Tacky-Cheesy, Albuquerque and changing landscapes

Here's a P.S. from yesterday: While visiting a new garage of restored vehicles Duane and Nancy's T-Bird got clipped by an SUV in the parking lot, taking some chunks of paint off their right fender. Sigh. 

Sunday, Oct. 3, Santa Rosa, N.M. --

This morning was much more benign than Mother Nature's fireworks display last night. Expecting more rain, we awoke happily to sunshine and set out on another day of discovery. In this section of New Mexico the concrete superslab of I-40 buries Route 66, meaning that we have no choice but to hop on the freeway and head west toward Albuquerque. On either side of us, the high desert glows in the sun, but a wall of endless dark clouds hovers in the distance. The wind is blowing and the cars coming toward us have their lights on. We wonder what lies ahead.

After a while we see a barage of billboards for the Flying C Ranch, where tourists can stop for just about anything. The 16 outdoor boards promise, among other things, clean outhouses, hillbilly figurines (something we all need), pistachios that'll make you go nuts, jewelry, souvenirs, snake stuff, sharp deals on knives and more-bang-for-your-buck fireworks. But how could we stop at the Flying C when 1934-vintage Clines Corners lies just a few miles ahead?

What a disappointment -- we expected something touristy, but this was the worst example we've seen --crowded with cheap and gaudy gee-gaws, do-dads, tacky knicknacks, and just plain junk. Unfortunately the staff's attitude matched the merchandise -- cheesy, cheap and dirty. The ladies restroom was awful; of the five stalls, one was bolted shut, two more bore signs "out of order," the whole room was dirty and there was a line. Time to leave!

If you're in the market for railroad ties, we know where to find them: the Mother Road in New Mexico where you can buy 10 and get two free!

At Moriarity we saw the last remaining Whiting Bros. gas station. Begun in 1917, the chain of cut-price stations was an institution along Route 66 from Shamrock, Texas, to Barstow, Calif.

From there we passed through two small villages to Tijeras Canyon, which twists and turns through verdant forests with awesome views of the valley; it was totally unexpected for New Mexico. Along the road we spotted patches of crusted snow and hail, remnants of last night's downpour at a higher elevation.

Route 66 through Albuquerque begins with the same desolate, discarded gas stations and boarded-up motels we've seen everywhere, but here even modern stores are out of business, maybe more because of the economy than the presence of I-40. Eventually the area changes to a busy business district with many Vietnamese and Thai businesses, restaurants and food stores. There's a lot of adobe architecture, including a wonderful building that houses the Route 66 Fine Line Tattoo company. The road eventually leads us to an extraordinary old-town section with art deco architecture and thriving cafes and boutiques. Wonderful neon Route 66 signs proclaim Albuquerque's pride in being part of the Mother Road.

We tried to eat lunch at a 1950s malt shop in old town, but when we got there, the black-and-white checkerboard floor was all that remained, and there was a "for rent" sign on the door. Another icon disappears. So we opted for another suggested eatery, Lindy's, a 1920s-era neighborhood hangout across the street from the beautiful KiMo Theatre: It was built in 1927 in the pueblo deco style, a mix of Southwestern and art deco styles with Indian motifs, cow skulls and murals. Since this was Sunday, the theater was closed for tours, alas, but even the entrance was magnificent. We later learned it was designed by the same architect who designed the fabulous Coleman  Theater in Miami, Okla., that we had visited days earlier.

The American International Rattlesnake Museum didn't hold much attraction for us, so we hit the road to find the Rio Puerco bridge, a preserved 1933 vintage steel bridge that isn't open to vehicles, but is easily accessible for photos. For you bridgeophiles, it's a Parker Through-Truss design.

While we have blue skies overhead, the gray skies in the distance are generating both sheet and bolt lightning. We're surrounded by red mesas that are table-top flat, and as the road hugs the bases of the mesas, we reach Dead Man's Curve, a true hairpin turn that curves around a narrow point of rock. As we move west, the soil becomes clay-pot red and mesas sprout green shrubs in rock crevices. Soon round hills join the tableau.

At last the gray clouds produce some precipitation in Paraje, and the air fills with the pungent odor of new rain as it hits the pavement, the desert floor and the sparse plant life. Route 66 is straight ahead, damp and gray.

Part of the Mother Road follows the train tacks west; it made sense because much of the clearing of land had already been done. And it's here that we encounter the first of many trains that will keep us company into California. More than 100 cars long, the train's engines and caboose (if there is one) aren't visible . . . just moving flatbeds with containers stacked two high, colorful cars of green, orange, red and yellow racing along the valley floor, silhouetted against a backdrop of blue-gray mountains in dark shadow. It was an amazing sight.

In late afternoon we arrive in Grants, N.M., for another night in another motel. Now where did they put the bathroom in this place???

More soon.

Judy and Gordon