Event of the Month

Text and Photograph by Melanie Johnston Six-shooter strapped to his waist, Charlie Moylan grew more and more frustrated as beads of sweat ran scared from his brow. Desperation taking over, the gunslinger drew, took aim at the offender, and pop! shot the Henny Penny egg where it lay on a searing stretch of sidewalk.

As if to mock him (and possibly because his gun was loaded with blanks), the egg he'd carefully poured alongside historic Route 66 refused to budge, let alone fry.

Within a few rattlesnakes' lengths of the defeated cowboy, competitors armed with more powerful weapons-magnifying glasses, mirrors, and reflective foil - braved the 117° F. heat to coax their eggs into cooking during the first annual Oatman Invitational Sidewalk Egg Frying Contest.

And at last, fry they did. At an elevation of 2,720 feet, Oatman's solar power proved sufficient to fry an egg somewhat, sunny side up, in the 15 minutes allotted by the official contest rules. (Cities throughout the Southwest were invited to compete in the event, but many proved chicken only folks representing Arizona's Mohave Valley and Bullhead City and Laughlin, Nevada, entered the fray.) As high noon approached, the field swelled from eight competitors to 14, as challengers came forward, egged on by the crowd of almost a hundred who had moseyed into Oatman for the sidewalk fireworks.

After receiving official instructions scrambled eggs don't count, no fires of any kind, cookers are responsible for cleaning up their own messes the contestants set out in search of the town's hottest hot spots. One settled on a flat-topped rock, another on a sun-soaked step, and yet another on a patch of good ol' Route 66 itself.

When the starter gun sounded, cookers carefully cracked their eggs, gently poured them out, and began unmerciful efforts to turn up the already considerable heat.

Smart money was on Boyd Sullivan and Rick Baker, piano player and cook, respectively, at Oatman's Dollar Princess Mining Saloon. Using a modified antique photo enlarger, the duo trained a huge magnifying lens on their unsuspecting yolk. A hand-scrawled cardboard sign propped up nearby notified onlookers that a patent on their device was pending, and that franchises were available.

SOMETHING FOWL HAPPENS IN OATMAN ON THE FOURTH OF JULY

Across the street, Vera Vedenoff and Carlota Aden, representing Laughlin's Colorado Belle Hotel and Casino, were earning points for showmanship in their red-white-and-blue sequined costumes.

Each chef was assigned a judge who carefully studied the egg's progress and awarded points for originality, creativity, and proper use of solar energy.

When a shot rang out signifying the end of the 15-minute heat, Oatman resident Greg Ratliff, who had attracted little attention and few fans with his simple single-magnifying-glass approach, was judged the winner. His first-place trophy was a statue of a kneeling miner panning for gold; it had been altered for the occasion: a tiny plastic fried egg was glued to the bottom of the pan.

The egg fry is the high point of Fourth of July festivities in this rustic mining town where $30 million in gold was removed from 1901 through the early '40s.

WHEN YOU GO

Although they may have taken most of the gold, the miners left a legacy that attracts a steady stream of tourists on whose spending the town relies. Every morning, like clockwork, wild burros, descendants of the miners' beasts of burden, saunter into town (and into some stores) searching for handouts. When the sun begins to set, they plod back into the surrounding hills.

The Oatman egg fry will be held July 4 with the main event scheduled for high noon (any other activities are "loose"). The contest is open to all comers free of charge; and same-day registrants are greeted with a smile.

Driving to Oatman is half the fun when you travel State Route 66 southwest from Kingman. It's difficult to believe this usually deserted two-laner once was part of "Main Street U.S.A. from Chicago to L.A."

Deceptively flat at first, the narrow blacktop climbs into the hills and hugs their sides, switching back and forth. Deserted mine shafts and disinterested burros dot the hills. Take this road only if your car's brakes and your nerves are in good shape, otherwise swing around to south of Bullhead City and travel up to Oatman via the less risky route: State 68 to 95 and then east on State 66.

Bullhead City also offers quality accommodations.

With a population estimated at 150 people and too many burros to count, Oatman straddles a short stretch of old Route 66 lined with modest craft, gift, and antique shops, two hotels, and a handful of restaurants and saloons.

Most of the crowd cleared the famous roadway even before the egg-frying awards ceremony was concluded.

Many congregated in the airconditioned Oatman Hotel saloon, whiling away the afternoon listening to a country-western band, before heading to nearby Bullhead City where the town and a Laughlin casino hotel produce two of the most spectacular fireworks shows in the state.