shorts in the sand to clean off the cum and dry them out some before I pulled them and my top back on and went back to Swifty. After the cruiser disappeared back towards Joseph City, I racked up the speedo to 100 for the rest of the drive to Winslow. Winslow lay some twenty-three miles west of Joseph City and is situated 1,642 miles past Go. Once again, the railroad was instrumental in the founding of a community, in this case, the date was 1881. I recalled and reexamined some of my notes as I saw the city appear a few miles ahead. One Edward F. WInslow was the namesake of the city. He was Vice-President of the Atlantic and Pacific Line, a company later acquired by the Santa Fe Railroad. Since 1908, Winslow's railroad had been working in partnership with the Fred Harvey Company to build luxury hotels in close proximity to the railroad stations. The La Posada Harvey House Hotel in Winslow was the apogee of their success. It would turn out to be the last of the hotels built in this chain. The Winslow/Santa Fe team built a Spanish Colonial Rancho-style station that was La Posada and a masterpiece. It opened in 1930 and was staffed by the famous Harvey Girls. The establishment was highly successful until the post war slump reduction in rail travel. La Posada was closed in 1957 but rebounded with vigor a few years later with the boom of the motoring tourists. A dozen miles further west brought me to my main point of interest in Arizona, Meteor City and Meteor Crater south and east of the "city." Meteor city isn't really a city at all, but rather, just a lone trading post, come tourist stop (trap). The trading post does possess some items of interest--a geodesic dome, a vintage truck display, and the world's largest dream catcher. Just past the trading post lies the road south to Meteor Crater, my target. Meteor Crater lies some twenty-five to thirty miles southeast of Winslow and about six or so miles south of Meteor City. The crater's just over three quarters of a mile in diameter and some five-hundred and fifty feet deep. It was formed, the geologists say, some 50,000 years ago when an iron mass weighing in the neighborhood of 60,000 tons entered the earth's atmosphere and landed in that little piece of Arizona. Although NASA conducted "moon walks" there with the astronauts in the 1960s, people are not generally allowed down into the crater bottom. Even the path around the circumference has been blocked off to the public except for a short, guided tour section. None-the-less, it has long been one of my fantasies to get fucked at the bottom of that crater. Wouldn't you just know it? The afternoon was getting on when I got there, and it took me a while to find someone to help me. But eventually, I found a man. I won't say who or how as it might cause him a lot of problems, most likely his job, but late that night, he got me to the crater bottom. The prize for doing so, which was my offer, was to be the one to fuck me silly when we got down there. The guy was older, probably somewhere between forty and fifty-five, maybe more, somewhat paunchy, and beginning to bald. But he wasn't all that bad looking. And he was pathetically eager. I thought I'd make his day. I think this was to be one of, if not the, major highlight of his year. It was half past midnight, we were on the bottom of the crater, and we were shivering. Though hot during the day, the desert cools quickly at night and the bottom of that big hole was damn well freezing cold. It didn't take long, though, for both of us to get warmed up really good. I will say this for "Ned," as I'll call him, he did have uncommon stamina. We stripped and started rubbing each other to get warm. One thing led to another, quickly, and we were off. We played for over two hours. Whatever else Ned had or didn't have, he had a decent cock and he most definitely knew how to use it. He fucked me up, down, and sideways--in the mouth, in the pussy, in the ass. He fucked me standing up, missionary, sitting, doggie style, him on top, me on top facing front then facing back cowgirl stye; the guy just wouldn't quit. I don't know if he took a double dose of some aphrodisiac first or what, but he stayed hard the whole damned time and granted me my wish. He fucked me silly, until I thought my brains really would run out. We sure weren't worrying about the cold anymore, I can tell you that! But finally, Ned said, "We have to quit and get out of here before daylight, or there'll be hell to pay." So, that's what we did, dressed and got the hell out of there. Once up top again, we parted and went our separate ways. Back in the park lodge, where I'd rented a room the day