It is the last town bypassed by Interstate 40, a relic of the old Route 66. A place of steam engine trains, cowboys and handle bar mustaches. A city seemingly stuck in an era of yesteryear, and not wanting or needing to change a thing.
Welcome to Williams.
Neon antiques litter the main street, along with vintage cars and Harley bikes. In the emptiness and quiet of morning, I walk along the train tracks with a owner less dog, together we try to get a feel for this town.
I try to explain to Cbug and crazylegs the history of the West as we walk together in the Arizona evening, but my attempt at a history lesson is lost in youthful boredom.
That’s OK though, as I like to think the memories and conversations will stick with them subconsciously.