Finding The Long Lost Moab Burro in Cisco, Utah 2020

In May 2013, I discovered a strange beast resting on a railroad siding at Seven Mile, near the intersection of U.S. Highway 191 and Utah State Route 313. The location was just a few miles north of the infamous Moab Pile, the adjacent Colorado River and the City of Moab itself. The beast was a dusky yellow in color and had an enormously long snout. Since the Moab Giants Dinosaur Park did not yet exist, I knew that the beast could not be from there or the Jurassic Period.

Later, I discovered that the beast was not a cold-blooded animal, but a genetically engineered hybrid. In the 1950s, whoever or whatever created the beast had crossed the DNA of a burro and a crane. With its proximity to the highly radioactive Moab Pile, I suspected that radionuclides might have enhanced the new animal with enormous strength and power.

After some extensive research, I discovered that the beast now featured a diesel engine and a lattice-boom crane, which could include a powerful electromagnet. Its creators had branded the beast on its stern with the words, “Burro Crane.” This version of the beast was a Model 40, originally created by the Cullen Friestedt Company near Chicago, Illinois. Enthralled by the nature of the beast, I knew that I needed more information.

By 2015, the Moab Burro, as I had dubbed it, had disappeared from its former location on the siding at Seven Mile. Over the following five years, I worked incessantly toward a PhD in Burro Crane Studies at the University of Google. My doctoral thesis hypothesized that Burro Cranes had obtained the ability to shape-shift from large to small and to dematerialize and rematerialize in different locations. Although the Google elite had accepted my concepts as entirely possible, they suggested that I obtain physical evidence before conferring the honor of a PhD on me.

In the year 2020, I embarked on a research expedition to Moab, Utah. There, I was hoping to find the erstwhile and long-lost Moab Burro. If I could find the Moab Burro Crane, I could prove my thesis and obtain my long sought after Google PhD. When I pulled into Seven Mile, the siding was still there, but the Moab Burro was, once again, nowhere in sight. Having brought Coney, the Traffic Cone and Plush Kokopelli with me for our long-awaited reunion with the Moab Burro, you can imagine how disappointed each of us were.

With nothing to see at Seven Mile, we decided to return toward Moab on Highway 191. Having heard that various republicans had repeatedly shut down Arches National Park, just for spite, Coney, Kokopelli and I decided to turn in at the Arches National Park entrance and see for ourselves. Once again, uncaring politicians had closed the park for no good reason. When we stopped for a photo opportunity, a group of tourists showed up right behind us. With the speed of a flash mob, Kokopelli led them into some Monkey Wrench action, all in the best spirit of Edward Abbey. Before we knew it the tourists had opened Arches National Park... for the people.

Almost immediately, we found ourselves coughing through a nuclear dust cloud emanating from the remnants of the Moab Pile. As the dust cleared, we crossed the river on the “new” Colorado River Bridge. Once we were across the bridge, we turned left at the remnants of Old Lion’s Club Park. The original park stood on the spot where the 1855 Elk Mountain Mission first camped on the Moab-side of what was then called the Grand River. Stately cottonwood trees that may have shaded the Mormon missionaries at their first campground disappeared on March 31, 2015. Instead, uncaring souls who gave not a hoot for history or the park had transformed the quaint old park into an overheated series of concrete paths and bunker-shaped buildings. So much for progress, I thought.

Continuing our journey up the Colorado Riverway, I soon came to another historical location, which had signs reading “William Grandstaff Trailhead.” To an uninitiated visitor in 2020, the name was colorless, and not descriptive in any way. For those who know their Moab history, the place had once been known as “Negro Bill Trailhead” for many decades. William Granstaff, AKA Negro Bill was one of the early pioneers at Moab. Bill ran cattle in the box canyon that later bore his name. On September 27, 2016, the all-knowing BLM Moab Field Office “pulled a fast one”. In the grand tradition of destroying old Lion’s Club Park, the BLM made a stealthy move. Overnight, and without warning, the BLM changed out the historical “Negro Bill Trailhead” signage and all the road signs referencing the site. Goodbye Negro Bill. Hello William Grandstaff.

By that time, Coney, Plush Kokopelli and I were all feeling uneasy. If the authorities in and around Moab could hide, disguise, or make history disappear so easily, how might we ever find the missing Moab Burro? Although Coney has uttered a few words, Plush Kokopelli has never said a word in all his 2,000 years of existence. Respecting that tradition, we drove silently, with Cisco, Utah as our destination.

