The pie and drive of a lifetime!

We were really on it now. Route 66 had us hanging on its every curve. We'd fallen hook, line and sinker for the romance of the historic mother road.

Every road sign called out as a photo opportunity.
Every passing mile offered an achingly beautiful view of the Arizona landscape.
Every stop we made caused a well-fought argument over who took the wheel next.

One stop we made was in Williams, Arizona. A small town most famous for claiming to be the Southern gateway to the Grand Canyon. In my opinion its greatest fame should come from the old-home styled diner on the corner. The twee lace curtains and pie sign in the window was magnetic enough to pull us in. The splendid array of mouth-wateringly decadent pies staring at me from the glass case was a truly beautiful sight. I was in love. Pies of every type and every flavour. I still feel lucky to have made it out of there alive. Each slice of pie was as big as my face, so with our age of austerity in mind, we settled on a lemon meringue slice and a traditional apple pie to share between the three of us. And my oh my, what delicious pies!

Later that day, en route to Las Vegas, we decided to make a detour to the town of Oatman, Arizona. It was said to be a one-horse, gold-rush town. Or rather, a one-burro town. Several of these donkey like creatures roamed the dusty Main Street, dodging the bullets from the Western shoot-outs held at high noon (and, as it turns out, 2pm and 3.30pm; tourists are pretty demanding!). The sat-nav said it was only 22 miles away, but a reired couple from Nevada we spoke to over our motel buffet breakfast had warned us that it would be about an hour's drive.

Pah! I scoffed at the idea. What route were they taking? These long straight roads were a breeze.  I let Dad take the wheel as I imagined rolling into Oatman in less than half an hour. Yet we had only travelled a few miles when the route took on an altogether more English trait, and the reason for our breakfast buddies' extended journey time became apparent.

The road turned into a mountain racetrack. There were more twists and turns than a murder mystery and every other turn was sandwiched between a giant face of orange rock on one side and a 50 foot drop to sparse, desert scrubland the other. And it was genuinely breathtaking. The views all around us were vintage cowboy country. To be honest we'd been driving through similar landscape, yet we still weren't tired of it. The road was another beast altogether. I insisted Dad had a rest from driving on the return leg, and I can truly say that it was the best drive of my life. I may only have been driving a Kia, but easing it around the corners and revving up the winding hills was a real thrill.

Manoeuvering hairpin bends bordering steep ravine drops added time on to the journey, but the bulk of the time was spent stopping every few miles to take pictures. With such incredible scenery and a ridiculously exciting road like that to drive through it, we were like kids in a candy shop. Or should that be, for the second time that day, kids in a pie shop?