I awoke at something like 4:30am. I had no idea where I was or why I might be in a motel room that looks like a dorm. It was light outside. Actually, it was flood light outside. Next door, a man was hacking up a lung. This must have been what woke me.

Before falling asleep, I heard strange voices in my head yelling at me as I drifted in and out of consciousness. At first I thought they were just in my head, you know, just me thinking in weird voices. But why would I threaten myself in a really nasty, scary and quite rather evil voice? So then I figured I must have been dreaming. Sort of half-dreaming. You know, the kind of dreaming where you’re also sort of fully awake.

It was scary, but apparently not scary enough to keep me up. I fell asleep pretty quickly. However, I was now awake. At 4:30am. And there was a man who had his lung trapped in a wad of phlegm stuck in his throat.

Good morning, Eric. You are in Amarillo, Texas.

-I am?

You certainly are.

-Why did I check into this amazingly crappy motel?

Well, see, it was raining and this was the first thing you say. It has free, albeit, crappy WiFi. Hey, it’s only $26.

-Ok. I guess we’re awake now. Let’s go.

I showered and checked email and generally got myself together, hopped on the scooter and sped away in the crisp morning air. Yes, today Texas was offering crisp, cool morning air. Just like home. In fact, it was colder than home.

I sped away, getting lost several times and seeing much more of Amarillo than any one person should see at 8am.

But finally I found my way to Amarillo Blvd. That’s where Route 66 came through town. It’s got a ton of great, old motels and restaurants. I was pretty darn jazzed. And I took some pictures for you kind folks at home.

Weaving our way through town was pretty simple. Amarillo is beat, man. It’s a really tired looking town. I certainly wouldn’t ever want to live here.

But when you’re in Amarillo, you have to see Cadillac Ranch. And for the third time since 2004, I did. This is definitely falling apart. It’s not as bad as Bug Ranch to the east, but you might want to see it while you can.

For the uninformed, you can read about it here.¹

While viewing the cars, I met a guy from Seattle who was originally from Georgia. He was traveling in his van, finishing up his “bucket list.” He was maybe 70 years old. He wasn’t sure where he was headed next. Maybe back to Seattle. Maybe Florida.

I know the feeling. Sort of. I know where I’m headed next: Tucumcari. And after that, it’s California. And then Salt Lake City. And then? Well that’s where I can start to relate.

Most folks, when they are traveling Route 66, skip a section of Route 66 to visit Cadillac Ranch. The Ranch isn’t (and never was) on Route 66. It’s along a frontage road on the south side of I-40 just west of Amarillo. Route 66 runs on Indian Hill Road about a half mile north of I-40. Most folks skip it.

I did not.

Not that there’s a whole lot to see on it, of course. Though, on the way to it, I saw what might just be my favorite sign along or near Route 66. It was a hand-painted billboard for the Bates Motel. Each room has a shower!

Indian Hill Road wasn’t all that exciting. But it was better than the interstate and even better than an interstate frontage road, though it would become that very shortly.

The weather was what I figured it would be. About to rain any second. There was a glimpse of blue sky and sun for about a minute or two, but then back to dismal, cloudy gray soup.

A couple of towns, now dead, passed by. Vega was the next town with anything left to it. Everything is gone around here because of the interstate. Whole towns are gone.

Vega somehow managed to survive. And by survive I mean that there are still some people living there. There’s a downtown that looks used up and maybe a working gas station or two. That’s survival out here on the Stake Plains of Texas.

Great Indian battles were fought here. And after that, gun battles between drunken cowboys. The cemeteries supposedly attest to such things.

Today, the battle is still survival – the town against the interstate.

In Vega is Dot’s Mini-Museum. Basically, it’s two shacks with a bunch of old stuff in them. It’s very cool and should be seen by any traveler looking to dismount after the long ride from Amarillo. It’s free, as it should be, and puts Vega on the Route 66 map.

The front yard has a “boot tree,” similar to the Shoe Tree in Oklahoma. Boots of dead cowboys? Hard to say.

It’s hard to believe that Route 66 is half over. Adrian, Texas claims to be the official halfway point along Route 66. Vega also claims this. In truth, it all depends upon which alignment you’re talking about. I’m sure neither are really any more correct than the other. But in Route 66 lore, Adrian is the mid point.

Adrian is a great town. Almost a ghost town. Someone, perhaps the fellow who took part in Cadillac Ranch, has placed random signs throughout the town. He/They have also done this in parts of Amarillo. These signs make Adrian a must-see.

Most roadies stop at the Mid-Point Cafe to visit with Fran, herself a Route 66 icon. However, it’s always weird to go into a cafe knowing there is nothing that can be eaten no matter how good folks say her ugly-crust pies are. I bowed my head in respect while riding by.

Here is where I had to take the interstate for 18 miles. Route 66 was obliterated along this stretch.

There. Wasn’t that an exciting story?

After exiting at Exit 0 – Glenrio, I rode into Glenrio, TX/NM. Glenrio is a ghost town. It used to be rather vibrant. It had several motels, including the “First/Last Motel in Texas.” But after the interstate cut it off, giving it only one exit, the town died. All that is left are ruins and a few hold-outs.

Most folks at this point, double back and head on down the interstate to the next “Historic Route 66″ exit. Not this guy.

Also at this point is where Route 66 is a bit less than paved. Actually it’s dirt. Or more like mud. It’s not the super-sticky, never get out alive New Mexico mud – that happens only right after it rains. Which it looks like it could do at any moment. Again.

This story is getting old, I bet. Eric comes across a length of “Dirt 66.” It looks like rain. Eric thinks, “gee, this is a bad idea.” And then does it anyway. And then it rains.

Well, it’s almost the same story. The road before me was Route 66 up until the 1950’s. At that point it, it was moved to slightly north of where the interstate is today. For some reason, New Mexico either removed the original pavement or it simply disintegrated. Either way, this was mud. And it looked like rain.

I wanted to see the ghost town of Endee (named after the near by ranch – ND Ranch). Endee was a rough town, they say. Legend has it that the town was so rough that a trench was dug on Saturday night to bury the gunfight losers on Sunday. It’s cost-effective. The town is now gone, leaving only a few broken motels and an old gas station or two in its place.

The road to Endee wasn’t too bad. The scooter’s tires aren’t really made for mud, so there was some slipping and some sliding. After five or so miles, I came to Endee. I’ve heard that from Endee to San Jon (pronounced “San Hone”), the road gets pretty bad. And since it looked a bit like rain, I decided to take what I figured was a gravel state highway.

New Mexico State Highway 392 is not paved. It is not gravel. It is not a highway. It is a small three mile dirt mud path with some very banked turns. At time the mud turns to ooze. Other times, the gravel is thick and almost worse than the mud. But the ooze takes the cake. It’s a darker brown and if you get stuck out here, nobody will find you.

Let me rephrase that – nobody will find me. At least not for awhile.