Along the way, we spotted the remains of the old Dewey Bridge, once the longest continuous single span between St. Louis and San Francisco. Although replaced with a newer concrete bridge over the river, the historic Dewey Bridge stood proud for over a century, until it was destroyed by fire in April 2008. That happened during a classic case of a child playing with matches nearby. His “science project” got away from him and rapidly burned the wooden bridge-deck of the old suspension bridge. Once a treasure on the National Register of Historic Places, passing by we could see the support cables dangling in the sky, with no bridge-deck to support.

After traversing that long and winding road known as Highway 128, we transitioned to The Old Cisco Highway and into Cisco, itself. We were not prepared for what had happened in town since our last visit in 2008. In those days, Cisco was a ghost town, without a single operating business and only a few aging cottages showing signs of life. Derelict mining and drilling equipment, some dating back to the uranium boom days of the 1950s lay abandoned all around the place. The shell of a long-abandoned aluminum house trailer still shone in the desert sun.

And then we saw it. There before us was the Moab Burro, with the number B-47 painted on its fading yellow sides. In shock, we saw that the Moab Burro was chained to an unused railroad siding near the old highway. Immediately, we jumped out of my truck and ran for a visit with our old friend, the Moab Burro. From its former resting place on the Potash Branch at Seven Mile to its 2020 home was a rail journey of about forty miles. How long had the Moab Burro been at the old Cisco siding, we wondered? How long would it be in Cisco until it rode the rails to a new destination or transported itself through other dimensions to wherever it pleased?

Now, in August 2024, having achieved my Google PhD in Burro Crane studies, I am planning another visit to Moab and Cisco, Utah in October 2024. Recently, I used the powers of Google maps to look at that railroad siding in Cisco. According to the most rent aerial mapping of the area, the Moab Burro is gone. Only its tender car remained on the siding where the Moab Burro lay in 2020. Stay tuned to find out if and where we might soon find the elusive Moab Burro.

To read the full story of the Moab Burro, click HERE.

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Return of the Incredible Shrinking Moab Burro Crane - 2013

 

Return of the Incredible Shrinking Moab Burro Crane

In the spring of 2013, I made one of my many visits to Moab, Utah. The shutdown of the federal government and national parks was still five months away. Arches National Park was open and visitation was climbing. As I approached the main entrance at Arches, hundreds of vehicles waited for entry. Bypassing the turnoff, I drove north on U.S. Highway 191, toward the airport and Crescent Junction, beyond.

As I approached the turnoff to Dead Horse Point and Canyonlands National Park, I noticed an interesting piece of equipment, parked on a railroad siding. The siding was part of the Potash Branch, which is the rail line from Brendel to Potash. That rail line also carries radioactive, contaminated soil from the infamous Moab Pile to a disposal site at Brendel, near Crescent Junction, Utah. After turning on to State Highway 313, I stopped at a barren, windblown area adjacent to the Seven Mile siding.

Resting on the siding, along with its tender car, was a Union Pacific Railroad Model 40 Burro Crane (#BC-47). The Burro Crane is a “maintenance of way” (MOW) vehicle that is self-propelled, and able to lift and move railroad track and materials. With sufficient supplies on its tender car, a small “road gang” can actually build a rail line as the Burro Crane extends the tracks ahead of itself.

With its steel doors and security panels closed, the Burro Crane looked lonely and deserted. That is the thing about Burro Cranes, with their quaint name and anthropomorphic looks. One almost immediately ascribes a personality and other life forces to this mechanical contraption. Although the area was deserted and desolate, I could picture the Moab Burro, as I named it, waiting for nightfall and then scooting up and down the Potash Branch as it pleased.

After taking a few pictures of the Moab Burro, the Seven Mile sign and the La Sal Range to the east, I climbed back in my truck and drove toward Moab. Upon returning home, I began researching the rich history of the Burro Crane. Built in Chicago by the Cullen Friestadt Company, there were many twentieth century iterations of the Burro Crane. Like a 1950's Chevy, the Model 40 Burro Crane was the classic of all Burro Cranes. It was compact, featured a diesel engine, was easy to maneuver and had tremendous lifting capacity.

Later, I was fortunate to meet Frank J. Cullen, the last family member to run the Cullen Friestadt Company as a private business. I like to call Frank J. Cullen “The Father of the Burro Crane”. After researching the Burro Crane online, I compiled all of that history and published it at www.BurroCrane.com. In addition to the official history of the Burro Crane, I also enlisted Plush Kokopelli and Coney the Traffic Cone to help tell the Moab Burro story.