before, I ran a tub and bathed. Then I drained the water out and refilled the tub, nearly to the top. I added in all sorts of bubbly, sweet smelling things the room was stocked with and soaked/slept until the water was so cold, I had to get out. The time was just shy of 10 a.m. when I stepped out, dried quickly, and jumped into bed to sleep until I woke up hours later at midnight. There was no way I wanted to get underway again at the hour of the night. Instead, I pulled out my research notes for the rest of the Arizona and the first part of the California sections of Route 66 that I'd be rolling down in the morning. I kept at it until I got sleepy enough to go back to bed. Dawn was some time past breaking when I next opened my eyes. I went out for breakfast. Just for something to do, I asked the waitress if there was anything of interest around other than the crater. "Well, if you like ghost towns, there are two nearly atop one another just a few miles west of town (Meteor City) that you could visit. You can't miss them because of the prominent signs." So, I was off to visit Two Guns and Canyon Diablo, the two old ghost towns. Canyon Diablo, during its heydays of glory, was described thus: "Tombstone, Virginia City, and Abilene could not hold a candle to this end-of-the-rail depravity." Two Guns was built long after Canyon Diablo was already dead and nearly buried in the rocks and drifting sand. Two guns survived long enough to witness the advent of and thrive during the peak years of old Route 66. The Twin Arrows Trading Post at 1,674 miles past Go, was the next interest site. Drivers can't miss it--not with those colorful, monstrous sized twin advertising arrows towering sixty feet above the ground at a sharp angle just off the roadway. I didn't stop-there wasn't much else to see. Padre Canyon was next up. The oldest alignment of the road angled northwest, crossing the canyon that dramatically breaks the relatively flat plains of the high desert. Predating Route 66, the 1914 Padre Canyon Bridge, on the old Flagstaff-Winslow highway, was one of the most dangerous bridges with its accompanying approach roads on the whole of Route 66.. Because of the accidents on the bridge and the serpentine roads leading down to it and back up the other side, a realignment of Route 66 along with a new bridge for the new stretch of road, occurred in 1937. Though a little worse for wear by my time, the architecture of the bridge reflects another era when model-T's ruled the highways and byways. Finally, in the words of Bobby Troup, "don't forget Winona," just sixteen mile east of Flagstaff. It was Troup's song, "Get Your Kicks on Route 66" that made Winona an icon of the road. It is deliberately out of sequence with the other cities in the song because of its near-miss: "Don't forget Winona" as the lyrics of the song read. The name was included in the song only because Troup needed something to rhyme with "Arizona" in the lyrics. A Mr. Billy Adams returned to what he called the "perfect spot" with his new bride in 1912 or 1913. They promptly built a trading post with living quarters over it and exchanged supplies and groceries with the Navajo and Hopi Indians for native blankets, jewelry, and other crafts. Route 66 was not established until 1926, but the Model-T's were making their way westward on the old Flagstaff-Winslow Highway, Passing right by the Adams' trading post. Recognizing an opportunity, the couple soon established one of the first tourist camps of the region as well as overnight tent camping for those who couldn't afford the one dollar a night cabin fee. Winona grew as people began to travel Route 66 in earnest, winding up with a population of just over one-hundred. But the small town's heydays would be short. Already in 1937 still another one of those pre-interstate route realignments took place that routed the highway south of town, bypassing it altogether. The town would of been just another derelict of history if it hadn't been for Bobby Troup and his song. The town never really prospered like so many other small towns along the Mother Road. There's little left of Route 66 there except another one of those great old bridges. I had to pee again. So, while stopped in Winona for that call of nature, I also topped of Swifty's fuel tank. She and I had a ways to go yet. Flagstaff was next on the map at 1,700 miles past Go. A young high school age boy was doing the gas pump jockey thing. He flirted with me, but I wasn't yet horny enough to let his flirting succeed. Before the arrival of highways or railroads, Flagstaff was already an important staging area for wagon trains on route to California. There