Flagstaff: A Stunning Mountain Town of Friendly, "Earthy" People

In northern Arizona, the Route winds through forests of tall evergreens and brings travelers into Flagstaff against the backdrop of the San Francisco Peaks mountain range.  The town developed first as a railway hub between Albuquerque and the west coast in the late 1800s, and then continued to grow through the development of a lucrative timber industry.

After WWII, the Santa Fe Railroad carried returning soldiers – including Joe’s grandfather, Paul – through Flagstaff as they traveled from San Francisco to Fort Dix, NJ to be discharged. Paul was discharged on June 7, 1946, and still remembers Flagstaff fondly, sharing with his grandchildren that the locals offered him and his fellow soldiers lemonade and cookies.

Flagstaff Train Station

Flagstaff High School

Arriving in the early afternoon, we entered downtown as it was abuzz with street musicians, window shoppers, and locals enjoying a beer at sidewalk cafés (still trying to figure out what they do for a living and how to adopt that career). We checked into Hotel Weatherford, opened first in 1900 by John Weatherford "back when Arizona was a territory and vigilantes rules the dirt streets."  When we booked the reservation, we received a gentle warning that the Weatherford is an old hotel with a noisy bar and nearby train station and we should reconsider our request if earplugs wouldn't be enough to overcome that. But, of course, they were. The Weatherford is also famous for its annual New Year’s Eve Pinecone Drop (which replaces the traditional silver ball with a giant, bedazzled pinecone and is an upgrade from the hotel’s former “decorated trashcan drop”).

Weatherford at night.

2nd Clawfoot Bathtub of the Trip

We each enjoyed a local beer on the Weatherford’s patio as we worked on our last blog post and watched helplessly as an unserious street musician, assisted by a few good Samaritans, chased his money down the road after he accidently kicked over the donation can. We headed to a local brewery for dinner and enjoyed wood-fired pizzas among a crowd of local couples, one earnestly juggling both a toddler and infant. When asked about Flagstaff, Dylan (our waiter from southern California) described locals as “earthy, liberal, and good people who say hello to each other. Not like in the Valley.”

Beaver Street Brewery

Flagstaff downtown at night.

We spent some time wandering downtown Flagstaff, peering in the windows of many local outdoor and art shops and snapping a few photos of local graffiti. We stopped in the Weatherford’s bar to catch the tail-end of an open-mic night, during which a silver haired man with one bad eye wailed on an electric guitar and a group called the “Heart Vision Tribe” dedicated their performance of “Milk Bones and Coffee” to rescue dogs.

Mural reads "When you see only the dark, know the light will soon return."

In the morning, we grabbed a quick breakfast at the local diner before heading to the Flagstaff Visitor’s Center (housed in the old train station building). Of course, a Lindsey/Joe trip across the country would not be complete without running across at least one injured animal, so we were due. After forming a rescue alliance with the Visitor’s Center staff, Joe successfully removed an injured pigeon (George) from the train tracks with a cardboard box and a lot of patience with me. A local bird rescuer finally came and took George – who turned out to be “the bird equivalent of a teenager” - away with her, and we headed to the Grand Canyon.

Poor George jumped out of the box, drank from a puddle, then hid in this corner.

Beautiful place.