The boy had a birthday a few weeks ago. He's 13 now, all teen-agey. Hard to tell these days which behavior is due to autism and which is just teen angst. His sister is angsty as all get out, so it would follow that he is too.

We spent his birthday weekend in Wilhoit with the grandparents. Wilhoit is actually part of the miniscule sparsley populated region that includes Skull Valley and Kirkland (or Kirkland Junction).

If you started in Prescott, Arizona, and went south on Hwy 89, you would pass right through Wilhoit and probably miss it, unless you were jonesing for a beer at the biker bar in Nowhere, which doesn't have a sign anymore because people kept stealing it. Since Nowhere ceased advertising itself, the two little burgs have melded into a micropolis called Wilhoit, but it's still so small its mailing address is Kirkland, some miles away to the westish, and, paradoxically, is even smaller than the aggregated Wilhoit.

His birthday is usually train heavy, since that is an enduring fascination. When he was smaller it was the wooden Thomas-the-tank-engine type of train. Now it's more Legos and viewing real trains. We make regular pilgrimages to Boulder City to see the parked train there (more on that later).

Every trip over to see the grandparents includes a stop in lovely Kingman at the Sonic drive thru on Andy Devine Rd (part of the old Rt. 66). The train line there is always busy, so it's a good bet that we will see one anytime we stop there. And the bathrooms aren't too terribly nasty. We were rewarded with a glimpse of a BNSF (Burlington Northern Santa Fe) barreling through whilst we sipped our cherry-limeade slushies and munched our tater-tots.

Saturday afternoon we traveled over to Skull Valley, specifically the Skull Valley elementary school. The tracks run inbetween the road and the school, and it is a fairly pleasant wait under the big cottonwood trees. But not this day. It was pretty hot, being July and all, and not much of a breeze, and something about his sister kept the Boy keyed up and cranky. We ended taking a short walk to the general store (everything from feed for livestock to ice cream) for a cold drink. I'm guessing he has frustrated that no train was magically appearing. He did calm down somewhat, and we went back to Grandma's for a little birthday cake and unwrapping of the trains. Sunday, however, was a different story.

Sunday we tootled around the homestead till about noon. Since the guy from the railroad had confirmed that we could not know the time a train might pass our location (thank you terrorists), we decided to take another chance and went back to our perch under the cottonwood trees. It was just me, Grandpa, and the Boy in my little car, and Wood and Flip in his tiny truck. We were there maybe thirty minutes when we were made quite happy by the sound of the train whistle. We were about thirty yards from the tracks, so it was quite loud and when we gestured for more whistle (mime the pull of the cord) oh boy did we get an earful. I had my hand on the Boy's chest and his heart was just pounding. He was a happy guy. What a treat for a birthday boy.

As we were headed home, my dad mentioned that we could catch up with the train, if we wanted. If we wanted!!? At Kirkland Junction, Wood and the girl turned left to go back to the homestead and we turned right. Towards Hillside/Bagdad.