The Great Southwest and the Mother Road

by Paul A. Cañada

For those who love the Southwest, there's no more picturesque and nostalgic way to see it-and no better way to "get your kicks"-than by Route 66

Every good road trip begins with big expectations. Such is the case with mine, as I take to the highway on a tour of New Mexico and Arizona. But first a considerable sidetrip to get just the right start.

Historic Route 66 will be our unifying thread for this ramble, my intent being to rekindle some now faint childhood memories of times spent traveling the now famous stretch of blacktop. And to get just the right start on this foray, it’ll be necessary to pick up the Mother Road in Oklahoma, headed westbound.

Like many American middle-class families living in the late 1950s, ’60s, and early ’70s, our family spent many vacations navigating Route 66. My father’s pride and joy, a limited edition, two-door Chevy Nomad, was our vessel. While dad finished the customary tune-up and oil change, my mother packed. When all was ready, my youngest brother was securely belted into his car seat, while I was allowed to freely rumble in the rear luggage compartment of the station wagon.

The years have passed but one constant remains. On this trip, as on those others, the conveyance stays the same—well, the automaker anyway. I’m getting under way behind the wheel of a factory-new Chevy Silverado, even better equipped than that vintage Nomad, with built-in comfort and power and OnStar support that makes it impossible to get lost and miss the Southwestern scenery or the historic sights we’ll be seeing.

Our family also “saw the U.S.A. in our Chevrolet” (as the slogan went). My father was a career U.S. Air Force man living in Colorado Springs, Colo., through much of the turbulent 1960s. Leaving Colorado Springs on a road trip, my father would drive south to Albuquerque, N.M. From Albuquerque, we would head west on Route 66. Not surprising, I grew up believing the West began with the Rocky Mountains.

Leaving my home base of Fort Worth, Texas, I head north to intersect 66 in the Sooner State before making the left turn that’ll point me west. I pop the Eagles’ debut album, Eagles, into the CD player—state-of-the-art in this ride—and turn up the volume when the tune “Take It Easy” is queued. It seems an appropriate choice of music considering Rolling Stone magazine named “Take It Easy” as one of the all-time best road songs. With New Mexico and Arizona being the main focus of the trip, we’ll make very few stops in Oklahoma or Texas. However, it’s impossible to pass up one special spot in Clinton, Okla.

Clinton was home to the National Highway 66 Association and the first state-sponsored Route 66 museum. Clinton’s museum tells the story of the historic route with photographs, vintage cars, and lots of pop culture artifacts. Imagine the thrill I receive when I first spy the 1957 Chevy Bel Air parked in the museum lobby. The completely restored Valentine Diner is another surprise. Thousands of these “boxcar” diners served customers along Route 66 and in most Southwestern communities.

recommend that all who plan to travel and fully experience Route 66 spend some time at the Clinton museum. Reading about the various entrepreneurs, towns, and sights along the old highway will give you a greater appreciation and insight for the road.

THE LAND RUSH TOWNS Scattered between Clinton and Amarillo are a good number of small agricultural towns long forgotten by the American motorist. As quickly as Route 66 promoted businesses in these towns, the completion of Interstate 40 shut them down. Still, each community had its fair share of stubborn and determined entrepreneurs unwilling to quit. Like these business owners, I was resolute in following the darting Route 66 and visiting each and every town between Tucumcari, N.M., and Winslow, Ariz.

Following the Mother Road as it darts north and then south proves difficult. Fortunately, it’s a simple matter to find my way by pressing the OnStar button.

While the countryside between Clinton and Amarillo, Texas, is flat and then some, the sights found just off the interstate are entertaining and worth checking out. Each community along Route 66 has its fair share of historic motor lodges, fueling stations, and diners. However, as enticing as the Route 66 period architecture and neon-lit signs are, it’s the bold curio shops and odd roadside art that satisfy my taste.

If you have driven I-40 to Amarillo, no doubt you have seen the leaning water tank or the 190-foot tall white cross outside of Groom, Texas. Believe it or not, a local explained the water tower was built to lean in hopes of drawing visitors to the now gone Britten Truck Stop.

While the impressive cross and water tank are easily seen from I-40, Conway’s odd Bug Ranch is not. The VWs buried nose-first, a parody of Amarillo’s world-renowned Cadillac Ranch, are best seen traveling the older highway.

Approaching Amarillo, it’s hard to miss the siren’s call of The Big Texan Steak Ranch’s billboard reading “Free 72-ounce steak.” Despite my enormous appetite, I settle on a moderate sized version, knowing I want to make Tucumcari, N.M., before dark. Unfortunately, my eyes are a bit too ambitious for my stomach, and my energy is zapped. I decide to call it an evening and sack down in old Amarillo.

One of the great smells to wake up to in the morning is the aroma of pine as it’s carried down the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains. Amarillo has neither pines nor mountains. Walking outside, I’m immediately greeted by the smell of cattle and freshly cut hay. Being a big fan of American Paint and Quarter Horses, the adrenaline starts percolating and I am ready to go.