But I didn’t know all of this when I turned left to avoid the remaining nine or ten miles of iffy-Dirt 66. I figured that I’d be at its terminus, exit 369 along I-40 in New Mexico, in ten minutes.

Thirty minutes later, I was wondering if I’d ever get out alive.

While I never got stuck to the point where I had to dismount, each yard was a fight to 1) remain on the bike, 2) keep the “rubber side down”, 3) not swerve into the water-filled ravines that flanked most of the road and most importantly, 4) keep a clear head.

This was the longest three miles I’ve ever done. Dirt 66 had nothing on this road. It must have rained here and just here for about an hour (seriously) earlier today. There was no way to turn around. I had to just keep on keepin’ on.

Completely exhausted, I endure! Ahead, not a quarter-mile, is the interstate! I never thought I’d be so happy to see that super slab.

But why rest? And why enter the interstate when you can hop on 1950’s Route 66 just to the north of it? So I did.

Here, the road was a very well paved frontage road. But that’s ok. One of the ghost towns that I would miss by skipping out on the other section of pre-1950 Route 66 is Bard. And oddly enough, the next town on post-1950 Route 66 was… Bard!

How? Well in 1950, when they moved Route 66 from where I was before to where I was now, Bard moved as well. Bard on Dirt 66 had only one building – a post office, which also a service station with garage. Bard on “new” 66 had a motel or two.

Both Bards are now dead.

Just after Bard II is San Jon. There is still a motel operating in San Jon. It’s the San Jon Motel. We stayed there in 2004. It’s not the ritz, but it has a charm. It’s been in operation since the 1940’s. Otherwise, the town, given only one exit, is dead.

Which is why it astounded me that I would see a billboard advertising: Taste of India – American.

In this part of the country, “Indian” means Indian-American (Native American). There are many American-Indians living in this area. So, did they forget the “n”? Was this really an Indian Restaurant? Indian-American… from India, not American-Indian.

I pulled into where it said it was. What it was was a truck stop run by Indian-Americans, not American-Indians. I parked and walked inside. An Indian-American passed me, I was going in and he was coming out. And then an American-Indian passed me. This was a very strange place.

This strange place consisted of a convenience store on one side and a Indian fast food place on the other. In the middle of nowhere, I was surrounded by Indians and Indians. More Indian-Americans than American Indians. And that was odd.

While I was there, perhaps ten or twelve Indian-Americans ordered food. Where were they coming from? Are there Indian-American truckers? Most of the Indian-Americans were FOBs (Fresh Off the Boat).

I ordered Channa Masala, Samosas and Aloo Gobi expecting it to be fairly crappy. How good could a place like this be?

This was the best Aloo Gobi I’ve ever had. Ever. The Channa Masala was really good and the samosas weren’t bad either!

Which brings me to a really interesting point.

Many Indians come over from India to open motels, gas stations, be doctors or engineers and other things that don’t involve Indian food. So my message to them is this: If you’re going to come to America and not open an Indian restaurant, please find some way to open an Indian restaurant.

Oh, I found out. Honestly, the best These folks did! They have a perfectly normal truck stop along I-40 in New Mexico. And they also have an amazing Indian restaurant, complete with crappy Bollywood videos playing ad nausium on a TV in the back.

So please, if you’re coming to America and you’re from India, open an Indian restaurant. If you want to open a motel, fine. Open a motel with an Indian restaurant. If you want to be a doctor, that’s ok, open a practice that also serves Indian food.

There is basically no reason not to do this.

And after that plus a quick spin through San Jon, I was on my way to Tucumcari.

Have you noticed that I haven’t mentioned rain? That is because somehow there was no rain. None. Well, in Vega, there was a spritz. But it amounted to nothing more than that.

The road from San Jon to Tucumcari swings away from the interstate, which is a nice end to the day. Twentyish miles of fairly secluded 66 later and I was in Tucumcari. Now this town was not dead. Not really.

It could be doing a lot better, but they gave it five exits, so there’s a lot of places to leave the ugly interstate for some Route 66 flair! Tucumcari’s got tons of old motels and restaurants. It’s got class and style. Especially my home for the evening, The Blue Swallow Motel.

I’ll have more on that tomorrow though.

Click here to see my pics.

Miles today: 160
Miles total: 2865

1. You’ll notice that I made no mention of the Bruce Springsteen song. It’s been in my head all day. I wish it were a better tune. [↩]

I’ll start this posting out with a warning. I’m tired. I have no real ambition to write this. I’m cranky and need some sleep. I’m staying at a KOA outside of Santa Fe. I can’t afford motel rooms in Sante Fe ($100/night), so I had to stay here ($25/night). There is snow on the tops of the mountains. I’m about 7,000 feet up and it’s going to drop below 40 degrees tonight. And, to add insult to injury, the KOA is supposed to have WiFi, but it’s not working. And with that said, I’ll tell you about my day.

Staying at the Blue Swallow Motel was great. It’s a great place with great hosts. And it’s in a great town. I ended the day early, so I was able to catch up on emails (though not all of them) and watch a bit of TV. I slept fairly well and was quite warm.

Morning came too quickly for some reason and, though I slept well, I needed a bit more. I tried, but nothing doing.

I really took my time getting myself ready, so it wasn’t until 9:30 that I was on the road. I rode a bit around Tucumcari and had to venture out onto the interstate for about eight miles. I held my own.

Once in a while, you could see old remnants of Route 66 on either side of the interstate. They were mostly dirt paths now.

The Route through this part of New Mexico is basically a frontage road. And while that was true for Oklahoma and Texas, at least they kept the original concrete and, for the most part, the original width. But in New Mexico, any semblence of Old 66 is gone. This could be any frontage road. You can’t tell it ever was more than a crappy interstate access road.

You have no idea how much of a buzz-kill this is.

Still, it’s better than riding on the interstate.

The towns are few and far between. The views are wonderful, but they are forever polluted by the interstate. Rittenhouse writes of this stretch: “Often at a turn of the road or at the top of a rise, a dramatic view of the countryside is revealed.” But now many of the curves have been straightened and many of the rises flattened or blasted away to make room for the interstate. I must have forgotten how depressing New Mexico can be when it comes to how they treat Route 66.

Montoya is the first real town I came across. It was a real town with a couple of gas stations, a hotel, a restaurant, a church. But now all are gone. When the interstate came through, there was no longer a reason to stop.

Tourists used to camp just east of Montoya, when camping along the highway was allowed. It can get you arrested now. Billy the Kid also used to hang out here.

New Mexico has also forgotten its history. There used to be historical markers along this stretch, but since people on the interstate can’t stop to read them, and people on frontage roads don’t matter, few know that just west of Montoya was the “Goodnight Trail.” The historical marker used to read: “Cowboys who followed bawling herds of cattle from the grasslands of Texas and New Mexico to markets in Colorado, Wyoming and Kansas, carved a picturesque niche in the history of New Mexico. The Old Goodnight Cattle Trail, blazed in 1866, is crossed by Highway 66 near here.”