are several versions of how Flagstaff came by its name, but all versions involve stripping a lone pine tree and making it into a flag pole and position marker that travelers could zero in on from quite some distance away. Being named the county seat over Williams in 1891, ensured the survival of Flagstaff. The establishment of the University of Northern Arizona in 1899, making Flagstaff the cultural center of northern Arizona also helped. The tourist trade from Route 66 further insured the continued future of the town. I wanted to do some sight seeing around Flagstaff and I particularly wanted to get a room at the Weatherford Hotel that first opened on January 1, 1900. I asked the young, drooling, pump jockey how to get to the hotel. He managed to give me coherent directions. I purposely gave him an eyefull of my tight cameltoe as I got back into Miss Swifty and drove off. Maybe he'll have wet dreams about me this week. The hotel was built by, who else but a man called Weatherford, John Weatherford, to be exact, who was one of Flagstaff's influential citizens. He rode into town when Arizona was still a territory and vigilantes ruled the dusty dirt streets and trails. He had a grand vision for the town and his hotel was considered one of the finest hotels in the West. It attracted many famous, V.I.P. types such as newspaper tycoon, William Randolph Hearst, former President Theodore Roosevelt, Old West author Zane Grey, and lawman Wyatt Earp. The desk clerk on duty was a young college man who attended UNA as a senior. I decided to zero in on him as both a source of information and as a--well, you know what for by now. I was horny again. His name was Philpot, Bill Philpot. His shift was just ending, so I invited him to have something to drink with me in the coffee shop. He agreed. We got a table and sat eating sweet rolls and drinking coffee. "So, Bill, are you attached?" "Yeah, sort of." "What do you mean, 'sort of'?" "I'm supposed to be engaged, but Sharon has broken it off again for the third time. I'm getting very disgusted with her.'" That made things easier for me. However, I needed to flirt a little more before striking. I bent over more often than necessary to increase the view of my cleavage, showed some leg, and generally gave him smoldering looks. My actions were having their effect on Bill as we talked. "By the way, Jen, did you know that the Weatherford has a couple of resident ghosts?" "Oh, God. Not again." "Whatda ya mean by that comment?" So I explained my history of ghost experiences on Route 66 since leaving Chicago. Bill laughed or chuckled several times during my recitation. "Well, I won't guarantee it, but it's conceivable that you might run into one of ours." "Please, tell me about your see through residents." "Ok. The hotel's Zane Grey Ballroom contains stained glass windows and an antique Brunswick bar from Tombstone. It's also reputed to be the site where at least one of our resident ghosts, a woman, is said to appear most often." "What does 'she' look like, who is she, and have you ever seen her?" "Whoa, slow down, Jen. No, I've never seen her. She's said to appear, vague featured, and seems to float across the room. Other sightings have her darting from one side of the room to the other. Others have observed different phenomena occurring in that room." "Like what, for instance?" "Oh, some people have reported that the light over the pool table seemingly sways of its own accord and the sounds of whispers and voices sometimes emanate from the otherwise empty room." "And you've never experience any of this, correct?" "Correct. All I can do is report what I've heard from guests and staff." "You said a 'pair' of residents, Bill." "Yes, that's right. Some people have reported the haunting of the hotel by a long ago bride and groom." "Oh my, tell me about that one." "According to the legend, a honeymooning couple was murdered in Room 54 of the hotel back in the 1930's. On at least one occasion, an employee who was staying in the hotel, awoke in the middle of the night to find a bride and groom sitting on the foot of the bed." "That's scary!" "The story goes on. Today, the room has been turned into a storage room. But that hasn't stopped the ghost sightings of the pair. Various guests have reported seeing the couple entering their former honeymoon room anyway. Also, staff often report hearing their names being called out by an unseen spirit while on the fourth floor as well as feeling a presence standing behind them." "Wow!" Bill had been staring at various parts of my anatomy the whole time he was telling me those stories. He knew that I was aware of his stares, but