There’ll be no Starbucks this morning, but I do pull into the nearest truck

stop and buy two tall cups of the darkest Columbian brew they have as a little extra fortification. For the most part, Route 66 parallels I-40 all the way to Tucumcari, N.M. Just west of Adrian, Texas, the two routes merge and remain one highway all the way to the New Mexico border.

I’m immediately impressed with Tucumcari. Once a rowdy railroad camp, the town is now a quiet farming oasis in the middle of what could pass for desert. Route 66 runs through the heart of a town filled with motor lodges time forgot. I go crazy with my camera, capturing images like fame-drunk paparazzi.

I close my eyes trying to remember what it looked like when I passed through here as a 10-year-old. Opening my eyes, I smile at the sight of the boulevard. I am magically transported back to the early ’60s. Bold and colorful signs boast of each motor lodge’s merit. Names like the Apache, Blue Swallow, Pony Soldlier, and Palomino fill my memories and eyes.

“Yep,” I tell myself, “Just as I remember it.”

Studying the street, I look for an old favorite. Ah yes, the Tepee Curios trading post. I remember well begging my father to stop and buy me the token rubber hatchet. Eventually, after the teasing and threats to scalp my younger brother, my mother confiscated the souvenir. Moving on down the road, I spy a billboard proclaiming “Fort Sumner, where Billy the Kid is really buried.” Hot dog! Whereas Tucumcari’s Tepee Curios stirred my childhood memories, the kid in me is now totally awakened. I turn on to Highway 84 and head south. My well-planned travel schedule is now shot full of holes.

Everyone should be afforded at least one trip down Highway 84. The distant mesas are colossal in size, and the hues of red in the desert are indeed enchanting. More importantly, along portions of the highway there’s scarcely any evidence of mankind. No matter what direction I look, I am hard-pressed to find a shack, windmill, or fence line for seemingly tens of miles.

Finding old Fort Sumner is relatively easy. Once you enter the town proper, signs direct you to the site of the former fort. The signs and road took me directly to the old garrison’s graveyard and the gravestone of Billy the Kid. It seems many years ago, the grave marker was stolen from the site. The well-traveled stone was eventually recovered, and authorities placed shackles over it to ensure the stone stayed put.

Near the old ruins, Arizona built the wonderfully designed Bosque Redondo Memorial. The building houses a classy gift shop, information desk, and museum. The memorial tells the story of the forced march of 10,000 Navajo and Mescalero Indians. The Indians were brought to Bosque Redondo Indian reservation where the troops of Fort Sumner imprisoned them.

Eventually a treaty was signed in 1868 allowing the Navajo to return to their homes, and Fort Sumner was soon after decommissioned.Interestingly enough, Billy the Kid was shot dead by Pat Garrett in one of the fort’s original structures, the newly purchased home of his friend Pedro Maxwell. Today a marker designates the spot where it’s believed the Kid was slain.

After spending over an hour at Bosque Redondo and Fort Sumner, I rush back up Highway 84, only to once again wait for a flag girl’s signal. After reaching Santa Rosa, N.M., I follow the original route prior to the 1937 alignment of the highway, taking Highway 84 north to Santa Fe. Slowed by a thunderstorm, I reach the big city late in the afternoon. I push myself now, mainly because I want to bed down in Albuquerque, and I still have another worthwhile side trip to complete. Following Highway 84, I head towards Chimayo.

As I make my way out of Santa Fe and enter the Pojoaque Pueblo, I am drawn to the sight of the Poeh Museum. Unable to say no to my sudden urges and despite running way behind, I pull off the boulevard and into the parking lot. Although the museum was closed for the day, I chatted briefly with staff and gained permission to take some images of the grounds.

My drive to Chimayo is more of a pilgrimage of sorts. Being a descendent of deeply religious Spanish immigrants, I longed to visit El Santuario De Chimayo. This shrine was built between 1814 and 1816 to remember a said miraculous Crucifix. The faithful come from all over the world to visit the shrine in hopes a miracle will be done in their own lives.

With barely any light remaining in the canyons north of Santa Fe, I follow Highway 25 to Albuquerque.

The sun is up, and it’s a brand new day. Route 66 passes through Albuquerque in fabulous fashion. Many of the historic buildings have been renovated and house thriving businesses. The KiMo Theatre, a Pueblo decodesigned structure, is as flamboyant today as it was in 1927 when it was built. While I don’t see any ghost, it’s reported the theatre is haunted. Not far from the KiMo is the equally impressive Immaculate Conception Parish.

Leaving Albuquerque, I veer off Route 66 and take I-40 in hopes of saving time. I catch back up with the Mother Road in Cuerbo, Ariz. Just outside of the town of McCartys, I head south on 35 and deep into the Acoma Indian Reservation. My destination is the oldest continuously inhabited community in the United States, named Sky City Mesa. The ancient Acoma village was strategically built on top of a 357- foot mesa during the 13th century for defensive reasons.

