Here is an unforgettable view of the mountains oustide of Flagstaff heading towards Sedona, Arizona. It was taken by our guest writer Connie Wilson who is on a tour of the famous Route 66. Read more about the tour below and on her page at Weekly Wilson.

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As our 10-day whirlwind trip across five states and along 1400 miles of Route 66 (and elsewhere) comes to an end...just in time to fly back to Chicago, pick the daughter up, and start cooking 32 pounds of turkey and all the trimmings...we visited the Barstow (California) Route 66 Museum and thought back on our trip from Oklahoma City westward.

My favorite place(s) were the Museum Club we visited in Flagstaff, where Jane Bliss bartended and told me the story of the owners and the lynching from a tree still set in the middle of the club’s dance floor. Jane urged us to take the scenic route to Sedona, and it was truly a treat. Plus, we could bet while lounging about with the regulars. The place was the kind of local hangout that you could easily lose an entire day in as you dined on their genuine Angus steakburgers, learned about the haunting of the joint and just generally had a great time.

My other favorite thing we did was the ghost tour at Fort El Reno with Bob Warren and Jessica Wells, who couldn’t have been more interesting and more gracious. Bob looks as though he should be starring in the movies in Richard Farnsworth’s old parts. The tour of the cemetery was spookier than anything else we did and it is worth mentioning that my computer refuses to cough up the “haunted” picture I took. Someone (or something?) tapped me on the shoulder 3 times as I entered the Visitors’ Center, where the tour was breaking into smaller groups. It was c-c-c-c-cold and the 35 World War II Prisoners of War who are buried in the remote cemetery provided even more spookiness.

Sedona offered beauty and great sunsets and, also, the best dining and housing of the trip. Sadly, the worst designation would go to Gallup, New Mexico, but I freely and fully admit that I made the reservations as we moved on down the road, so I am to blame. When I asked for good recommendations, I was given the name of several chain franchise restaurants, which was not what I had in mind.

The spooky-looking Riordan Mansion in Flagstaff and the downtown hotel where so many scarifying events have occurred (which will, no doubt, be addressed in future stories) were highpoints.

Albuquerque impressed and Gallup depressed.

Seligman, Williams, Kingman (AZ) and McLean (TX) all seemed dead already, although the perfectly restored gas station in McLean was the one bright spot in an otherwise dark town.

We’ve driven through Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona, a small part of Nevada and California. It’s time to go home to Illinois.