I love how it’s worded. The Goodnight Trail didn’t cross 66 – no, it was crossed by 66. Route 66, then a modern road, was clearly less important than the historical Old Goodnight Cattle Trail. Now that’s respect for history.

Today, at the point where the Old Goodnight Cattle Trail is crossing by Highway 66 neither are marked.

West of Montoya, towards the next town of Newkirk, you notice old remnants of Route 66, all inaccessible. 1920’s Route 66 wove its way through these bluffs. By the 1950’s, much of Route 66 was straightened, though it still passed through the towns, keeping hard-working folks in the black.

But when the interstate came, it bypassed all the towns along here, slowly choking them. However, with Cuervo, the next town, the interstate cut it in half, killing it almost over night.

Though, that is how most Route 66 towns met their end. One day, and for decades before that, there were hundreds of customers each day. They needed gas and food, lodging or just a place to get out and stretch their legs. And the next day, the day the interstate opened, there was nobody.

One day hundreds of customers, the next there was nobody.

The towns that were cut in half or only received one exit were the first to die – usually within the first month. The towns that had a few exits, or if they were lucky, a “business loop,” might have been able to hold on for a year or so.

Some towns did better than others, such as Santa Rosa, the town I entered after following an old stretch of 1920’s Route 66. It’s still thriving, thanks in part to the business loop and Route 66 nostalgia. But even now it’s not even a shadow of what it used to be.

I stopped at a Chinese Restaurant that was converted from a gas station/convenience store that was probably built in the 80’s. The waitress, Jade, was extremely helpful. She made sure that nothing I ate contained or came in contact with meat. She even made sure that they fried it in different oil. Why can’t every Chinese place have a Jade?

Her accent was very mid-western. I asked if she was from Wisconsin, but no, she was originally from New England, but left it 13 years ago. Whatever accent she has now is from New Mexico. Bill at the Blue Swallow has what I thought was a mid-western accent. But maybe this is simply how people around here talk.

Santa Rosa was supposed to be my stop for the night. But it was only a little past noon. There’s no way I could stop this early. My next stop was Santa Fe. Getting there meant skipping a day on my increasingly annoying schedule.

It was here, from thoughts I had this morning, to make some changes. I’ll explain those changes later as they’re not very important right now.

Right now, the important thing is to explain to you that Route 66, until 1937, inexplicably hung a right and headed north to Santa Fe. From Santa Fe, it went due-south to Albuquerque. After 1937, it went straight to Albuquerque.

The “straight to Albuquerque” Route 66 is gone. It’s 90% interstate now. Who wants that? However, the Santa Fe Loop is still interstate-free (though hardly intact thanks to New Mexico’s weird fascination with destroying things.

From Santa Rosa, I crossed the Pecos River where a Historical Marker used to tell about the explorer Coronado who, in 1541, camped at this spot for four days while his crew built the first bridge over the Pecos River.

Pre-1937 Route 66 began to head north at this point. That section is gone. Most of it is a dirt road on private property. Now, you have to take the interstate for ten miles or more and catch US Route 84 North. Old 66 will eventually reconnect with it.

US 84 is a nice road. It’s wide and very desolate. This is the only stretch of Route 66 that wasn’t bypassed by an interstate. True, it was bypassed by itself before there were interstates, but still, this counts for something.

Old 66 rejoins at the town of Dilia, 17 miles from the interstate. From here to Santa Fe, it’s mostly and sort of the original route.

There are several towns along this stretch, but nothing that catches your eye. A few old shacks dot the landscape and off in the distance (the distance to where I was headed) the peaks of the mountains were capped with snow. I would climb nearly 3,000 feet before reaching my destination.

I don’t believe there is a gas station until you reach Romeoville, the northern-most town along this section. From here, 66 dipped south and then northwest, following the old Sante Fe Trail. There are signs for that along the road, however the road that is signed Santa Fe Trail and Historic 66 is really only a vague idea of where the road was.

Mostly, the road has been abandoned and this wide two-lane, a nice road in its own right, has replaced it.

Interstate 25 was now a near constant adversary, also gobbling up what little was left of the original Santa Fe Trail and Route 66.

Each town along this stretch would offer glimpses into the past in the form of old sections of road, usually dead ending at a bridge or gate. Here, you could get a feel for not only how it felt to drive 66 in the 30’s, but how it felt to ride the old Santa Fe Trail in the 1800’s. These sections were all too brief.

Probably by accident the old Route and Trail west from the town of Burnal was intact for nearly four miles, reattaching itself to the “main road” after tunneling under the interstate. How New Mexico failed to obliterate this section is beyond me.

This four mile stretch is rough. Very rough. And it’s used fairly heavily by the locals. There is even a new post office along this dirt road. A train station (now a private residence) is there too. This area used to be important.

Very important. Starvation Peak looms over your shoulder through this length of washboard road. Legend has it that in the 1600’s, a detachment of Spanish soldiers sought refuge on this peak, but being surrounded by Natives, sought death by starvation rather than torture at the hands of the “savages.”

While the next town of San Jose gave me a dead end, it was worth it in that it ended at a still-intact 1921 bridge. This bridge served the road before it was Route 66. Sadly, it’s out of commission.

San Jose, like most towns around here, feels more like a commune than a town. The towns are all built around their church. Usually it’s at the center of town. The houses, all looking fairly similar, all seem to face the church. There are no mansions and really no slums. Everyone in these towns seems to be, economically, equal. When I would enter these towns, I would feel like I was trespassing. It’s not that I didn’t feel welcomed, I did. Every time I would see a local, they would wave and smile at me. But still, there was a feeling of being on someone else’s land, which is definitely not a feeling I get from most small towns. However, it is a feeling I get when on a commune. You feel welcomed, but you know that it’s not your place. It was fascinating.

After San Jose, the interstate curved away from Route 66. This is always a nice thing. And it’s through here that the Pacos Ruins and Glorietta Pass Battlefield (The Gettysburg of the West) reside. I stopped at the Pacos Ruins last year and they’re wonderful. If you get the chance, please stop. Glorietta Battlefield is all on private property or buried under the interstate. You’d think that New Mexico would care a bit more about its only Civil War Battlefield.

Glorietta Pass is the highest elevation on Route 66. It’s 7,525 feet above sea level.

I had to hop on the interstate for a handful of miles and that brought me to Canoncito. And that is where the KOA is and so that is where I am.

Tomorrow, I’ll be in Albuquerque.

Here are my photos from today.

Miles today: 192
Miles total: 3057

Ok folks, this is going to be a short sort of post.

Well, we’ll see about that.

I started the day at the KOA and it was COLD. Like, really cold. I didn’t sleep well cause it was so cold. But the sun came up and it warmed up pretty quickly.

