Flagstaff Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe, I mean Amtrak, Depot

A railroad depot might not be your first thought when considering towns along old Route 66. It's not a first thought modern travelers generally have. But once roads replaced wagon trails and the west began to attract new pioneers and curious sojourners, it was the trains that brought them. 'Course for many people in this country when auto travel became the norm, and later, flying, travel by train became less desirable. Lots of the early train stations and western depots were modernized or torn down. Luckily, though, some were preserved because they were repurposed and put to other uses. Some were just left but by some miracle not to rot. Many of these restored depots are now town and tourist treasures. They are repositories for local history and railroad artifacts, places for artists and craftspeople to display and sell their works, outlets for tourist schlock, and even railroad stations.

Flagstaff's old Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe—there's no "the" in the name of the railroad company but the old song fills my brain whenever I say the phrase, so I added the word for pure pleasure. Anyway—AT&F depot that stands next to Route 66 in Flagstaff is the third train depot. The first—a wooden structure burnt. That's a fate you hear mentioned along any historical route. Old depots: burnt. Old state capitols: burnt. Old hospitals: burnt. This structure houses an Amtrak station, a visitor center, a place where Native American artists can come to sell their jewelry and other art, gift shops for local museums, and the Lowell Observatory—Flagstaff is an International Dark Sky City.

Flagstaff's old depot is still an Amtrak station

I was lucky enough to be wandering around outside in the depot when a long train roared through. That's not a rare occurrence, though. Long freight trains pass through the town frequently—a sign warns motorists and pedestrians that trains do not sound their horns. But still it was a sight and I was glad to be on the platform at the time. Sort of reminiscent of my own old—although, not exactly pioneer—days, sitting on a big Samsonite suitcase surrounded by eager travelers including soldiers and sailors newly home from the war. Big dark wooden carts labeled "Railway Express" piled high with baggage in the background, and the oily smell of the station. Soon the seven-year old me would be put on the train along with little sister and hear Mother's admonishment to the conductor to "Be sure they get off in Newark." Then just to be doubly sure, she'd turn to any kindly looking one of those soldiers or sailors and say "Will you watch them and be sure they get off when they are supposed to?" But I digress.

Flagstaff—the Pine Cone and a hot cup of coffee

New York City may have it's famous New Year ball drop, and Vincennes, Indiana may drop a watermelon but in Flagstaff, Arizona revelers celebrate with the Great Pine Cone Drop. Not to be outdone by the cities to the east with similar annual observances, Flagstaff, according to the Arizona Sun, drops the Pine Cone from the historic Weatherford Hotel twice: at 10 "for families and those enjoying the celebrations on the east coast" and later, at midnight.

Flagstaff has certainly changed since 1960. Lots of shopping, art and music and theater, coffee shops with an international flair. In line at Macy's for coffee one morning, no one near me was speaking English. I felt as if I were in Prague or Rome surrounded as I was by visitors from other countries. Macy's has good coffee. House coffee is drinkable—and I don't mean that as a backhand compliment. I'm sort of a snob about coffee. I don't like it bitter nor so weak that you can see through it when it's being poured. It's an art to make good coffee that doesn't have to be enhanced by adding sugar or flavors, cream or foam to be palatable. It's a simple pleasure to warm your hands around a hot mug and then to drink something that actually tastes good. Macy's is that. Oh, and here's a tip I heard from a local. If you want a House coffee "to go," bring your own mug.

Before Christmas the Pine Cone countdown was underway

The Weatherford Hotel

A closer look

Road Trip

Starting off 2014 in the middle of a road trip from California to Indiana. I never can take one of these trips, or even cross from California to Nevada for that matter, without thinking of our intrepid pioneers. How did they ever bring themselves to cross the country in covered wagons, leaving people and most things behind or losing them along the way, things like pianos and rocking chairs—and grandmothers? It was too hot, too cold, too dangerous, too rough, and most of all too long of a trip.

First cross-country trip I ever made was in 1960 in a brand-new VW Bug. That was before the Interstate highway system was built, before the country became so homogenized that nothing new appeared around the bend. So, going to the South from New England meant a different eating experience. "Bottomless" cups of coffee were the norm. An order of breakfast of bacon and eggs meant not only b&e but also, hash browns, toast, stewed apples, and—if luck was with you—grits. A bottle of Dr. Pepper in Texas provided a jolt of—well—pepper. Eating lightly before reaching Amarillo rewarded the hungry traveler's appetite with the best steak along the way.

It's totally different now. 'Course you can find good eating everywhere if you look, or have recommendations from Foodie friends. But, along the beaten track, it's pretty much the same thing. Lots of burgers that those 1960 steak lovers might not identify as burgers. Lots of the same food everywhere at eating establishments that all look the same. Restrooms are better, though, I try to remember that before I wax too far into nostalgia.