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. [↩]

What a day. So much has happened that I’m not sure that I can really summarize it.

I woke and showered and loaded up the scooter and by 8:30am I was off and heading for Elk City, OK. There was a museum there that I wanted to check out. The weather was iffy, but I figured that it should be ok. And it was.

Before Elk City was the small town of Canute. I think Canute used to be a pretty big town. But after the interstate by-passed the town in 1970, it basically died. It has some old motels and a grotto. Neat little town. Shame it’s dead.

The road from Canute to Elk City, like a lot of 66 in western OK is basically a frontage road, however it’s still concrete from the 1930’s. Can’t complain about that, really.

Elk City is a bigger town and was nearly able to survive being bypassed. However, there are still a lot of abandoned gas stations and motels.

The thing Elk City’s got going for it is the museum. So I decided to check it out.

It was weird, but ok. It’s divided into four buildings. There are actually a ton of buildings, but you can only get into four of them. They have it set up like a town and it is rather cool, but the vibe was weird. However, it was only $4 to get in, so I really can’t complain about that either.

I spent about an hour there, which maybe was too much, but still had a good time.

As I left Elk City, the sky was clearing up and there was tons of blue to be seen! Which was a good thing, since I was up for a little exploring of some of old alignments, which are dirt roads.

I wanted to see the little-known town of Doxey - bypassed by Route 66 in 1930ish. There’s nothing left of it, not even foundations. But it was neat to see.

Upon entering the next town of Sayre, the skies got darker. But it didn’t really rain. Sayre was another town that basically died after being bypassed. You might recognize the county courthouse from the movie Grapes of Wrath.

I’ve been this way twice before and both times I remember the stretch of road from Sayre to Erick (great name, huh?). It used to be a 4-lane highway, but after even that was bypassed by the interstate, only two lanes were needed. So the remaining two lanes were abandoned. There’s also an old Rock Island Railroad line next to it.

We drove on the abandoned section in ‘04 and ‘06, but those were rental cars. Taking a Vespa down that road is asking to plug a flat tire in the rain.

And speaking of rain, the sky was looking a bit rainy. I pulled over as it started to drizzle and contemplated throwing on the Devo suit. I chose not to, ate a Clif Bar and rode into Erick. As I rode into Erick, the rain started to really come down.

In Erick, I found an old gas station (not hard to do) and took shelter under it while I began to put on the rain gear. A dog barked at me through the door and windows. I barked back and he moved farther away. Good dog.

After struggling with the gear, I hoped on the scooter and rode around Erick, taking pictures here and there. I found a great building with tons of signs all over it, took a picture or two and was getting frustrated with the rain.

Just as I was getting ready to ride off in a grumpy mood, a gray-haired woman in overalls came over and told me that I could park the scooter under her porch. It was the same porch with all the signs all over it. I agreed and she asked if I was coming there to see them.

I said that I was. And I was. I just didn’t know it.

She invited me in and I remembered hearing about this redneck/hippie couple who have a store full of things not for sale. I found it.

Or rather, they found me.

So here allow me to introduce my two most favorite people of Route 66. Harley and Annabell of The Sandhills Curiosity Shop in Erick, OK (The Redneck Capital of the World!). You can see rednecks work and play in their own environment!

This really was what I was searching for.

Sandhills is not a store. Like I said, nothing in it is for sale. It is a meeting place. Mostly, it’s a stage for Harley and Annabell. Harley make an art form out of vulgarity. His medium, at times, is obscenity, just as Picasso’s medium was paint.

We sat around asking each other questions about each other and basically had a wonderful couple of hours. These are good people. Kind and loving. The kind and loving show through Annabell more so than Harley, but honestly, it flows pretty heavily from both of them.

They opened a healthfood store, then a music shop and then an antique shop. When none of those worked out so well, they were playing some music, just the two of them, and a group of tourists stopped by. By the next song, the shop was full and everyone was having a great time.

Over the years, word of mouth made them Route 66 icons. They do no advertising, ask no money and basically have a blast not doing so.

How did I miss hearing about them? I have no idea. But I’m glad that I didn’t. I’m glad that I didn’t go into Erick thinking “hey, I wonder if I’ll get to meet Harley and Annabell.” I’m glad they found me. It sort of gave me a bit of hope in the happy coincidences category.