Around 9am I rode into Santa Fe. Santa Fe is an amazingly beautiful town. I love the way it looks. However, it’s like Bucknell Parents Weekend 24/7. Yes, it’s that bad. The tourists are uppity, the locals are self-righteous and uppity and generally it’s pretty miserable (except for the folks at the one bookstore and the gal at the cafe I went to).

It’s also an amazingly confusing town to get around in. Expect to get lost. You will most definitely get lost when visiting Santa Fe. But that’s ok because it’s such a pretty town.

I searched for a WiFi connection and the nice folks at the bookstore gave told me of a cafe that had it. After a short walk, I found it and got a bagel. The gal at the counter was almost offensively nice. But not in a fake way, so it was fine.

After a bit of that, I saw that it was looking like it might rain. Well that puts the damper on things (no pun intended). I was planning on about eight or so miles of dirt roads (and back) to the summit of La Bajada. But with clouds like that, I don’t want to risk it. Not this time.

I hopped on the scooter and rode out of town, getting lost in the process, but finding myself on top of a really great hill that gave me a view of pretty much everything. It would be amazing to live up here, but wow, expensive, I bet.

Finding my way, I followed the directions in the book that I was using (since my directions to the top of La Bajada were now pointless). I traveled six miles down a frontage road that the book claimed was Route 66 (though I sort of doubt it, but who knows). However, there was construction and the road was blocked, so back I went, got on the interstate and exited for the bottom of La Bajada.

From 1926 to 1932, Route 66 traversed La Bajada Hill, dropping 500 feet at at 28% grade using more than a fair share of switchbacks. You can read more about it here.

In 2006, we visited and climbed La Bajada. You can see the pictures here and here.

The interstate behind me, I rode a handful of miles to where old 66 used to be (which is why I find it hard to believe that that frontage road was ever 66). This road was paved. Good, because it really looked like rain.

But up ahead, this road turned an unnatural left. But heading straight was a dirt road that clearly used to be Route 66.

Yes, no day on Route 66 would be complete without a crappy dirt road and the chance of rain.

The road was only about a mile and a half long and in the distance you could see the switchbacks of La Bajada.

While we hiked it two years ago (the pictures I linked to above are pictures from that hike), we did it without knowing that the Native tribe that owns the land wishes for you to get permission before entering it. I didn’t get permission, so out of respect, I simply gazed upon it from afar.

And then I turned around and got out of there because it looked like it was about to rain and though it was only a mile and a half dirt road, I didn’t want to take my chances.

More interstate since Route 66 is on private land at this point…

Finally, the exit for Algodones! Here is where Route 66 supposedly corresponds with a drivable road. And from here I took it south through Bernalillo and into the northern portion of Albuquerque.

The road was stupidly busy and it just didn’t feel like 66. I took one picture – of a convenience store. That’s it.

During the ride, I somehow got in the middle of a fairly small biker gang, The Henchmen. I’m not really sure how they felt about a scooter riding in their pack, but it was accidental thanks to two lanes becoming one. I’m sure they survived.

I needed to buy some more soap as I was getting low. And hark! A healthfood store! I pull in just as it starts to rain. Nice place to be stuck (I’m boycotting rain for a bit). I bought a couple of bottles of water and a bottle of Dr. Bronner’s soap. I wanted to buy some veggie jerky, but they didn’t have any. They had some free range real beef jerky, but seriously, who cares? If you’re a healthfood store, please stock some sort of vegan jerky. Primal Strips are good. As is Stonewall Jurque (though most folks I know don’t care for it – they just changed their packaging and I personally think it sucks).

Shortly after, I decided that I wanted to stop in at the Vespa dealership. Usually Vespa dealerships kind of suck. Most don’t focus on Vespas and have them mostly as some kind of afterthought.

So when I pulled into the Albuquerque dealer, I was pleasantly surprised to see that they only carried Vespas. I was just going to purchase oil and a filter, but ended up spending the whole afternoon there.

It was great. I hardly ever get the chance to talk to other scooterists. And I even got to meet Gavin, who was on StellaSpeed, an internet message board about large-frame two-stroke Vespa type scooters.

I also met Chris Nick¹, the guy who runs the shop, and Richard, who was picking up his Vespa S that was totaled in a crash – he was stuffing it into his Datsun. Hilarious. Great folks. I even met a guy who just bought a GTS (like I have) and we talked about how happy he was going to be.

This made my day. In fact, I’ve decided to give Albuquerque a bit more of a looksee. I’ll be here till Tuesday. My rear tire is shot again anyway and they’ll throw another one on for me. I just might do the oil change too.

So tomorrow I’ll be heading east to Moriarty and then heading back to Albuquerque. Route 66 went through Moriarty after it bypassed Santa Fe in 1937. Monday, I’ll be doing a little pre-1937 loop that went south of Albuquerque.

Tuesday, I’ll get the tire and then ride out to Gallup where I’ll stay for the night.

Today was quite a great day, even though Route 66 sort of sucks through here.

Here are my very few pics.

Miles today: 126
Miles total: 3183

1. I have no idea why I thought his name was Chris… weird. [↩]

Today was a great day. I’m really glad that I stayed a bit longer in Albuquerque.

It started with a ride around town with the local scooter club. This town is really quite nice, even though Gavin said that we rode through some of the not so prettiest.

Most of the club went to the zoo, but since I was more than a bit hungry, Gavin and I hit the Indian buffet at Taj Mahal. Not bad at all!

And then was the ride to Moriarty and back.

This was the last stretch of Route 66 that I hadn’t ever done before. And the ride out was really nice. We rode through a little valley that they called a canyon and over some hills to Moriarty.

Moriarty is sort of lame, to be honest. There’s not much left of Route 66 there and it’s just a few motels and gas stations.

On the way back, I stopped here and there and took some pictures.

Honestly, not the most fun stretch of Route 66 ever.

After that little trip, we headed to Gavin’s brother’s house and I had a really really great time.

Tomorrow (Monday), I’m checking out the downtown. Also, I’ll be riding down to Los Lunas on old 66. After that, we’re going to a trivia night. I’m at a KOA now (one more in town), but the internets aren’t really working. Perhaps the tubes are clogged. Grr.

Here are my very few photos from today.

Miles today: 124
Miles total: 3307

The KOA in Albuquerque is huge. But the tent space is like this little coral. They herd us in. Well, it was just me and this other guy who offered to let me use his rake… for some reason.

But in the morning I woke up and charged the computer and phone (since the site didn’t come with electricity). And around 9am, I was on my way through town, hitting Central Ave, Route 66.

Along this street are a bunch of old motels and you can sort of get the feel for how 66 was in the mid-60s. It’s a nice stretch and I took a bunch of them.

But the main part of today’s travels was on the pre-1937 alignment that went south of town, then turned north to meet up with the final alignment. Why it went south to a no-name town called Los Lunas is anybody’s guess.