The cost for the tour of Sky City is a very reasonable $12, and I purchase a camera permit for an additional $10. Our tour guide is very gracious and educated in New Mexico’s history and Acoma traditions. By far, the thrill of the tour is the San Esteban Del Ray Mission. Construction of the church began in 1629 and finished in 1640. The structure’s thick walls, approximately 9 feet at the base and 5 feet at the top, keep the chapel relatively cool, effectively protecting the religious relics, many dated back to the 17th century, housed within.

Until I viewed the surrounding mesas, distant mountains, and enormous rock outcroppings from atop Sky City Mesa, I can honestly say I never truly understood New Mexico’s state nickname of “Land of enchantment.” I understand now.

Back again on Route 66, I notice something for the first time. Seemingly unlike much of urban America, the New Mexico sky is clear and blue. Gone is the ring of dirty brown air typically suspended directly over most of the country’s populated areas. Pulling into Gallup, I decide to call it an early day.

Gallup’s historic Route 66 is busy with traffic. Like Tucumcari and Albuquerque, Gallup has many remnant Route 66 businesses still lining the main boulevard. I decide to sit down for a bite at the historic Hotel El Rancho. Built in 1937, this Gallup icon is listed on the National Historic Register. Many famous Americans, including then actor Ronald Reagan, as well as actor Spencer Tracy and actress Katherine Hepburn frequented this hotel during Route 66’s prime.

Crossing the Arizona state line, I begin the final leg of my trek across the Southwest’s Route 66. Immediately I notice the billboards. Lots and lots of bright billboards introducing this road warrior to the next curio shop down the road. While they do seem terribly out of place, they do very little to detract from the beauty of Arizona’s Painted Desert.

Once again, Route 66 parallels I-40. The route jogs high or low to pass through the nearly dozen small towns dotting the old route between Gallup and Winslow, Ariz. One of the first towns I encounter is Lupton and its handful of loud curio shops. Just for the fun and knowing my trip is coming to an end, I stop to shop at the Tepee Trading Post and Ortega’s Indian Jewelry shop.

Back on the road, I see the sign for the Petrified Forest National Park and pull off the highway to enter. This was one of my father’s favorite national parks, mainly because of his interest in fossils and prehistoric beasts.

I am not in the park 15 minutes before a cool, hard wind begins blowing. Looking over the commanding vista afforded by the park’s first viewing area I see a hard rain is moments away. Jumping back into the Chevy pickup, I watch the desert around me swell with water as the downpour begins. The winds howl around me, but this Silverado is rock solid and isn’t going anywhere. Finally, the rain lets up, and I am free to enjoy the vast stands of fossil trees, pictographs, and other natural features.

The next stop on my route is Holbrook. This fairly large town is bestknown for its many curio shops selling legally harvested petrified wood. The novelty of owning my own chunk of time is indeed tempting, but the thought of hauling the stone from the truck to the yard is enough to keep my money in my wallet.

Almost immediately after leaving Holbrook, the billboards tell of a giant petrified tree named Geronimo. The further west I travel, the more enticed I am to stop and see this freak of prehistoric nature. Thankfully, I fight the urge and press on to one of my favorite stops along Arizona’s Route 66.

For many, there’s nothing particularly appealing about Joseph City’s Jack Rabbit Trading Post. However, a kid riding in the back of his father’s ’57 Nomad easily finds the dozens of signs, stretched across Route 66 between Springfield, Mo., and Joseph City, enough reason to stop. Yes, I had my picture taken atop owner James Taylor’s 3-foot high rabbit.

The final stop of my three-day tour is Winslow, Ariz. This town’s significance in my life dates back to 1974 when I first heard the lyrics, “Standing on the corner in Winslow Arizona,” of cowriters Jackson Browne and Glen Frey’s song, “Take It Easy.” Like most 17-year-olds of that period, I was completely devoted to the muscle car I had at the time, and to the idea of taking life slow.

I park the truck near the Winslow police department and walk over to the corner mural and statue honoring the Eagles’ song and Route 66. Viewing the art, it’s easy to appreciate the significance the country-rock ballad and Route 66 have in Winslow.

It’s no coincidence Route 66’s popularity waned in the late ’70s, about the same time the fast-paced, overly consumptive culture of the late ’70s and early ’80s pushed aside the more introspective culture of the ’60s and early ’70s. In 1985, the government officially decommissioned Route 66. Thankfully, a new swelling of interest in the Mother Road has emerged, and towns once economically devastated by the route’s demise have begun recovering.

Both song and historic route remind us of an age when folks took their time getting places and stopped long enough to chat with strangers and admire the sweeping vistas of the Southwest. They remind us of the adventure and freedom found on America’s highways when we take the time to slow down and enjoy. I spent the remainder of the day visiting with locals and wandering from street corner to street corner in Winslow, Arizona.

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