Sorry, no scandal here—not yet, anyway—merely the well-worn tailgate of a Studebaker pickup, found at a garden nursery where it enjoys a second life as Found Art.
For flat objects like this, orienting the camera to guarantee sharp details across-the-board is fairly straightforward… when you focus carefully. Most subjects aren’t flat, of course, and present different choices. This time of year, flowers are my favorites; their abstract, whimsical qualities invite selective focus, as these roses did yesterday evening.
You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus. —Mark Twain
Eastward across Nevada, following Highway 50 to Ely, Ulrich and I stopped briefly in Austin and Eureka. Just enough time to scratch at the surface of both towns.
Whoever said money can’t buy happiness simply didn’t know where to go shopping. —Bo Derek
Examine any thing in nature, and you’ll see the intricate alongside the infinite.
Details create the big picture.
—Sanford I. Weill
Leaving Wupatki National Monument in the near-dark, we eased past Sunset Crater and rejoined the main highway to Flagstaff. Raindrops caught up with us as we entered town, and after a typical diner dinner our tired eyes were soon shut.
The following morning it was time to wind up our trip with a drive to Kingman, and then north to Las Vegas. I’d heard people describe this portion of the interstate road system as boring and monotonous, but to a first-time traveler it appeared as a lovely and changing landscape. Perhaps I’ll eat those words someday, should I pass through during summer, but until such time my verdict stands.
When a Shell station came along near Seligman, Arizona, I deemed it time to refuel men and beast. The quantity of souvenirs inside that combination gas station/store/restaurant was staggering, and as I was being drubbed by their tackiness it slowly dawned on me—all those 66s on t-shirts, mugs, bumper stickers, and postcards were for Route 66, The Mother Road, just two miles around the corner in Seligman. Let’s go!
Route 66—its days as anything but a disjointed tourist attraction, a nostalgic day-dream for those so-called good old days, is long past. To paraphrase a song lyric, the traffic don’t run by here no more. After I parked on the main drag we walked around gawking for an hour or so, seeking out found subjects in what would be our last gasp of photography until the next time we meet up.
I didn’t bump into Elvis in the coffee shop, but I did get a great iced latte and then, like memories, we were gone, too.