The 116 mile stretch of Route 66 from Seligman to Oatman is the only part of the old mother road not shadowed by I-40 in western Arizona. Arcing 37 miles north to Peach Springs, it then begins a gradual meandering southwest. Passing through several sparsely populated towns, it is perhaps one of the most original portions left of Old Route 66. Only at Kingman is it briefly forced to comingle with the modern world, before slipping westward into the Black Mountains.

I set out to explore this region with my travel partner, editor and girlfriend; all named Trish. Trish and I had explored parts of Route 66 before, in Texas, New Mexico and other parts of Arizona (see blog post named “Three Route 66 Gems You Can’t Miss.”) The furthest westward town explored for that post was Seligman, so in this post, we start out west from there.

However, before leaving Seligman in the dust, I must mention the excellent meal we had there at the Roadkill Café. When in Seligman don’t miss that, nor Juan Delgadillo’s Snow Cap Drive In for some classic Americana environment and good food.

The road up to Peach Springs is desolate. But it’s that inspiring and fulfilling type of desolation that only Route 66, and perhaps a few other old roads, can provide. Occasional long abandoned filling stations and sets of Burma-Shave road signs provide a glimpse into vintage auto travel. It remains this way until coming upon the second largest town on the trip, meaning the population is just over a thousand.

PEACH SPRINGS is located on the Hualapai reservation and serves as the Administrative Headquarters for the tribe. Though it has never been a very big town, it does have some old and adorable buildings, tailor made for photography and admiration. Don’t miss John Osterman’s 1928 Shell station, or the Trading post, which now serves as the Hualapai Game & Fish and Tribal Forestry.

About six seconds after departing downtown Peach Springs we were once again into that wonderful isolation. One would think on such a historical route there would be plenty of history seekers like ourselves. Indeed, in places like Seligman and Kingman there are. But once on the open road it was all ours; no motorhomes, no bikers, no slow minivans, just us with an occasional car coming the opposite direction.

TRUXTON is gone as soon as you see it. Consisting of a closed gas station and The Frontier Motel and Café, there is little else besides a few scattered houses and trailers. Despite this, Truxton boasts a population of 134. It was the only town we did not stop for.

VALENTINE is only a few more miles up the road. Its most notable feature in the looming three story brick schoolhouse. Built in 1903, The Valentine Indian School has been shut down since 1937. We drove the dirt path around the school looking for the best angle for a picture. A chain link fence has been placed around it with few gaps for a good angle. I managed a couple of poor shots before deciding to look for a better spot. An excited Trish informed me that someone had opened the rickety third story door while I was fighting for an angle through the fence.  We stood and looked for a moment. Nothing happened. I found a better gap in the fence, took a better shot, and then we went back to watch the door again. Indeed, after a few moments, the door slowly opened. Consisting of only a splintered frame on fragile hinges, it opened wide, exposing dim remnants of the interior. Upon closer inspection it was apparent that missing windows on the opposite side of the building provided enough of a draft to move the door which was long void of any handle or locking mechanism. Sorry for the tease. This is not a paranormal post.

Most of the route was fairly straight to this point. Now we began to wind a bit as we climbed around broad mountains. Also, this route follows the railroad clear to Kingman and we raced several trains along the way.

HACKBERRY. This place is awesome! There is plenty to explore, especially when you consider the population is 13 humans, 1 cat and 1 permanent burro, named Lisa. However, the layers of history here far outweigh the current number of inhabitants. When observing from the roadway, wrecks of automobiles, ranging from the 1920’s thru the 1960’s are abundant around the site. The wrecks of some of the buildings are about the same. But one must walk the site to get a feel for the long and charming history of Hackberry.

There has been some kind of settlement here since the 1860’s, when it was a prospectors camp and possibly a railroad siding. The town was founded in 1874 as a silver mining town. The town went boom and bust several times until 1919 when infighting and a lack of ore practically made it a ghost town. As providence would have it, Route 66 came through a few years later and filling stations, a general store and other services for early motorists, revitalized the town.

In the 1970’s the town was bypassed by I-40 sixteen miles away. Once again, the town was on its last breath, and once again a few people stayed on to eventually give it new breath. The general store was reopened as a tourism information site and souvenir shop in 1992 when renewed interest in Route 66 took hold. So, it remains today.

On the property, besides the intriguing general store, are remnants of a music hall, several old houses and shops, rusted Route 66 signage, ancient car parts of all kinds strewn about and Lisa, who came up to us wanting a handout. We had no food. Also, there was, what looked like an old stone kiln of some kind. However, Ray, who was working the store, informed me it was a well cover from which water was pumped and travelled through a pipe down to the railroad for the trains in the 1800’s.

There is no doubt that Hackberry is one of the “must stop and see” places along old Route 66. Trish and I could have stayed all day, but the road beckoned us on.

23 miles later we were upon the skirts of KINGMAN. Kingman is the crossroads of three major thoroughfares, and with a population nearing 30,000, I won’t spend too many words on it, except it is an old railroad town turned tourist center with as many motels as diners and convenience stores. There is also a pretty arch at the entrance into town.

Onward towards the mysterious Black Mountains. On a high slope, just east of the twisting canyons of the hills beyond, sits the picturesque COOL SPRINGS. It is actually only a single building these days. Well, maybe two if you count the shed in the back. Cool Springs was born along with Route 66 in the mid 1920’s. It was a loyal servant to travelers for 40 years, providing gas, oil, chicken dinners, nickel cokes and comfy cabins to spend a night in. But the place was left to ruins when newer roads bypassed the steep mountain route.

Good news! The main structure was rebuilt in the 1990’a to match its former Americana glory of yesteryear. There is no gas now and the cokes cost more than a nickel, but it is a great place to stop and poke around in. The scenery is unbeatable. Have your camera at the ready.

Into the heart of the Black Mountains we ventured. Hairpin turns, a narrow road and sheer drop offs lead the way for almost nine miles to Oatman. There are plenty of smashed vehicles below to remind you if you take your eyes off the road, you’ll become a part of that scenery. There is also a lonely hilltop about four miles before Oatman with crosses and names planted, presumably, of the many who have died on that road. If you don’t plunge off a cliff your liable to crash into a stubborn donkey as you near Oatman. So, be extra alert and go slow.

As we enter the rustic majesty of Oatman I will end this post abruptly. There is much to say about this place and the only way to give it justice is to allow Oatman its own blog post. This will happen very soon, I promise, so check back in soon. You will not want to miss Oatman!