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. [↩]

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

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. [↩]