However, I do know why the Santa Fe and Los Lunas segments were by-passed in 1937.

According to this website…

When Route 66 was first laid out in 1926, everybody knew it would go through the capital of New Mexico and indeed it did. Route 66 followed the Old Pecos Trail from Santa Rosa through Dilia, Romeroville and Pecos to Santa Fe. From Santa Fe it went over La Bajada Hill and down into Albuquerque. That was the way it was aligned and constructed and that was the way it was supposed to stay – forever. But it didn’t. But why was it moved? In 1937 the then governor of New Mexico, Governor Hannett lost the re-election. Hannett blamed this on the politicians in Santa Fe. In one great last act of defiance before the new governor was sworn in he vowed to get even with this Santa Fe ring. He had until January to institute his revenge. And he did! He decided the best way to get even was to re-route Highway 66 to Albuquerque and bypass Santa Fe altogether. This new alignment would bypass the Santa Fe businesses and Santa Fe politicians. It was a race against time. With no time off for the workers, including Christmas, he had to build a road through the virgin landscape fighting the elements, the vegetation and anybody and anything that got in his way. There was no time to buy the right a way so the road cut across both public and private land with no regard for the ownership. Though the road was not quite finished by the time the new governor took office in January, bad weather conditions prevented him from contacting the work crews to stop the project. By the time the new governor met with the work crews it was too late. The new road had been finished and cars were already driving the new route that cut off more than 90 miles of driving distance between Santa Rosa and Albuquerque. Santa Fe had been bypassed! The new alignment was really a better route from an engineer’s standpoint. It was a more direct route that cut out some treacherous road conditions. It was also quite a bit shorter. This is the route that would be followed by the new Interstate years later. Now you know the whole story!

Since I don’t really have time to research this, I can’t say for sure if it’s 100% true. But nifty story anyway.

This is the third time I did this run and the first time it has ever made any sense to me. I think that’s because I’m getting to know Albuquerque really well.

The Route goes through the south side of Albuquerque, through the Isleta Indian Reservation to the town of Los Lunas. It crosses the Rio Grande twice.

The towns along this section spread themselves out, so you really can’t tell when one town starts and where another town ends. But it’s not congested. Everyone is just spread out.

But you can tell when you reach Los Lunas. It’s got a few strip malls and a couple of gas stations.

Like the other segments of the pre-1937 Route 66 in New Mexico, there’s not much left from when it was actually Route 66. And that, for me, means less pictures and a little less interest in it.

From Los Lunas I climbed a fairly large hill and found myself on what had to be a plateau. To my right were several small volcanoes and in front of me a funky little mesa.

The BNSF rail line was to my left and I got a couple of pictures of trains just for you lucky peoples!

This part of the ride was my favorite. Not just because of the trains, but because the scenery. It’s really beautiful out here and pictures on a computer just don’t capture it.

Originally, Route 66 turned west when it got to the town of Correo. And there’s still a dirt road that connects Correo to the later alignment. I opted not to take the dirt road and headed for the only way back to Albuquerque – Interstate 40.

Here, it’s illegal to drive less than 65mph. I was able to hold that most of the time. This stretch of interstate was mostly terrifying. Thankfully I survived until Old 66 appeared as a frontage road on my left.

I exited and took that into Albuquerque.

The day was still young, so I headed to Gavin’s brother’s house and hung out with Sabra (Gavin’s sister-in-law). It was nice to not be riding and just be doing not much at all.

Later that evening we went to a bar that has a weekly trivia game event. This was the first time I’ve ever been in a bar. I don’t drink, so really have no reason to go. But this trivia thing was great. I had a blast and our team came in third! I was pretty stoked and even helped answer a few questions.

The folks in Albuquerque are great. I can’t wait to come back.

Tomorrow I visit the Vespa shop and then hit the road! I’ll probably end up in Gallup, NM tomorrow. The posts will again be longer, there will be more pics and I’ll be back on 66!

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 131
Miles total: 3438

The night on the Aerobed in Courtney and Sabra’s music room was passed very nicely. I awoke and showered and hung out a bit with them.

They’re just great people. I’m really fortunate to have met them. Courtney has a VW Squareback that is all my envy. We checked it out and tried to do the guy/car thing, but neither of can really pull that off. But GREAT car.

He left for work and Sabra and I discovered three, yes THREE, black widow spiders under a dog house thing. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have a ridiculous and unhealthy fear of spiders. And while there was definitely fear going on, there was also this weird respect too. See, black widows have this sort of evil beauty to them. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s 100% pure evil. And you really do have to respect pure evil. It’s just so… pure.

So thank you Courtney and Sabra for letting me crash for the night. You’re awesome! And thanks Gavin for everything. I can’t wait to come back! And thank you, Albuquerque, for being such a great city. Someday I’ll find a really good Indian restaurant, I just know it!

Well after the evil, I loaded up and headed for the Vespa shop to get a new tire. That shop is amazing. I’m usually not one for Vespa shops. They’re usually pretty lame. But this one is great. Nick, who runs it, is a swell guy and really went out of his way for me. I can’t thank him enough.

While I was there, I spied a Vespa small frame that I must have someday. I really don’t ask for much.

Oh! And I must tell you about my new favorite song of all times! While I was at the shop, he was listening to NPR. Well when they stopped talking, they played some “New Mexican Music.” One of the songs I heard was “Guacamole” by Texas Tornadoes. Here are the amazing lyrics!

Met her at the Mercado
She was buying avacados
Man… she really turned me on

She reached for my pepper
I grabbed her tomatoes
And I knew, it wouldn’t be very long

She went to the mesa
I grabbed my cerveza
I got the onions and lemon

And the way she looked at me
Man I could clearly see
It wouldn’t be very long

Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
We’d me making Guacamole all night long

Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
We’d be making Guacamole all night long

She headed for the light
I fell in right behind
Man… She sure looked good to me

She reached for her money
I said “wait a minute honey
I believe, this one is on me”

So we got in my pickup
We started to back up
And headed on down the road

We went to her casa
Tortillas de masa
And made guacamole all night long

Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
We’d be making guacamole all night long

So do you want to heard it?! OK!

Wasn’t that just amazing?

So anyway, after we finished up, I headed out of town, taking 2nd Street to Central (which is 66) and 66 out of town, having to take the interstate for over 20 miles. Now, the secret to the interstate is simple. Get behind a truck going too slow. This way, people won’t notice that you’re the one going too slow! It works. And I felt really comfortable.

Thankfully old 66 came back at exit 117, right before one of my favorite stretches. Dead Man’s Curve!

While I don’t really know the history of Dead Man’s Curve, this thing is tight and I’m certain it is deserving of the name. This stretch is great. After curving around “owl rock,” you twist all the way around Dead Man’s Curve. And with a few other squiggles, you’re through and on your way to Laguna!