he couldn't help himself. He'd look me in the eyes a bit but would always return to more interesting places such as my cleavage. "Ah, I need to go the the restroom a minute, Jen." As he shakily rose from the table, I immediately spotted the big bulge in the front of his pants. "Uh, Bill..." "What?" " Well, to be blunt about it, if you're going to the restroom to take care of that boner you're sportin', I know a better way." "And just what would that be?" "Come up to my room with me. I see you lodged me on the floor with the infamous honeymoon room. Maybe we'll both see something." "I don't know about you, Jen, but I sure know what I want to see." Bill dropped enough money on the table to pay for our food and drink plus a tip. We immediately decamped for my room. Once safely inside, Bill wasted no time. He must of really worked himself up while we talked as he none-too-gently and quickly got me out of my skimpy clothing. "God. You're on hell of a piece of womanhood, Jen. Just gorgeous." "Im sure glad you think so, Bill. Now let me at you." I dropped his trousers and boxers in a flash and just as quickly dropped myself to my knees. His cock found an immediate home in my mouth. I'd had much bigger, but he'd do nearly as well. While I was working happily away on his pocket rocket, he divested himself of the rest of his clothing. That task completed, I felt his two hands clamp on the back of my head and pull me into his pubic bone. The action went on for couple of hours: it was a real fuck and suck session. For a college boy, he must of had a lot of experience because he was really good. In post coital languor, I asked him, "Bill, what will Sharon think about what you've just done?" "Who cares, Jen. She won't let me do more than just kiss her on the mouth until we're mairried. When she finally makes up her mind, I might have moved on unless she quits stalling. Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy life as it comes at me." "None-the-less, Bill, I'm going to be around, sight seeing, a day or two. But I think this better be our only session together. No use pushing Sharon too hard, at least I don't want to. But I will say, you sure know what a woman's purpose is. I just hope your Sharon finds out in time to keep you." Since Bill knew he was shut off after our session, he pushed me into one more good fuck. He didn't have to push very hard. But at last, he kissed me good-bye and left. I slept undisturbed through the night. In fact, by the time I checked out after one more night stay, I'd not seen nor heard hide-nor-hare of any ghosts. Hurrah, maybe I'd dumped my ghost experiences for good. At any rate, I was back on old Route 66 and headed for points west. I planned another delay though. Williams was next on the map and the Grand Canyon. I had to make the detour to see that. Depending on what time I arrived, I intended to use one or two days to take the tour. But first, Williams, Arizona. Williams has remained alive while other small towns died, or nearly so, when Route 66 was realigned or later replaced by I-40 because of its proximity to the south rim of the Grand Canyon. So close, that the town has become famous as the "Gateway to the Grand Canyon." I planned to stay at the Fay Marcos Hotel and use the Grand Canyon Railway from the depot across the street from the hotel to get to the canyon. By the way, the hotel was the result of another of those collaborations between the Santa Fe Railroad and the Harvey Company. So, my first stop was the hotel to get a room. Jen: Route 66 Kicks Holbrook While registering, I spotted quite an obvious looking and acting gentleman in the bar off to the side of the lobby. He was well dressed in a western shirt, suit, string tie, and cowboy boots. His full head of hair and full beard-mustache was snow white. He was lost in an apparent contemplative daze while sipping his whiskey. After completing registration, I went into the bar and took an empty stool next to the man. "Excuse me, sir, may I talk with you for a moment?" No response. "Sir?" "Ah, pardon me, Miss, what was that?" "I asked you if I could have a word with you for a bit." "Why now little lady, I'd be a darned rascal to turn down a request like that from such a good looking young lady as yourself. My name's Theodore, ah, Ted to you. What can I do for you?" Contrary to your guess, dear readers, I wasn't after sex with this man. I did fib just a little though. "My name's Jen. I'm writing a book about the southwest and I'd like to know if you have any knowledge of the local area, Williams in particular." "Well now, little lady, I just might at that. Would you allow me to buy your supper and