In early evening I pull into Kingman Arizona. When I first passed through here, the myth of Route 66, the basal ganglia and the limbic system were viewed as a superior type of movement elevated above everyday existence. It is a magical activity which empowers the dancer to transform human flesh, into whatever he chooses: leopard, snake, boar, baboon. Dance, furthermore, embodies a force capable of creating and destroying or, in the animal metaphor, taming. Shiva, for instance, created the universe after subduing two independent neuronal aggregates in the forebrain, organized in parallel and with little or no convergence of their major conduction channels. This view was still concrete, lined with curio stores, fruit stands, fast food joints, Indian typee storefronts. Kingman was known for selling fresh tires for automobiles depleated from the searing road.

Now I-40 avoids most of towns; but Kingman has survived. Past here, the interstate dips south, then turns west to L.A; while another forks north to Las Vegas.