Route 66 used to go through New Laguna, but it was bypassed in favor of a pretty lovely straight stretch. I personally prefer the New Laguna segment. It’s closer to the rails and I even got to see a train!

Trains are all over the place out here. It’s quite nice.

What is also nice is that Route 66 wasn’t a frontage road through here. Sure, sometimes it was close to the interstate, but usually it just wandered off on its own, finding new turns and twists and towns to play in.

Like the quick run through Budville. The town really isn’t there anymore. Maybe it never was. But the Budville Trading Company service station (since 1928) is still there. It’s no longer in business, but I think it’s open to the public, though nobody was there when I rode by.

The next town was Villa Cubero. Old 66 went through Cubero (not Villa Cubero). But that was by-passed in favor of going through Villa Cubero.

Villa Cubero has a gas station and an old cafe. It was in this cafe where Hemmingway wrote part of “Old Man and the Sea.” So they say, anyway. But it seems like a fairly random thing to just make up, so I’d say it’s plausible.

After San Fidel, the Road turns back towards the interstate (or rather, the interstate turns towards Route 66). I crossed over it and rode along side it for a spell. I took a quick detour through McCartys to get a better look at a church. I’ve been weirdly fascinated by the Spanish-style churches out here.

Originally, Route 66 curved around some lava beds, though later, they straightened it. I was tempted to follow the newer alignment through the lava beds, but it was right next to the interstate and I’m fairly certainly I went that way before. Time for a new old alignment.

The lava beds are really impressive though. And even Old 66 doesn’t completely bypass them. You can still see how the lava flowed and rippled over the ground. If you want to get really really geeky, you can check this out.

I was definitely getting hungry and decided that Grants would probably have a Chinese place. In fact, they had two.

Grants is a very Route 66 town. And it seems out of place in New Mexico. This is more of an Illinois town. I’m not sure why, but that’s just how it feels. Maybe it’s because it was a mining town. This is where they got uranium! Awesome!

Also in Grants are some great examples of mid-century signage. They even have a still-running movie theater.

I ate at some Chinese place and though the folks were nice in there, the food was really bland. And it contained cucumbers. I think it’s a first for me. Never had cucumbers in Chinese food before. The tofu was good, but that’s how tofu is. It’s the perfect food.

The run after Milan, Grant’s sister-city, is a very long four-lane. I love deserted four lanes and that’s just what I got. For miles!

But here is where the winds picked up. Thankfully I was the only one on the road. I couldn’t go faster than 55mph. That was it. I couldn’t believe how strong of a headwind it was. I heard later that it was a good 30mph.

There were some storms a cookin’ to my left, but thankfully not thunder storms. Just wind and a little rain and a bit more wind.

And since these were headwinds, I wasn’t blown all over the road. Thank you. It is appreciated.

I vaguely remembered this stretch. It’s weird. I know I’ve been on most of this, but I can’t remember it. I’ll remember bits and pieces, like Dead Man’s Curve, of course. But most everything else is disjointed bits and pieces. This stretch was like that.

As was the town of Thoreau. Now, I know that I had never ventured into town, but I hardly remember even passing it. And since I’m such a huge fan of Henry David, you’d think I’d have stopped before. But no.

Interestingly enough, Thoreau is not pronounced like like author’s name. It’s pronounced “thuh-roo.” And even though it would be super cool to have a town named after Thoreau, it’s just not so. I do not, however, know where they got the name.

Thoreau is the last town before the Continental Divide. I was really impressed with it the first time I was there. But if it weren’t for the many, many billboards advertising the “Indian Village” at the Continental Divide, I would have totally missed it.

These Indian Villages are weird. The one next to the shop that was closed is sort of creepy. It’s got two wooded “teepees” and reminds me of Cannibal: The Musical…

But ok, the Continental Divide is a fascinating thing.

Not nearly as fascinating as nearly ten more miles of interstate! Again, I got behind a slow truck. Thank you, slow trucker.

My day was nearly winding down. Here I was, on my way into Gallup, my home for the night. The rail traffic heading east was stacked up to let a westbound through and it was neat to see the engines in a line waiting to pull (and push) the hill. Well, neat to me. I like trains. You will deal with it.

The wind was picking up again and I could see another small storm getting organized. For some reason, I put up the tent and the wind promptly blew it over, splitting one of my fiberglass poles. Yes, i know I should be using aluminum. Lesson learned.

I duct taped it to working-condition and it seemed fine.

Another wind storm came up, we’re talking 40+ mph winds here, and it held.

However, while I was typing this, another wind storm flew in, flattening the tent. Luckily, it didn’t break the poles. I couldn’t even hold it up, the wind was too strong.

I restaked it and hopefully it will hold through till morning. It’s quite a pain.

And I’m betting this is how I’ll spend much of my night. I really hope the wind dies down. It’s calm right now, but here the wind just appears seemingly out of nowhere.

Hold on, lil tent!

-

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 150
Miles total: 3588

Hi folks. Before I tell you about my day, let me give you a weather report. It was windy. Sunny and windy, cloudy and windy, dusty and windy. When you are reading all about my day, please keep in mind that no matter what I was doing, I was doing it in 20mph – 55mph winds. Sometimes the wind blew me off the road. Sometimes the wind blew the scooter over. Sometimes the wind did both. The wind created dust storms and gave me near zero visibility. And sometimes the wind wouldn’t allow me to go over 50mph. Actually, that was a lot of the time.

Today was a long day.

I woke up with my tent around me. Actually, I didn’t really wake up, because to wake up would imply sleep. I didn’t really sleep. I may have dozed in and out of semi-consciousness, but anything resembling sleep didn’t happen.

It was in one of these semi-conscious states, around 6am, that the tent finally collapsed. It held its own for a very long time, but in what were probably 30mph sustained winds, what can you expect?

I figured that the winds would die down to manageable levels soon enough, so I did some laundry and slowly packed up the scooter. Folding up the tent was no easy chore in wind such as this. I tried to let the wind aide me in the folding, but it wouldn’t play nice. Eventually, I just crumpled it up and stuffed it in the dry bag. Done and done.

Gallup, New Mexico is a pretty ok town, I guess. I wouldn’t want to live there or anything, but they do have a healthfood co-op. I visited it and it’s small, but pretty nice. I’d much rather have a small co-op than a Whole Foods or Trader Joes (evil). I bought a bunch of Clif Bars and some water and was on my way.

There are a bunch of old motels in Gallup and I remember last year I said that I’d like to see more of this town someday. And here’s my chance, I rolled down Coal Street (used to be Route 66) and it has a nice little downtown. Go Gallup!

One of my favorite stretches is next. I forgot how nice western New Mexico can be. That is, when there’s not 40mph of wind blowing in your face.

Devil’s Cliff is a pretty scary thing to conquer with winds such as these. The wind at this point, like I said, was probably around 40mph. Yes, that’s gusts, but that’s what counts.