answer your questions then?" "Yes, I accept your invitation with pleasure, sir." "Ted, please." "Yes, Ted." During and after the meal, we talked for a very long time about the history of the area. "You see, Jen, my great grandfather settled in the area to trade with the local natives and run a freighting business. I was born and raised in this area and been here all my life. So I do know quite a bit about the region and the local area." "Oh, that's just great." "What would you like to know, Jen?" "To begin with, how did Williams come to be?" "Well now, Jen, like much of the rest of the Southwest, Williams went through the Native occupation, Spanish, wild west frontier, railroad, and other stages of development. And, like so many other of those towns of the Old West, Williams gained a reputation as a rough and rowdy settlement with the usual run of saloons, brothels, gambling houses, and what not." "But things changed?" "Oh surely. Even back in those early days tourism was a growing factor. That was, of course, because of the Grand Canyon Back in those days, they came by buckboard, stage coach, or on horseback, but they came. It truly was a marvelous phenomena from the first human to see the canyon, to the early settlers, and to all of us today." "I suppose the railroad was a big factor here like everywhere else in the Old West?" "Yes, Jen, it was, both in the founding of Williams and in boosting the tourism of the area. You see, in 1901, the Santa Fe Railroad extended its line from Williams to the Grand Canyon, making Williams the true "Gateway to the Grand Canyon." "1901, Jen, was also the year the Great Fire occurred in Williams. Thirty-six businesses, including two hotels, plus ten homes were gone in less than an hour. But, within days, the town began to rebuild. . Not too many years later, Williams also became home to one of the famous Harvey House Hotels. It was the Fray Marcos Harvey House Hotel, the very building we're in and in which you have rented a room." "Fascinating. By staying in the Marcos, I get to be part of the ongoing history of Williams and of Route 66. Fantastic." "Yes, Jen. And Route 66 came through Williams in the routes inaugural year, 1926. That boosted tourism and the towns reputation even more." Unfortunately, I'd discover, later, that the old 66 would be shut down for good in Williams just three years after I left town. Ironically, the town would be the very last Route 66 town to be completely isolated (No exit) by the new I-40 on October 13, 1964. Ted and I chatted for quite some time about the history of the area and other pleasantries. But all too soon, he and I had to part to pursue our separate interests. I think he really appreciated the good-bye kiss I gave him. He was such a distinguished old gentleman. I hope he has pleasant dreams. One place I learned about from Ted, I just had to go check out. That was a temporarily empty building that was once a popular saloon and bordello. Reportedly, it also was haunted by ghosts. I did go check it out, but, again, I saw or heard noting of a ghost while I looked the place over. Thank God. For the second time that day, I thought I might have left my ghost experiences behind me. I soon spent my first night in Williams. The Grand Canyon National Park lies about sixty-five miles north of Williams. I caught the first train of the day the next morning. Since I was alone, I thought a companion for this side trip might be nice. Consequently, with my encouragement, I allowed myself to be "picked up" by a woman slightly older than myself. It turned out later that she was only two years older. There didn't seem to be any unattached males in our rail car and anyway, that woman intrigued me. What the hell. Sue Ellen was her name. She may have been older than me, but she was a lot giddier, flightier, oh, hell, just downright spacy at times. She was also blonde. I don't know if she was really as dumb as the stereotype, but sometimes she acted as if she were. But she was a really good "kid" at heart and I really liked her. I thus was also quite easily able to take the lead with her. The ride to the canyon wasn't all the long, especially since we gabbed the whole way getting acquainted with one another. Sue Ellen was a pool secretary for an investment firm back in Illinois. She was using up her annual vacation time by herself since she'd recently broken up with a live in "Significant Other." We detrained at the log depot at the Grand Canyon end of the train ride. The building was constructed between 1900 and 1910 and is the sole remaining log structure out of the supposed fourteen ever built, still in use on an operational railroad. That