Motor Lodge Inn
A few months ago I saw a Salon.com slideshow about boutique hotels (those internet slideshows are irresistible). The slideshow featured The Motor Lodge in Prescott, Arizona (Prescott, pronounced like biscuit, as the owner told us.) After our long day in Phoenix, we drove an hour and a half north to stay there.
The Motor Lodge Inn was built in the 1940s and has had various owners. It became very run down and was once a crack den (oooooh!). Joe and Brian bought the place three years ago and have transformed it into a retro haven. I was already sold on the place, but when Joe and Brian sent us off with four warm chocolate chip cookies I knew I would
The owners of The Motor Lodge urged us to reroute and take road 89-A to Flagstaff. This included a drive through the beautiful Sedona mountains and forest and a stop in Jerome, which sits on the side of a mountain.
Jerome has undergone a bunch of changes. Instead of expressing them in a sentence, I will use arrows:
Mining Town –> Ghost Town –> Hippie Town –> Artist/Gallery town/place to buy fudge
We took I-40 most of the way to Albuquerque. The interstate runs parallel to historic Route 66 and I was eager to experience this famous road. I found it suitably kitschy, but also sad. Since most travelers take I-40 now, many of the businesses that once lined the road are shuttered. It’s depressing. Additionally, as a driver looking to go 80+ mph (sorry Dad!), Route 66’s 40 mph speed limit was off putting.
We detoured from I-40 in an attempt to stop at Meteor Crater, the site of a meteor impact outside of Winslow, Arizona. However, when we found it would be $30 for the both of us to experience the Meteor Crater Museum and the actual crater, we realized we didn’t care.
It wasn’t all a loss. The route out to Meteor Crater was barren, yet beautiful (I wasn’t able to get a picture of the cows by the side of the road.) We also stumbled upon the most awesome gas station on the planet. I bought a bunch of magnets and postcards from a woman named Dottie Hanson. I wanted to sign over my savings account, but was ushered out.