Monday, October 18, 2010

Racing the train, the Continental Divide and the Painted Desert




Grants, N.M., Monday, Oct. 4 --

We loved this sign -- Cheap O Car Care -- advertising an auto paint and body shop. But obviously it wasn't cheap enough! Out of business!

We raced a long freight train out of town. It had three engines, mostly flatbed cars with two-up containers and a number of auto carriers at the rear. No caboose. Sigh. We drove along Route 66 as it paralleled the tracks and raced alongside the train at 55 mph; we honked, waved, and got two great train whistles in return from the lead engine. We knew it was for us, and we reveled in it.

All around us are flat-topped mesas ranging in color from brick red to rose and sand beige. For water and forest persons, this scenery is so unusual, so different, so unexpected. It's not what we would imagine as beautiful, but seeing it in real life, it is gorgeous. As we look to the horizon, we see a huge smokestack rising out of nowhere, spewing steam into the clouds.

Soon we were in Thoreau, an Indian village where we saw a market and deli boasting 25-cent coffee. Ahead is another trading post with moccasins "for the entire family" along with plates, jewelry, spoons and T-shirts. Something for everyone.

But -- here's the big event: We have again reached the Continental Divide, this time heading west. At 7,295 feet in elevation, we are indeed on the high plains. But it's confusing: Claiming to be the highest point on Route 66, it is lower than several points in New Mexico and Arizona. Oh well, it's a great place for a Continental Divide marker and, of course, the ubiquitous gift shop.

Now let's talk about the gift shop restrooms: Pictured here is the ladies' version, which could be called a "hers and hers" or seen as a way for Mommy and daughter to be together. Or two really good friends. Or two really desperate strangers. Gordon reports that the men's room urinal was most likely installed by someone in the range of 6 feet, 8 inches tall. Where's a good soapbox to stand on when you need it?

The trains continue to keep us company as we cross over and under them; we've never seen such long freight trains. They’re all more than 100 cars long. Nancy counted one at more than 140 cars. But as we approach Gallup, N.M., one of the famous towns noted in the song, "Get Your Kicks on Route 66" by Bobby Troup, we are surrounded by pink mesas, ocre hills and green scrub growth. The town itself has hotels, motels, restaurants and gas stations that are thriving: There's even a respectable-looking motel offering rooms for "29.99" and up.

Once again we’re traveling in roadster mode with the top down; it was down for nine straight, glorious days from Springfield,  Ill., all the way to Grants, N.M., then up one day for rain, and now we’re back to the wind ruffling our hair and the sweet smell of Coppertone sunscreen. The heat we’d dreaded – and prepared for – hasn’t materialized. The sun is warm, even hot, but the air is cool while underway. Darned near perfect.

An odd sighting: An RV pulling a pickup truck with a golf cart in the flatbed. That’s a new one for us.

Striped mesas in the Painted Desert
Just barely into Arizona, we are on the Navajo Indian Reservation and soon have an extraordinary experience: The Painted Desert. I didn't know what to expect, but as we left the visitor center and pulled into Tiponi Point, the first viewpoint on a five-mile drive, the sight before us was breathtaking -- mesas, buttes, badlands all in remarkable colors, from bright coral to copper to pale pink. Some were topped with pale-green vegetation and dotted with mustard-yellow plants. 

Sugar, anyone?
Round Barn No. 2!
Because the sky was filled with floating, fluffy cumulus clouds, there was a constant shift from sun to shadow, turning distant mesas into blocks of deep purple. Many of the nearby formations were striped in multi-colored layers of sediment, the result of wind and water on the land for more than 200 million years. At our second viewpoint we had a 180-degree panorama of soft mounds of sand and sugar sprinkled on the mesas. Unfortunately, the camera does not capture the essence of these photos' extraordinary colors and depth. Just imagine these with Photoshop in full play.

Painted Desert Inn
We made a quick stop at the restored 1924 Painted Desert Inn, an old adobe hostelry that includes an old-fashioned soda fountain with wooden stools along the counter. Once an overnight inn and restaurant for travelers, the inn today is a mecca for artists' groups, small conferences and nature lovers; there is a rabbit warren of rooms, many with arched adobe fireplaces. 

Unfortunately, the top went back up on the car as we dodged dime-sized raindrops swirled by heavy winds in a series of squalls. We learned about the nearby Petrified Forest, but lacked the time to drive more than 12 miles of the 40-mile round trip to see the actual trees. 

"Help, help," she cried.
On our way to Winslow, Ariz., and our night's lodgings, we passed Stewart's Petrified Wood and Rock Shop, a sleazy, cheesie "attraction" where you can feed ostriches (food for sale, of course). If it's possible, this tawdry, tacky place made Clines Corners look good. The proprietor came on strong with the hard sell,  trying to get us to buy huge, table-sized pieces of petrified wood even though we pointed to the car and thought, "What are you thinking?" But at least we got a good look at the huge "dinosaur with a bloody mannequin in its mouth," a la Godzilla. 

Toward the end of the day we met Duane and Nancy at JackRabbit, a highly touted gift shop that we thought we ought to see. In its heyday, the shop was advertised for hundreds of miles in either direction, but when we arrived it was just a low-slung, rather small, rectangular building with a big painting of a jack rabbit on one outside wall. Inside, it was just the usual Route 66 stuff we’d seen several times before. Quite the let-down. To us, this was an example of a place that’s famous because it’s famous. I think we've seen enough of these souvenir shacks.


And then we were in Winslow at the fabulous 1928 La Posada Hotel, the last of the preserved  Harvey House hotels that were situated a day's train ride apart when there were no overnight Pullman cars. Guests detrained just steps from each hotel and then were able to spend overnight or several days exploring the area before reboarding the train. Considered to be the last geat railway hotel left in the U.S., La Posada is on the National Register of Historic Places. It’s quite a story about how this hotel opened at the beginning of the Great Depression, and over the years went slowly downhill until a businessman rescued it and over the years spent millions to bring it back to its original grandeur.

Gordon had put this overnight at the top of his "must-do" list as our one “splurge”and it was spectacular. The grounds were lovely and the interior seemed to go on forever, snaking this way and that from one sitting area to another, and from the wings to the “tower.” We gathered for cocktails tonight in our room, one of only four rooms with a balcony (overlooking the nearby rairoad tracks, naturally) and then had a wonderful prime rib dinner in the grand Turquoise Room. Dinner was a splurge as well and worth every delicious bite.

More soon.

Judy and Gordon

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