claim, though, has never been verified. Sue Ellen and I elected to take the surface tour first. That allows tourists such as we were to explore the surrounding area and the vistas of the canyon more fully and with ease. The open, horse drawn carriage was dusty, but afforded an all 'round view. The colors of the canyon walls were just indescribable. I slowly realized that to take the tour to the bottom of the canyon, we'd have to stay overnight. Lodging was easily secured. Yes, Sue Ellen and I were together for the entire trip as well as the later train ride back. She had planned to go on with her vacation, but acquiesced to my seduction and stayed the night in my room there at the canyon with me. And what a night that was. I'd not had a girl-girl liaison in a very long, long time. I just liked a real cock too much. As the door to our room closed behind us, Sue Ellen stood stock still, trembling. Her trembles were not earthquake shocks, but slight and visible all the same. "Come, let me hold you, Sue Ellen." I opened my arms as I walked toward her and she allowed me to enfold her in an embrace; tits to tits, pelvis to pelvis, upper thigh to upper thigh. It wasn't a cherishingly tight embrace, but rather, a gentle and loving one. I stroked her back, her hair, and kissed her lightly on her forehead. Yes, she was just that much shorter than I. She quickly gentled down under those light ministrations. For a while, everything was gentle, almost slow motion as I undressed her and then led her hands in undressing me, not that I had much to take off as usual. On the bed, our lovemaking was just as gentle and slow: light kisses, light caresses, very light licks. At least for a while that was true. I got the idea, pretty definite like, that Sue Ellen had never been with another female before. Before we dropped off to sleep, she'd admitted that fact out loud. The light approach took quite some time, but eventually, with enough attention to all her erogenous zones and finally to her pussy, I awaked a fire in Sue Ellen that neither of us could quite believe. I'm not complaining, mind you, but it was trully awesome. Sue Ellen's comment later was, "I didn't know it could be like that with a woman." Yeah! At least some sleep came to us before the long day we faced on the morrow for the mule trip to the bottom of the canyon. Sunup came all too early. However, after a hearty but quick breakfast, we were ready with the rest of the party waiting for our mules and instructions from the guide. The two of us mounted mules when told and our guided tour of the bottom was off and running--er plodding. I'm not sure I could do that again. The descent was, to put it mildly, harrowing and extremely scary. Going back up was a bit less scary because we were no longer constantly looking down the serpentine trail (goat path?) and the precipitous drop-offs every inch of the way. I wouldn't take a million dollars for the entire guided tour, but I'd be hard pressed to do it again. As mentioned, Sue Ellen was still with me on the train ride back to Williams. We were both too tired to proceed further with traveling, so we stayed another night in the Marcos. We only rented one room again. Another night of very sweet love making ensued after a first torrid bout of pure animal lust. Sue Ellen was learning. Half way through that second night together, Sue Ellen and I both were wide awake and, for the moment, sexually satiated. I got her interested in the history and trivia of the canyon and drudged up some of my pre-trip research. "Long-standing scientific consensus has been that the canyon was created by the Colorado River over a six million year period:," I told Sue Ellen. "Gee, that's a long time, Jen." Duh! " How big is that thing anyway, Jen?" "It''s two-hundred and seventy-seven miles long, ranges in width from four to eighteen miles, and gets as deep as one mile plus." "Gee, that really is big, isn't it, Jen." Again, DUH! I told you before, Sue Ellen could sometimes be dense and ditsy at times. "But, Sue Ellen, the canyon was made by more than one river." "It was?" "Yes, dear. Tributaries of the Colorado cut some side canyons also. The canyon began in the west, followed by another that formed in the east. Eventually, the two broke through and met as a single majestic rent in the earth all that long time ago. That merger apparently occurred where the river today bends to the west, in the area known as the Kaibab Arch." "How'd you learn all this stuff, Jen?" "By looking up the Grand Canyon in reference books in the library, Sue Ellen." "Oh." "I have some interesting, to me anyway, statistics on fatalities in the canyon." "You