We had already survived Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, and most of Arizona on our Route 66 adventure. We’d seen giant crosses, pie that deserved its own fan club, museums that made us cry, and enough roadside oddities to fill a coffee table book.
The road from Kingman to Oatman, Arizona is...let’s just say it isn’t for people who white-knuckle roller coasters.
One minute you’re looking straight up at towering cliffs. The next you’re glancing—briefly, because your survival instincts kick in—hundreds of feet down the side of a mountain. Hairpin turns. Switchbacks. Guardrails that occasionally feel more like suggestions than actual protection.
Just when you’re wondering if your GPS has developed a twisted sense of humor, a sign appears.
DONKEY CROSSING — NEXT 8 MILES
Excuse me?
Not deer.
Not elk.
Not falling rocks.
Eight miles of donkeys.
Congratulations. You’ve officially found Oatman, Arizona.
Oatman boomed after gold was discovered in the early 1900s. Like most mining towns, miners relied on burros to haul supplies through the rugged mountains.
Then the gold dried up.
The miners packed up.
The burros...did not.
Rather than disappearing, the descendants of those hardworking pack animals adapted beautifully to life in the Black Mountains. Eventually, they wandered back into town, where they somehow became the biggest tourist attraction on Route 66.
Honestly? Good for them.
Most towns elect politicians.
Oatman elected a donkey.
Walter, an orphaned burro rejected by his mother shortly after birth, was bottle-raised by the local residents Brad and Kelly Blake. He became such a beloved local celebrity that the town named him honorary mayor. Today, he has an enormous fan base, his own merchandise, books, and—because this is 2026, after all—even his own Facebook page.
(Seriously. Look up Walter the Orphan Donkey on Facebook. It’ll be the most wholesome thing you scroll through all week.)
If Walter is the politician, Oliver is the muscle. He’s considered the alpha male of Oatman’s free-roaming herd and tends to remind everyone who’s really running the streets.
Most towns have a mascot, but Oatman has an identity crisis—in the very best way.
The shopping district doesn’t merely acknowledge the burros. It fully commits.
We wandered past places like Saving Your Ass (yes...it’s the public restroom), Buck Tooth Burro Saloon, and Jackass Junction.
At some point, the town collectively looked around and said, “You know what? We have donkeys. Let’s make absolutely everything about donkeys.” And honestly...
Respect.
Years ago, a wildlife naturalist told me something I’ve never forgotten: “A fed animal is a dead animal.”
When wildlife becomes dependent on people for food, bad things usually follow. Oatman does it differently.
Visitors are encouraged to feed the burros only the veterinarian-approved alfalfa pellets sold throughout town—not carrots, chips, cookies, apples, or whatever random snack happens to be rattling around in your car. It’s one of those rare tourist attractions where doing the right thing is actually easy.
...but they’re also unexpectedly good life coaches.
Watching Oatman made me realize these burros have a few things figured out.
Be adaptable. When life changes—and it always does—you can spend your energy wishing things were the way they used to be, or you can learn to thrive where you are.
Go all in. Oatman didn’t apologize for its weirdness. It leaned into it so hard that people now drive winding mountain roads just to meet a bunch of donkeys.
Find your purpose after Plan A falls apart. The gold disappeared. The mines closed. Most towns would’ve faded into history. Oatman reinvented itself because it recognized what made it different.
Sometimes your greatest asset isn’t the one you planned for. Nobody built a tourism strategy around abandoned pack animals. Yet here we are.
Never underestimate a good sense of humor. Any town willing to call its public restroom “Saving Your Ass” understands something many destinations don’t: people remember places that make them smile.
By the time we left Oatman, I wasn’t thinking about the drive or even the donkeys.
I was thinking about a tiny mining town that looked at a herd of stubborn burros wandering down Main Street and somehow turned them into an entire personality.
And if that’s not the most Route 66 thing I’ve ever seen...
I don’t know what is…
As for me? I’m adding Oatman to my list of places I’d happily visit again.
Not because of the gift shops.
Not because of the history.
Not even because of the donkeys.
In a world where so many places are trying to be like somewhere else, Oatman had the courage to be unapologetically...Oatman. Maybe that’s a lesson worth taking home, no matter where the road leads next.
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