After standing alone on the rail siding at Seven Mile for several years, the Moab Burro had become a fixture of the landscape and a landmark to those who knew it. It even appeared on Google Maps satellite photos of that era. Although the Moab Burro still appeared on Google Maps as of late 2017, the Burro Crane itself went missing by 2015, never to return. Since Plush Kokopelli and Coney the Traffic Cone love a good mystery, I asked them to help find the missing Moab Burro.

Some say that the dynamic duo found the Moab Burro, but that radioactivity from the passing Train of Pain had caused a dimensional shift around it. In October 2017, The Other (a shadowy figure) drove with Plush Kokopelli back to Seven Mile. There, they searched for the Moab Burro and Coney the Traffic Cone, who had both gone missing. Did both the Moab Burro and Coney shrink so small that they became invisible? That was what Plush Kokopelli and The Other hoped to discover.

Upon arrival at Seven Mile, The Other carried Plush Kokopelli to the railroad tracks. Neither Coney nor the Moab Burro was visible. Soon, Plush Kokopelli floated up like a drone, overlooking the scene. As he landed on the tracks, the Moab Burro reappeared, right next to him. Soon, Coney the Traffic Cone reappeared, as well. Neither of them seemed to notice that the Moab Burro had transmogrified from a large piece of railroad equipment to the size of a toy.

To Coney the Traffic Cone and Plush Kokopelli, the Moab Burro looked as big and powerful as ever. Now, let us see if we can get the Union Pacific Railroad to reconstitute the Moab Burro back to its original size. If the full-sized Moab Burro were to reappear at Seven Mile, that would be magic.

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By James McGillis at 04:57 PM | | Comments (0) | Link

LA County Fire Department Aerial Truck 8 at the Hollywood Bowl - 2012

 

LA County Fire Department Aerial Truck 8 at the Hollywood Bowl

On a recent trip to Hollywood, California, I decided to visit some of my favorite historical places, including the Hollywood Bowl. Rather than watching a concert, I just wanted to see the place on a Sunday afternoon. Upon arrival at the parking lot, I realized it had been almost thirty-nine years since my last visit, on September 7, 1973.
 
I still have fond memories of that classic night at the premier Hollywood venue. Some call it “The Lost Concert”. Others Google “Elton+1973” and find Harvey Jordan’s classic image of Elton John playing live at the Hollywood Bowl. To this day, my Elton John 9/7/73 T-shirt from that night is a treasured artifact.
 
When I was growing up, every boy wanted to be either a “fireman” or a “policeman”. Today, every child, regardless of gender can aspire to be a firefighter or a police officer. Still, the little boy in me stopped and stared when I saw Los Angeles County Fire Department Truck 8, which is an immense “tillered ladder”, with separate rear wheel steering. Also called a tractor-drawn aerial (TDA) or hook-and-ladder truck, it featured a turntable ladder mounted on a semi-trailer "lorry", as the British might say.
 
In motion, it would have two drivers, each with separate steering wheels for the front and rear wheels. The fifth-wheel articulating design provides a short turning radius and high maneuverability. Rear trailer steering allows the “tiller driver” to negotiate tight corners and congested streets in and around its West Hollywood home base.
 
With research, I discovered that Truck 8 is A Quint truck is both a pumper and a ladder truck. A "Quint" has: 1. a pump, 2. hose, 3. a water tank, 4. ground ladders, and 5. an aerial ladder. Truck 8 has a 1000-gpm pump, and carries 300 gallons of water, and 25 gallons of foam, delivered through a pre-piped aerial waterway. Truck 8 carries 218 ft. of ground ladders, an Amkus Rescue System and seven air bags. With only 300 gallons of water onboard, Truck/Quint 8 supplements available resources rather than acting as an engine/truck combination.
 
Truck 8 was immaculate, from bow to tiller. There was no grease, grime or even dust on its traditional high-lacquer red finish. With its pristine look, I would not have guessed that the truck had already seen fourteen years of service. To me, it was timeless, as were my wishes to fight fires and save lives. Growing up in Los Angeles in mid-century, I watched the TV show “Rescue 8” and the later TV show, called “Emergency”. Both shows featured LACoFD Station 8, where Truck 8 stands ready today.
 
On the front bumper of the aerial truck was a large black and white sticker featuring the old Route 66 logo. Seeing the distinctive logo, I recalled that nearby Interstate I-10 (the Santa Monica Freeway) was the replacement road for Old-66 through Los Angeles. During a recent spate of arson fires in and around Hollywood, Truck 8 responded to the multiday fire-related disaster.
 