mean people have died in the canyon?" "Yes, Sue Ellen, they have." "How many?" "According to my findings, about six hundred have died there since the 1870's. Some ot the deaths were the result of overly zealous photographic endeavors, some were the result of airplane accidents, like the disaster in 1956. Some deaths were due to other kinds of accidents such as white water rafting drownings or hikers who over estimated their fitness level resulting in dehydration, confusion, and maybe death unless they were rescued in time." "My goodness. What was that 1956 disaster you mentioned?" "At that time, the worst air disaster in American history happened on the morning of July 30, 1956, when a TWA Lockeed Super Constelation and a United Airlines Douglas DC-7 collided in mid air above the canyon. They flying in unmonitored air space. Obviously, there were gaps in the radar coverage of planes back then. One-hundred and twenty-eight people died." "Did the planes fall into the canyon?" "Yes. The wreckage fell into the eastern portion of the canyon, on Temple and Chuar buttes, near the joining of the Colorado and Little Colorado rivers. But some good did come of the disaster." "What was that, Jen?" "As a result, high-altitude flight ways, sort of like highways on the ground, were created, stacked in levels of altitude. Also established was positive radar control of these airways by ground controllers the entire time planes were airborne." "Jen, what do you know about that village we visited at the bottom of the canyon?" "Sue Ellen, didn't you listen to the tour guide when he talked about the village while we were there?" "No, Jen, I was too busy looking around. Besides, I couldn't catch much but a word or two now and then." "Jeeze, Sue Ellen. Sometimes you can be so dense. But to answer your question, I do know a few things about the village of Supai." "No doubt from your research." "That's correct, Sue Ellen. Supai, or Havasupai, is the capital city of the Havasupai Indian Reservation. It's population fluctuates over time from a handful to no more than five-hundred souls. It remains the only place in the United States where mail is still delivered by muleback. Supai can be reached by hiking eight miles; descending three thousand vertical feet from Hualapai Hilltop and the Hualapai Canyon; or by helicopter air lift. Those are the only ways in." "Wow!" Eventually, we both wore down and dropped off back to sleep. Dawn came too early once again. We had breakfast together, but, as with Ted, eventually, the time to part ways came. For me, it was time to get on with my odessy. I was alone once more. Miss Swifty purred magnificently again as we cruised away from Williams and I pointed her nose westward again. Twenty or so miles down the road, Ash Fork appeared at 1, 755 miles past Go. The town, named for the many ash trees growing on the town site, was once a stagecoach stop first and later a station stop on the Santa Fe railroad. It also once sported an extravagant Harvey House Hotel, the Escalante that opened in 1907. Later, it became known as the "Flagstone Capital of the World" with five or six stone yards shipping the locally mined slabs throughout the United States. A very long, scenic ride stretched out just after Ash Fork at Crookton Road. That portion of Route 66 goes through miles of rolling hills of the Ash Fork plains before reaching Seligman and beyond to the California border. And, in due course, that's exactly where I arrived; Seligman at 1,785 miles past Go. When pioneers along the Beale Wagon Road passed through this area in the mid nineteenth century, it was know as Mint Valley. Later when the Prescott and Central Arizona Railroad planned to connect the area to Prescott, in 1886, the settlement was called Prescott Junction. When the connection was completed, the train had to run backwards to Prescott Junction as there was no turntable in the village. Not too long afterward, the PCARR went out of business, but soon the Santa Fe took over the abandoned railroad and the town was renamed Seligman, in honor of the Seligman brothers, who helped finance the railroad south. As rail traffic increased, another of those Harvey House Hotels went up, this one in 1905. Like most of the others, it was a very grand edifice. By my time, it was still standing, but unused. Water was and is a scarce resource in the southwest. For a time, water was so scarce in Seligman that it had to be brought in by railroad tank cars from Del Rio 'Puro' near Chino Valley. In Seligman it was delivered to homes for fifty cents a barrel. Seligman was only a brief stop. I had to pee again. Back in Miss Swifty, the road stretched