They sang me a couple of songs - one was a kick ass version of Route 66, which I got a video of and another was one of Annabell’s about a day in the country side. It was beautiful. They’re both wonderful musicians. Heck, they’re both wonderful people and I believe they made my day.

Here’s the video. Sorry it’s a bit small. I tried to change it, but couldn’t.

While I was in there, the sky cleared.

So off with the rain gear and on with the journey! 100 miles to go!

They saw me off with hugs and blew me kisses as I rode down the street. I blew kisses back and honked my horn, so thankful that people like this exist.

Texola was my next town and I’ve explored it before, so mostly I gave it a quick hello and a look-see to see if anything had changed. Not much had really. Thankfully, my favorite sign on Route 66 is still there.

Texola is in Oklahoma. But barely. At the edge of town begins Texas. Yee-haw!

The road from the state line to Shamrock was long and straight and mostly concrete. Shamrock is about 15 miles in and there’s not much to see along the way. Just flat Texan beauty.

Shamrock is itself pretty run down. However, since I was there, someone decided it would be a neat idea to put in an Econo-lodge. I wonder how long that will last.

What Shamrock is most known for is the U-Drop-Inn. It’s an old gas station and cafe done in a very art deco style. It’s been restored (though I think the tower is leaning a bit). I was running a bit late and didn’t go inside. Next time, I hope.

And though I’ve stopped there before, no trip through McLean, Texas would seem right without a visit to the Devil’s Rope Museum. The DRM has more examples of barbed wire than anywhere else in the world. Probably by a long, long shot. It is utterly fascinating how many different kinds of barbed wire there are.

They’ve also got a very small, but in my opinion, the best Route 66 Museum on the route. Many would disagree, but I stand by my claim.

Before I went into the Devil’s Rope Museum the sky was lovely. Upon coming out, the sky was not quite as lovely, but still really nice.

And so here it is. My chance to finally explore the area around the Jericho Mud Gap. You can read a little about it here.

It’s unfortunately impossible to do the whole route since some of it is now on private property. But it is possible to do some of it, provided it isn’t raining. And, for now, it wasn’t.

County Road BB is what it’s called now. But from 1926 to 1932, they called it Route 66. It was unpaved and thick as paste. Farmers used to make a good bit of money by pulling people out of the mud. Stay away when wet.

I knew this. In ‘06 I even experience how thick and impossible this mud could be. We visited the old town of Jericho. There’s not much left, just an old motel and a house or two. But this time around, I wanted to explore the roads that lead up to Jericho.

I hopped on BB and immediately climbed a hill. From the summit, I could see the Old 66 descended into a valley and then up another hill, several miles away. Was I really able to do this. The dirt was like sand. I couldn’t go faster than 15mph. Was this even remotely a good idea?

Well, no. But why should that stop me.

I could see some clouds gathering in the distance, but it was nothing.

The road was slow-going. But there was no turning back. It was longer than I thought it would be and as I cleared another hill, I could see that rain was falling well off into the distance. It wasn’t a big deal, I was just thankful it wasn’t falling here.

I turned a bend and up another hill and suddenly started feeling rain drops. And then saw lightening. The land here is much different than back home. What looks like it’s miles away is basically right on top of you.

Now I was worried. I didn’t want to get stuck out here during a thunderstorm. I grabbed my map to find the next road that would take me back to the paved Route 66. County Road 23. It was close. But so was the end of BB. I was so close to finishing it!

As I reached County Road 23 the rain stopped. The sky got a little brighter and there was no thunder, no lightening. It was as if nature was daring me to keep going. And believe me, it was tempting. It was probably only another two miles. Maybe 15 minutes at most. So tempting.

But no. I had already done a dumb thing by attempting this, I shouldn’t compound my woes by continuing when I know that I’d get stuck. So I hung a right on 23 and in a matter of a minute or two I was back on paved 66.

One minute later, the sky opened up.

Lucky for me, I was under and overpass, putting on the Devo suit.

And from that point until I rode into Amarillo, nearly 60 miles away, it rained and rained and the temperature dropped to 50 degrees. I was cold, miserable and wished that this wasn’t how I was going to end a wonderful day.

But it was. I rode through Groom with it’s giant cross and Conway with its Bug Ranch and a bit farther was Amarillo.

It was too cold and wet to camp, so I found a really cheap motel (campground prices) with free WiFi and here I am, again, drying out.

There is a lot to see in Amarillo. And tomorrow I’ll show you around.

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 195
Miles total: 2705