After recovering from my daydreams of being the tiller driver on Truck 8, I spotted members of LACoFD Station 8 conducting a live firefighting drill in the parking lot. As their water source, they employed Engine 8, which operates a 1995 KME 1000-gpm engine. Wearing yellow waterproof gear, Firefighter Darney, trained a powerful water hose skyward, casting an arc of water gently across the sky. On first look, it looked like a waste of water. Stepping closer, I saw that he directed the stream of water into the extensive landscaping throughout the terraced parking lot.
 
With the old Pilgrimage Theater cross standing on the far hillside and the sun at his back, the firefighter trained the powerful stream of water back and forth across the landscape. As he did so, the cascade of falling water created a rainbow all around him. It was a glorious sight on a clear winter day in the City of the Angels. Later, I realized that Coney the Traffic Cone had sidled up close to the firefighter, to take in all the action.

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By James McGillis at 03:11 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link

Is it the Cozy Cone Motel or the Wigwam Motel? To Find Out, Watch the Movie Cars - 2011

 

Is it the Cozy Cone Motel or the Wigwam Motel? To Find Out, Watch the Movie Cars

Anyone who has seen the Pixar movie, “Cars” will recall the Cozy Cone Motel. As with much of that animated movie, a real motel looks surprisingly like the place that McQueen the race car spent the night. At the Cozy Cone Motel, the individual rooms resembled giant orange traffic cones. At Wigwam Village, also known as the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona, the individual rooms resemble giant Indian teepees.

 

With a 2009 population of just over 5,000, the City of Holbrook grew by over three percent in the past decade. Among its claims to fame are the only regulation golf course along Interstate I-40 between Flagstaff, Arizona and Gallup, New Mexico. A stretch of Old Route 66 makes up its business district, while I-40 skirts the town to the north.

 

I found Holbrook a pleasant place to spend a Saturday afternoon. After shopping for groceries and talking to locals at the Safeway, I drove across the street to check out the Wigwam Motel. Not wanting to intrude on their business, I approached the old main office, only to find that it was deserted. While researching the place, I discovered that most days, the motel opens for business around 4:00 PM.

 

Even when unoccupied by physical human beings, the place feels like the spirits of ancient travelers still inhabit the grounds. In front of each whitewashed teepee is a 1950’s vintage automobile. Did someone really arrive the previous night in that ’55 Buick Century? Are they inside their teepee, planning to spend another night? As the afternoon wore on, no one entered or exited their teepee to tell me their story, so I made up my own.

 

Years ago, I found a traffic cone in Henderson Nevada. Originally stenciled with the words “SW Gas”, it stood abandoned in a strip mall parking lot. Thinking that I might later need a traffic cone to protect my travel trailer, I named him “Coney” and he has traveled with me ever since.

 

Those who have studied the Pre-Puebloan Indians of the Four Corners region know about the mythical flute player we call Kokopelli. The Ancients chipped images of Kokopelli on to stone canyon walls throughout the region. Some hypothesize that Kokopelli represented the real flute-playing minstrels who wandered from one ancient camp to another. The playing of his flute upon approach to an unknown encampment signaled that he was peaceful and perhaps bore news from elsewhere along the trail.

 

Soon after Coney joined me in my travels, I received a stuffed Kokopelli doll as a gift. Now, whenever I travel in the High Southwest, a smaller version of Coney and my stuffed Kokopelli travel with me in the cab of my truck. When traveling alone for days on end, it is tempting to start up conversations with myself, but I prefer to talk with Coney and Kokopelli. Although they rarely answer my questions, when they do, their advice varies from sage to hilarious.

 

As we approached the Wigwam Motel, they both wanted to get out of the truck and stretch their legs. Well, actually, only Kokopelli has legs, but Coney stood up for himself and demanded time in the fresh air, as well. As we toured the ersatz Indian Village, they wanted to pose with all of the rolling stock that lay around the yard.

 

“Hey, that tow truck looks like Mater from the movie, Cars”, Coney said. Indeed, I could see the resemblance. Soon, Kokopelli was leaning back against Coney and pretending to drive an old orange Ford V8 dump truck. After posing with several of the vehicles, Coney and Kokopelli were ready to move on. Just then, however, a Santa Fe Railroad locomotive sped along the tracks behind the motel.

 

The sun was low in the afternoon sky as we contemplated the loop road at Petrified Forest National Park. After that, we would stop for fuel in Gallup New Mexico. Our final destination that night was Chaco Canyon, New Mexico. “Come on, guys. Let’s go”, I said as we all jumped into the truck. Off we went down West Hopi Drive, also known in the legends of travel as Old-66.

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By James McGillis at 05:38 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link