A GRAND AVENTURE ON LEGENDARY HIGHWAY 66

My dearest friend and I have never really needed an excuse to take a road trip, especially one that involves Route 66. However, if we did need one what could be better than the 2011 International Route 66 Festival in Amarillo, Texas and the release of my latest book, Ghost Towns of Route 66?

We began this adventure just as the morning sun was erasing the shadows in the broad Hualapai Valley east of Kingman. The destination for day one was Albuquerque, 480 miles and several dozen stops to the east.

As added incentive for the adventure was photography to use as illustrations in the current project, a Route 66 encyclopedia and atlas, we chose the sterile world of the interstate to ensure we could catch places near Flagstaff in the early morning light. After jousting with the morning traffic in this miniature metropolis among the pines, we drove north on U.S. 89 to the Winona-Townsend Road, the pre 1949 alignment of Route 66, and soon left the modern era behind.

The first stop of the day was at the Walnut Creek Bridge, a vintage structure that is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Bent girders and supports served as mute testimony to when this bridge channeled the flow of traffic on legendary Route 66 across the small stream.

As it was the anniversary of our engagement, I surprised my dearest friend with a wonderful lunch at the historic La Posada in Winslow, Arizona. Once scheduled for demolition this charming time capsule is now the crown jewel in this dusty old railroad town made famous in the song about standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.

Plans to again pick up Route 66 at the Arizona state line were postponed as a result of the fog like smoke rolling north from the raging Arizona wildfires. So, undaunted and refusing to surrender our Route 66 state of mind, we stayed with the interstate but made time fro cruising Gallup and Grants in New Mexico.

Late afternoon found us cruising past the ghosts of better times along Central Avenue (Route 66) in Albuquerque as we sought our haven for the evening, the Sandia Peak Inn. The neighborhood doesn't lend itself to late evening strolls but the property was exceptionally clean and recently refurbished, the price reasonable, and it is located close to the zoo as well as the historic Old Town district. The Dining & Lodging Route 66 Guide published by the National Route 66 Federation called this one right on the money.

The next morning we dusted a fine layer of ash from the Jeep, topped off its tank and ours, and set out for another day of adventure. We stayed with Central Avenue until the traffic became unbearable, again jumped on to the interstate, and then turned north on highway 14 through the old mining towns of Madrid, Golden, and Cerrillos to ensure a Route 66 frame of mind when we caught up with the pre 1937 alignment at Santa Fe.

After winding our way through the narrow labyrinth of ancient streets in the old capital city, we again joined the herd on the interstate, at least until we again could join the old road at exit 299 near Glorieta Pass, the scene of a key battle during the American Civil War. It was a delightfully cool day as we followed the old highway on its twisted journey among the pines and past names on the map that ring with the history of the Santa Fe Trail.

We stopped at the old Pigeon Ranch, an important stop on the Santa Fe Trail and an early tourist trap on Route 66, to stretch our legs and savor the cool pine scented breezes. The last vestige of this historic site is one lone adobe structure, the one that served as the field hospital during the battle for Glorietta Pass, and the stone well that predated the founding of the ranch by more than a century.

Back on the road we zipped past the overgrown ruins of Arrowhead Camp, an early tourist facility on Route 66 that offered log cabins as shelter for weary travelers, and caught an earlier alignment that followed the Ozark Trails Highway, which had followed the Santa Fe Trail, through the quiet little village of San Jose on the Pecos River. In this timeless place, Route 66, the iron truss bridge over the river built in 1921, and even the Model T Ford are modern history.

The little church here has cast its shadow across the various incarnations of the highway since 1826. There is some evidence to support the legend one house near the river dates to 1799.

Originally Route 66 turned south at Romeroville but hat segment of the old road is now on private property, is to rough to follow, or is buried under the pavement of U.S. 84. Se, we opted for a bit of detour in historic Las Vegas and then down an old two lane, highway 104, that emulates Route 66 quite nicely.

In Las Vegas the old buildings that surround the beautiful tree shaded plaza represent more than a century. Some have been shuttered for at least half of that and others, such as the incredible Plaza Hotel built in 1882, stand as untouched time capsules.

Here the age of mom and pop shops live on with a western wear store managed by the same family for sixty years, a book store, Tome on The Range, in business for fifteen years, and a cafe in business since 1882. A stroll among this pre generic wonderland, and the wonderful mountain air, left us with an appetite and so we settled in at the Plaza Hotel for a wonderful lunch.

Stepping into the lobby presents the illusion that the veil separating past from present is quite thin. With just a hint of imagination you could picture Teddy Roosevelt welcoming the attendees to the first reunion of Rough Riders or Doc Holiday standing over the body of a man killed in a dispute during a card game.

Initially the drive from Las Vegas to Tucumcari on highway 104 was rather mundane with the unimposing scenery of the high plains stretching toward the horizon. Just past the empty old town of Truijillo all of this changed as the highway dropped to the deserts below through a narrow canyon with the highway perched precariously on the north wall.

The sun was fast approaching the western horizon as we rolled onto the ghostly streets of Tucumcari and cruised old Route 66 in search of haven for the evening, the Motel Safari, a time capsule from an era when the tail fin still represented the height of automotive styling and Studebakers still rolled from the factory at South Bend.

As the sun sank in the west, and the colorful neon of the iconic Blue Swallow Motel flickered on, we called it a day. And with visions of the next days adventure dancing in our head, we drifted off to sleep amongst the ghosts of legendary Route 66.