Get your kicks on Route 66

455 miles today.

I woke up with a sore throat, runny nose and cough. I've been teetering for days now, ready to fall on the side of sickness. I think my white blood cells have rallied, though. Feeling OK now.

I left Tucumcari this morning and the weather was cooler. The rain last night dropped the temperature significantly but the skies were clear and bright blue, so it was a good day to ride. Almost immediately, I got on Route 66.

















I read somewhere that it's just going to fall into disrepair and won't be maintained anymore. That process has started.





















Route 66 parallels I-40. The road is a quilt of asphalt patching, some of which is elevated significantly. The asphalt on the sides of the road (it's a narrow two-laner) are crumbling and weeds and flowers are growing in their stead. At one point, the road changes from one side of the interstate to the other, and in doing so, it goes through a small narrow bridge under I-40. Whether it was because of the rain, or just general decline, that area was filled with mud and water. The bike, already dirty from my travels, was mud-caked after that little endeavor. It's a pretty cool thing to ride on it, as it's history and filled with stories but it's very difficult to imagine this road as being the only thing from California to Chicago. What a tough trip that must have been.

http://www.historic66.com/

There wasn't much to see. It resembles a poorly used frontage road more than anything else. I passed by a derelict cemetery that must have been part of a community once upon a time.


























An old gas station came into view and I stopped for a picture. One pump, two dogs, an outbuilding that may have been a house, and the station. It had seen better years.

















At one point, the interstate was on my left and immediately to the right was a grassy area, maybe 100 feet wide, and it was bordered by train tracks. There were cows and a bull grazing in that area. Beyond the tracks was the wild and flat area of New Mexico that went on forever. Lots of sagebrush and not much else.

A train came by and I did my arm pump communication with the engineer again. I was rewarded with two blasts. I raced ahead, stopped the bike and caught a picture as he came abreast of me. He gave me another blast as he went on. Coincidentally, Route 66 quit at that point and put me back on the interstate.


I'd been riding for a while and was still more than an hour from Albuquerque when billboards appeared advertising a stop where everything imaginable was for sale. Everything. Probably twenty billboards, imploring people to stop and buy gag gifts, New Mexico souveniers, t-shirts, food, Navajo rugs - you name it. I rode past and eyeballed a mammoth warehouse that was doing a brisk business.

A short time later, more billboards appeared for yet again another similar place. One of the billboards advertised "World Famous Fudge". I was immediately sold. A piece of fudge would taste good, and I could see "World Famous Fudge" that up to that moment, I had been unaware even existed. I'm a sucker for superlatives.

Kind of reminds me when Ruppert and Reilly were young. Before Father's Day one year, I got a t-shirt that read "World's Greatest Father". Pretty moving for me as I had been unaware there was a contest, much less that my little family had quietly registered me for the title. I suspected competition was awfully keen. After all, it was for the WORLD'S greatest. No essays; no interviews. I don't know how I managed to garner the votes, but, here was the proof - a t-shirt that said "World's Greatest Father". So, I put it on before we went out and practiced my most humble expression in the bathroom in front of the mirror. I anticipated being mobbed by people when they found out the winner was in their town, and I figured I'd be asked some parenting questions - all of which I knew the answers to because I had been told I was the "World's Greatest Father". Imagine my surprise when I saw other men wearing similar shirts. Well, that couldn't be. Maybe they were Great, or maybe even Greater, but there could only be one Greatest. I knew they were poseurs. I didn't chastise anyone for being a charlatan that day but I vowed to get in touch with the governing body that decided I was the Greatest to tell them how many people were wearing shirts under false pretenses. That's still on my things to do list.

So, now there was a "World Famous Fudge" in a behemoth-sized gift shop 15 miles east of Moriarity, New Mexico. It could happen but I was dubious. I went in and bought souveniers, of course. My bike is listing now from all the crap I've bought. I found the small display and asked the lady if I could buy a piece. "Sorry, no. You have to buy 1/2 pound." I heard THE accent so I asked her, auf Deutsch, if she was German. She smiled and seemed surprised that someone spoke German so we launched into a discussion in Gerlish - a combination of German and English. Both of us were doing it. She was from Rheinland Pfalz and for 20 years, she'd gone to Germany for four weeks every Christmas. I asked her how she ended up out here "in the boonies" as she said. Married a GI many years ago. What else could the answer have been? With my new friendship now firmly cemented, I tried to buy a piece of the "World Famous Fudge" but she didn't acquiesce. She told me that if she was the boss, it would be different. But, she wasn't the boss, and 1/4 pound was the rule. In retrospect, what was I thinking? Get an exception to rules from a German? Was I forgetting my own heritage? So, I still don't know if it's good fudge. Nor do I know if people around the world talk about it. I mulled that over until I was about 50 miles from Albuquerque where I saw mountains in the distance. I thought it might have been the Continental Divide but I didn't have time to figure it out.

I must have had a petit mal seizure because I thought I was still about 30 miles from Albuquerque when suddenly the highway changed from a regular four lane to six then eight lanes. Full of cars. Albuquerque has over a half million people and there were all on the interstate, in separate cars, changing lanes abruptly. They weren't making me feel very welcome. Before I went farther west, I-25 loomed ahead and I took the exit, believing the traffic would thin. It went to 10 lanes. "What the hey?!?!?" Ten lanes? What kind of community needs to fill up 10 lanes of traffic?