And gusts out here aren’t like gusts back home. Back home, gusts are quick, over in 10 seconds, if that. Out there, gusts are basically sustained winds. The gusts will blow for maybe a minute or so and you’ll wonder how such a beautiful cloudless day could bring such violent weather.

There are signs warning the driver to watch for rocks. But if one were to roll down the cliff right now, what would I do besides watch it bounce down the mountain and knock me off the other side? If you are killed by a falling rock, you know it’s your time to go. So I didn’t really worry. Nothing I can do.

It was at the top of the cliff that the wind got so bad I had to stop. In reality, the wind wasn’t all that bad compared to what was to come. But it was bad enough to pull over. And when I did, the wind blew me and the scooter onto our sides. One second we were all rubber side down and the next, our arses were looking out for better weather.

I managed to get us both on two feet/wheels, parked and secured the scooter and went to sit down on a rock, hoping that an even bigger gust wouldn’t blow me over the cliff.

And upon thinking that, one nearly did. I almost lost balance, so I backed away from the edge. Good thing too, because the wind got worse and I had trouble standing.

I found a more secure place to plop down (sitting was much preferable than trying to stand) and took a few pictures of the trains that went by. I remember taking pictures of trains here before. I remember the day looked very much like today. Cloudless and that deep, southwestern blue. But today was different. Today, as it was shaping up, was a bit dangerous.

At this point, I was still thinking that the wind would die down before too long. In between gusts, I mounted up and made my way down the road.

The geography around here is amazing. It definitely steals the show from the Mother Road. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to take notice of the scenery.

When I would notice something, I’d have to stop and make very sure that I was pointed a little downhill. Normally, I would look for a perfectly flat spot. But with the wind, a perfectly flat spot would ensure that I would be blown backwards. A slight incline would equal things out.

Except for the weird gusts off the canyon walls. Those would nearly knock me over. Except that one time, when one of those gusts actually did knock me over. It was shaping up to be a very long and tiring day.

The scooter with full packs is not a light thing. I’m able to pick it up, but it takes nearly all my strength. Today I had to do it several times – all while battling the wind.

Just across the Arizona border, there was a welcome center. I took advantage, hoping that the winds would magically disappear while I milled about looking at various vague bits of information about the state of Arizona.

The lady at the desk said that it would get worse before it gets better.

Needless to say, I didn’t stick around long. Holbrook, my home for the night, was about 75 miles away. My roads from this point till Holbrook were either dirt or interstate. Neither of which you want to do in 40+mph winds.

Well, 40+ is what I thought they were. According to Accuweather, the gusts where I traveled through were 59mph. Glory be.

To start me off in Arizona, I was given a nice, paved two-lane black top. I’m pretty ok with these in the wind. Pretty much no traffic, which was good since I couldn’t go faster than 50 – 55mph. Now, I was really hoping the wind would die down. I have quite a bit of interstate to do today. But not to worry, I thought, this can’t last forever.

The road, which was probably not Route 66, wound along side the interstate as a frontage road. The reason I don’t believe it really ever was 66 is because farther south of the interstate, there’s a 1923 bridge that used to carry Route 66 traffic. And even though that was bypassed by Route 66 in 1931, I just don’t think that frontage road was 66.

But I did know where to find an old stretch of Route 66. It was post-1931 and it’s got a pretty cool bridge too!

This stretch crosses Querino Canyon and used to be paved. Used to be. Now, it’s dirt. And dust. Dust is pretty difficult to ride in when it’s on the ground. It’s even harder to ride in when it’s in the air. This stretch gave me a bit of both.

This is another one of my favorite treks on 66. It was almost enjoyable. Oh, I just kidding. It was indeed enjoyable. But difficult and oddly busy.

Each passing truck was a local, so they took the road much faster than I could, creating a dust cloud that mixed with the wind. Normally, on a side trip like this, I’d have my face shield open. But today that was out of the question. Even with it down, my face was filthy and there was dirt caking in my eyes, ears and nose.

After crossing the bridge and heading up the other side of the next hill, I saw before me a cloud on the horizon. And when this dirt road finally ended, I got a clear view of what was before me.

Maybe locals know better, but to me, this was a full blown dust storm.

The horizon couldn’t be seen. Even the next hill couldn’t be seen. The wind was howling towards me and here came the dust. When it’s upon you, you realize that it’s not as thick as you thought it was, but it was still way too think to ride. I waited it out and thankfully it passed.

It cleared long enough for me to hop on the interstate for a handful of miles. The dust was gone, but the wind was stronger than ever. My top speed on an interstate is around 80mph (as indicated on my slightly optimistic odometer). My top speed today was 50. Sometimes I could hit 55. The traffic on this stretch was light.

I exited to check out another old bridge just south of Sanders. I snapped a shot of it, steadying myself on a little slope, and turned around to see… well… to not see where I was just a minute ago.

Everything was captured in this thick brown haze of dirt and wind.

A train went by. And even in the dust storm, I took its picture. I’m incorrigible.

The bit of road between Sanders and Chambers is two-lane black top. I believe this is actually old Route 66.

This is also my last bit of this sort of road for awhile. And in celebration of such an event, the dust stayed away.

Until I reached the interstate.

From Chambers through Navajo and the Painted Desert to Holbrook, all I had was interstate. 44 miles of unrelenting super slab.

There are eight exits that exist along those 44 miles. I took advantage of most of them.

In Navajo, the second exit, I stopped for gas and to check out an old alignment that I wish I could have taken. The dust was pretty killer at this point and I wasn’t exactly sure of the way.

The next exit is the one before the Painted Desert. It is a dirt road that takes you a mile to old 66. Thankfully, the dust had settled. The wind was even a little less. Taking Old 66 west for several miles along once-paved gravel you eventually come to the Painted Desert Trading Post.

This building will not be standing in a couple of years. It’s already buckling and about to fall.

As is the bridge that is about a mile west of the old trading post. Its sides are caving out, reading to fall into the dry bed of Dead Wash which it crosses.

If I would have taken this old road farther west, I would have come to a fence that marks the boundary of the National Park Service. Because of this, if you come back here, you have to turn around and ride out.

And interesting thing happened on the way out, heading east with the wind at my back. I was doing about 15mph and decided to slow down a bit. I let off the throttle and continued traveling at 15mph. I was giving the bike no gas, yet she was still cruising along. This is how strong the wind was. The road was gravel and I was even going up a slight incline. Freaky. I’ve never seen wind like this before.

Oh, but back to the interstate.

Back to the wind hitting me head on and the gusts hitting me on my left, pushing me onto the shoulder of the road. Back to the vacuum of slipstreams left by trucks, sucking me to the left, nearly into the other lane. It was crazy, I would be doing 50mph and a truck would pass me. As it did, my speed would shoot up to 65mph. Real quick. I’d have to adjust the throttle and slow down because I knew once their slipstream was gone, the wall of wind would hit me again, knocking me back to 50.