in a long line towards Peach Springs, Truxton, Valentine, and Hackberry. I put the pedal down, cruisin' that direction. I'm not interested in spelunking, so when I passed by the Grand Canyon Caverns sign, I kept going. But I did remember that those caves, three quarters of mile underground once formed part of the bed of a huge ocean, now completely dry. Since their discovery in 1927, elevators, lights, and pathways had been installed and regular, guided tours made available. But, as I said, I wasn't interested in that sort of thing. That's also why I hadn't stopped to see the Merrimack Caverns in Missouri that had been advertised forever, it seemed, on billboards and barn roofs before I actually got there. This was the same advertising technique I described earlier in the case of the Jackrabbit Trading Post. Just west of the caverns, the highway meanders into the lands of the Hualapai Indian Reservation that encompasses more than a million acres, including one-hundred-eight miles of the Colorado River and the Grand Canyon. Peach Springs lies about twelve miles west of the Grand Canyon Caverns at 1,820 miles past Go. The little settlement is the headquarters for the reservation. This same village was once the western terminus of the Santa Fe Railroad. Near the intersection of Route 66 and Diamond Creek Road, is the Hualapai River Runners office, the only Indian owned and operated river rafting company of the Grand Canyon. Diamond Creek Road at the west rim of the Grand Canyon, is the only known existing road that leads to the bottom of the canyon. Route 66 turns a bit southwest out of Peach Springs to head for Truxton eight miles further on. That's just outside the Hualapai Reservation. In 1857, the town was named by Naval Lieutenant Edward Beale who was in the process of surveying a wagon road from Arkansas to the Colorado River. The name was in honor of his maternal grandfather, Commodore Thomas Truxton. Unlike so many western towns, Truxton is a "new" town; it didn't exist before the establishment of Route 66. In fact, it started as just one cafe and a gas station in October, 1951, when Donald Dilts built them to accommodate the growing postwar traffic on Route 66. Competing businesses were quick to follow the lead of Dilts. All but one or two were destined to disappear with the later replacement of the Mother Road. Valentine, next down the road was still viable with its on again, off again Indian school open when I went through. But, same oh, same oh, the final death nell of Valentine would be the displacement of Route 66 by I-40 in 1978. Up 'til then, the town had boasted up to several hundred residents. It was also during Valentine's better days that thousands of Valentine cards and messages would flood into the tiny contract post office for its heart shaped postmark. At 1,845 miles past Go, I reached Hackberry, Arizona, the oldest town along this long stretch of road. Its origin dates to 1874 when prospectors set up a mining camp on the east side of the Peacock Mountains. Silver was the precious metal sought. The coming of the railroad made the town a loading point for the cattle ranchers. In 1919, the mine closed, not because it was totally played out, but because of litigation among the owners. Life in Hackberry came to a slow crawl until a temporary reprieve was granted by the building of Route 66. That is, until the Interstate system once again dealt the final death blow. I grew tired of driving and losing concentration on my driving as my mind got lost in the research information I'd just been reviewing. So, at Kingman, 1,870 miles past Go, I pulled off the road for a refresher of some kind at the first cafe or restaurant I could find. After getting some coffee and a chicken salad on rye sandwich, I took a seat and relaxed. Then I heard a voice behind me. "Well, it took you long enough to get here, Jen." "What the hell? Sue Ellen?" "Yeah, it's me, Jen." she said as she slid into the booth on the other side of the table. "I thought you'd be long gone by now, Sue Ellen." "Yeah well, I changed my mind and thought I'd wait here for you on the off chance that you'd stop at the first food place you could find." "Think you know me do you? Just how long were you prepared to wait, Sue Ellen?" "I don't really know, Jen, but probably another day or two anyway. Then I'd likely give it up and go on my solo way." "So what's the meaning of your presence and wait specifically for me?" "I wanted to ask you if we could travel together for a while for company. I'd split the gas and a room with you if you'd care to and pay for my own eats. Or I could get my own room if that suited you better."