I got off for gas and a girl at the pump told me about a short cut to US 550. If I'd gotten back on I-25, I would have come to the turnoff, but I'm always up for a short cut when shared by a native Albuquerquean. Well, she had a sick sense of humor.

"Take that road, at the second light go right, and there it is." It was nearly 40 minutes later; I'd asked at least eight people where 550 was; I had made a half a dozen turns on to different streets; and I had driven through a congested part of the city. But, hey, there it was finally.

On the way, I passed some kind of activity at the WalMart in Bernalillo (I was on 528 and getting close to 550). Police cars were everywhere, preventing cars from turning into the shopping center. I glanced over and saw crowds of people and at least two ambulances. Lights were flashing everywhere. I assumed someone had been shot but it was nothing that sensational. See below:

http://www.koat.com/news/25053836/detail.html

US 550 was a fast four lane that went through at least two Indian reservations, the Zia's and the Apache's.


The Zia Indians are famous for this symbol that you may recognize:


Unfortunately, they must not have made any money from it as I passed a small community across the street from this station:


The community looked as forlorn as the Big Chief Gas Station Market.

Further down the road, I came across a marker for a route that an expedition from Coronado's army took in 1541. (This is for the benefit of the serious historians.)


The reservation land was full of sagebrush and not much else. The terrain changed some as I climbed to 7,000 feet and passed a marker for the Continental Divide. Along the way there were some small mesas and rock outcroppings but for the most part, the land was wide open.




Further along was the Jicarilla Apache Indian Reservation. Very similar to the Zia's reservation except their community seemed to be a little more on the ball. They had a water tower with the town name and a school with the same name and a few other places with the same name.

It kind of reminded me of Mister Mxyzptlk, the imp who was Superman's nemesis in the '60s when I was a big Superman comic book fan. If Mister Mxyzptlk could be tricked into saying his name backwards, or writing it backwards, he was sent back to the 5th dimension where he would stay at least three months, at which time he could come back and plague Superman and it would start all over again. Anyway, Dzil H-Na- -Dith-Hle might be something like that. First, you spend a few years learning how to say it with just the right inflection and then you say it backwards, and you get to go to the casino. Of which there was one on the Apache reservation so I'm not being out of line...

When I got to Farmington, NM, I'd planned to head for Cortez, cutting through the Navajo Nation and the Ute Reservation. But, I saw a sign for Aztec and I decided to change my plan.

When I worked for TSA, at one point we had eleven airports, one of which was Farmington. The other ten were in Colorado. Geographically, it made sense to have Farmington as whenever we checked on Cortez and Durango, it was the third point of a triangle and was only an hour from each. (Eventually Farmington went to New Mexico when Governor Richardson decided he wanted NM airports handled by NM TSA people.)

When I traveled to those airports, I usually went through Aztec and stopped at Chubby Chicken. It's not a place you'd look at and think to stop. Chubby Chicken is in a refurbished two room house and frankly, it looks like a place to run away from.


I'd been told about the place by the TSA folks in Durango, however, and after I stopped there once, I made it a practice to go everytime I was at our southern airports. The breakfast burritos are out of this world good. Nearly everything in that part of the country, including hamburgers at MacDonald's, have green chilis. One of the guys I worked with in Afghanistan was from New Mexico and his wife sent cans of green chilis to him that he took to the mess hall and sprinkled on his food. So, it's a local cultural thing. Once I took a cooler to Chubby Chicken and filled it up with those breakfast burritos, freezing them when I got home and enjoying them for some time.

So, once the idea took root, I headed in the opposite direction. It was only 10 miles out of the way and I fully intended to reverse course and ride through those two Indian reservations to get to Cortez. But, as I stood in front of Chubby Chicken, leaning on my bike and munching on my breakfast burrito at 4 PM, I decided to head for Durango instead. The reservation drive is hot, barren and depressing. The drive to Durango is fairly scenic and the mountains begin to appear. From Durango to Cortez is only about 45 minutes going that route and it's one of my favorite roads in the state. So I took a circuitous route that added probably an hour or so to my ride.

I got to the state line


and then started to get close to Durango.


Durango sits in a valley and is a popular vacation spot.


I went through town and got on the road for Cortez. It's another beautiful ride with much changing scenery.




I rode into Cortez and pulled into the Holiday Inn Express. There were more than 60 bikes in the parking lot. I talked to a guy and he said they were from Ontario, doing a loop through Las Vegas and back. There were more than 90 people riding on the bikes. Naturally, there was no room in the house and they sent me to the EconoLodge - a dump if there ever was one. But, with few rooms remaining, and the last non-smoking room in the place, I took it.

The ride tomorrow will go through Utah on US 191 through Moab and then follow the Colorado River after Arches National Park. I'll ride to Cisco on state road 128 and cross back into Colorado on I-70. That will be a fine ride with beautiful rock formations everywhere. It's amazing scenery and I've enjoyed it everytime I've been on it in a car. On the bike, it'll be doubly so.

Thanks for reading and for posting. I'll make my last update after I get home tomorrow afternoon.