I passed the Painted Desert exit. Originally I had planned on stopping there, but I was simply too tired. Fighting to stay upright takes a lot out of you. The wind and the dust, the trucks and the road did me in. I just wanted a motel room.

As I was fighting for my life in the shoulder of I-40, I noticed a plethora of signs for Stewarts Rock Shop and other tourist traps. I decided to take Stewart up on the offer for a bit of a rest.

I made my way up the hill and thought I’d just pull over on a little rock clearing. I turned left and the scooter and I both went down. What looked like packed dirt was very loose and very deep sand. And we were both stuck in it.

It seems like this was dust just brought here by one of the storms. Thanks.

When lying face down in the dirt you realize that maybe you should have stayed in Albuquerque. Or stayed anywhere that’s not here, at the foot of a tourist trap, face down in the dirt.

I pick myself up and the wind nearly knocks me over. This should be fun, I thought. I dig in and get Ruby upright. Somehow I manage to slip again and we both go down. Again.

Second try worked. We were both up, but how do I get unstuck? This sand is like mud. May as well be. I pushed and pulled, balancing myself on the scooter and with the wind. Nothing. She wasn’t moving.

What I had to do was fully dismount, losing the extra weight of me, rev the throttle and eventually we worked our way out.

This was not nearly as fun as it sounds. No way.

After catching my breath and getting my wits about me, I took a few pictures of the weird crap Stewart has around his Rock Shop.

But it was back to the interstate. I made one or two quick stops after that, visiting a bridge and an old curio shop. And then it was a straight shot into Holbrook.

I rode the town, visiting the WigWam motel (which didn’t open till later, so no deal for me), and getting some pretty horrible Chinese food (silken tofu?? come on!).

After managing to keep that down, I checked into the Super 8.

The wind picked up even more. The weather said it was 55mph. I believe it.

Today was a great Route 66 day. But probably the most challenging day of the trip so far. It definitely ranks up there with the monsoon that stopped me in Rolla, Missouri.

I’m glad I got to experience this feature of The West. I hope it goes away tomorrow. It pretty well sucked.

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 125
Miles total: 3713

We just spent about 12 hours in the car seeing some of the most beautiful scenery imaginable. But there just isn’t much to say about it.

I did take a ton of pics. So did Sarah. And you’ll get to see them all.

We started in Richfield, UT at the Nights Inn… or possibly Knights Inn. You’ll see. Not a bad place. We then wandered our way to Utah Route 24, taking it south through Bicknell to Capitol Reef National Park.

That was pretty beautiful and really set the tone for the rest of the day.

Route 24 continued to Hanksville where we picked up Utah 95, part of the Trail of the Ancients.

That weirdly led to Glen Canyon – but just the northern bit. I went to Glen Canyon in 2004 and hated it quite a bit. You can read about that here.

This time was a bit more fun.

We stopped a few overlooks and saw the northern tip of the lake that should not be.

Moving on, we spent a bunch more time that we thought we would at Natural Bridges National Park. We saw two of the three natural bridges (though it’s hard to take pictures of them) and were thrilled to death with the cliff dwellings. They were pretty cool.

Still in Utah, we hung a right on US Route 191 through Bluff. Bluff isn’t much of a town, but Fort Bluff was amazing. It was a Mormon settlement that is amazingly well preserved, open to the public and FREE. We spent quite a while there reading the plaques and seeing the old cabins. Whoever is keeping this place up and running should be given a metal of honor.

Our path today was sort of zig-zagging our way across sourthern Utah, so we headed a bit west on US 163 to Mexican Hat, so named because of the Mexican Hat Rock that it’s a very high table rock that resembles a Mexican Hat.

This was our introduction to Monument Valley. Amazing. Just amazing. Hard to really put into words, please see our pictures.

We finally crossed into Arizona and drove to Kayanta, through Monument Valley. In Kayanta, we headed east on a road that didn’t really have a whole lot going for it.

But it was the road to Four Corners, where Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and Colorado meet. You have to go into New Mexico for a tiny bit to get into it, but once there, you can visit all four states at once! And it was only $3 to get in. Not bad considering I was expecting it to be three or four times that.

Cortez, Colorado, our home for the night, wasn’t far away. It was late and we were tired. Cortez is hosting a rodeo, so finding a room wasn’t easy, but we did it at the Tomakawk Motel. Nice little place. Cortez is actually a cool little town.

And this was a short little post. Tomorrow is Albuquerque and the day after that, Roswell! Sit tight!

Here are my pics.
Here are Sarah’s.

Car miles today: 464
Car miles total: 864

Sarah and I are now in Albuquerque. The trip from Cortez, CO to here was nice, but not really as wonderful as yesterday.

We hit Durango, where I got to see a narrow gauge steam engine. And we hit Santa Fe, where I decided I never want to drive in Santa Fe again.

Also on this trip, I’ve decided that I hate driving. A lot. I love riding, of course, but driving a car (at least a new car), I basically loathe. It is now in my immediate future to not own a car. Yeah, I know that I “just” bought a Yaris and it’s great and all, but I would very much like to not have or drive a car.

Of course, this would mean living in a place where I can ride year-round, but that’s been in the works for a year or so.

We ate at Fei’s Cafe in Albuquerque. It’s a vegan Chinese place and it’s pretty amazing. Very extremely healthy (compared to most Chinese food) and pretty yummy.

My hosts from before, Cortney and Sabra, are my hosts again and I’m really happy to be back. We hung out with them and their family – a lot of folks, including Gavin, stopped by. It’s a great community scene here. I dig it immensely.

Here are my pics.
Here are Sarah’s pics.

Car miles today: 338
Car miles total: 1,202

Today was a day off in pretty much every respect of the word. We didn’t do much at all, really. I showed Sarah around ABQ for a bit, we got some semi-ok Indian food and then came back to Cortney and Sabra’s.

I’ve started to plot out my trip from Seattle to Pennsylvania via the Yellowstone Trail, it’s sort of like Route 66, but not nearly as well traveled, researched or kitschy. I’m pretty excited about it. It goes from Seattle to Plymouth Rock, Mass.

Just how long that will take me, I’m not sure. I should be in Portland by June 23 and in Seattle by June 25. I’m not really sure how long I’ll stay in Seattle, but I assume about a week.

I also don’t know if I’ll do the small “southern” portion of Scoot 66 or not. Basically, that trip starts in Wheeling, WV, heads south to North Carolina and then north up the Blue Ridge Parkway.

If I do the southern trip, I’ll only be doing the Yellowstone Trail to around Cleveland, Ohio. If I don’t do the southern trip, I’ll do the Trail to somewhere in New York State, taking US 15 south to Lewisburg. I hope to complete the Trail on my way through New England.

I’ll be home by the beginning of August, either way. Then it’ll be time to think about New England and possibly The South. After that, it’ll be time to think about moving.