'Get your kicks on Route 66'
Well, we sure are. The mother road was a little tricky to navigate today as parts are now on private land and other bits are directly under the freeway. Stuck on I 40 we could often, tantalisingly, see the old road, fenced off and with weeds growing through it.
We tried our best though.
We stopped by the Cadillac Range a collection of half buried old caddies placed as art. Sadly, we forgot to buy spray paint as the convention is to place your own graffiti on them.
Just east of Amarillo we smelt Wildorado. It exists as a holding pen for cattle going to the livestock auctions - nearly 30,000 of them. Readers; the stench! We really wanted to go to see the auctions but they don't run at the weekend. The flat, windy Texan panhandle rolled past. Big farming country with almost no signs of habitation. The only 'towns' on route 66 a series of 'used to be' places. We saw wheeled irrigation sprinklers that looked about half a mile long.
We stopped at the mid point cafe in Adrian. Well, we had to. I think they lied about the pop though. The only sign of life was at the rather lovely diner, home of pies. A rare example of an historic business that keeps going. Just leaving, as we arrived, were a couple who live in Woodstock - 5 miles away from us. They are doing the whole of 66 in a convertible staying in all the iconic motels along the way and having a blast. The mid point between Chicago and Santa Monica had special resonance for them.
We dropped down the very dramatic escarpment and into New Mexico. The last dead town on the Texan side, Glenrio, had a sinister edge to it. Everything abandoned and rotting except one, still decaying but lived in shack. There were snarling dogs and signs warning everyone to keep away. We had no trouble doing that.
We lost the wind but gained even more heat - 105F. The road stretched on for ever with its own stark, empty beauty. We passed a sign for Roswell but didn't go UFO hunting. The pre '36 66
went via Santa Fe. We wanted to visit that area and, specifically, Los Alamos and so we headed north on empty roads with no sign of life anywhere on the endless desert vista, except, seriously strangely, a fresh school bus stop sign. We could see forever in all directions and not a house anywhere. If it hadn't been for the excellent road we could have been in Mongolia. Then, as we started to climb the mountains up towards Santa Fe a few adobe houses started to appear blending perfectly with nature. Santa Fe is twinned with Bukhara, Uzbekistan (been there) and Tsuyama, Japan (been there too) and Sorrento (yes), among other places. I can't think what an Italian seaside resort has in common with a mountain desert resort nearly 1000 miles from the sea or the others, actually. It's at over 7000 feet - about as high as Darjeeling, I'm surprised that they're not twinned too, they have as much in common as anywhere else. It's still over 90F up here but should cool down a lot tonight allowing us to sleep.
I forgot to tell you of two culinary firsts yesterday. We had buffalo for breakfast and prairie oysters aka cowboy caviar or swinging beef for dinner. That's bull calf bollocks to you. They were delicious. Never say that the Shooter's are unadventurous.
We tried our best though.
We stopped by the Cadillac Range a collection of half buried old caddies placed as art. Sadly, we forgot to buy spray paint as the convention is to place your own graffiti on them.
Just east of Amarillo we smelt Wildorado. It exists as a holding pen for cattle going to the livestock auctions - nearly 30,000 of them. Readers; the stench! We really wanted to go to see the auctions but they don't run at the weekend. The flat, windy Texan panhandle rolled past. Big farming country with almost no signs of habitation. The only 'towns' on route 66 a series of 'used to be' places. We saw wheeled irrigation sprinklers that looked about half a mile long.
We stopped at the mid point cafe in Adrian. Well, we had to. I think they lied about the pop though. The only sign of life was at the rather lovely diner, home of pies. A rare example of an historic business that keeps going. Just leaving, as we arrived, were a couple who live in Woodstock - 5 miles away from us. They are doing the whole of 66 in a convertible staying in all the iconic motels along the way and having a blast. The mid point between Chicago and Santa Monica had special resonance for them.
We dropped down the very dramatic escarpment and into New Mexico. The last dead town on the Texan side, Glenrio, had a sinister edge to it. Everything abandoned and rotting except one, still decaying but lived in shack. There were snarling dogs and signs warning everyone to keep away. We had no trouble doing that.
We lost the wind but gained even more heat - 105F. The road stretched on for ever with its own stark, empty beauty. We passed a sign for Roswell but didn't go UFO hunting. The pre '36 66
went via Santa Fe. We wanted to visit that area and, specifically, Los Alamos and so we headed north on empty roads with no sign of life anywhere on the endless desert vista, except, seriously strangely, a fresh school bus stop sign. We could see forever in all directions and not a house anywhere. If it hadn't been for the excellent road we could have been in Mongolia. Then, as we started to climb the mountains up towards Santa Fe a few adobe houses started to appear blending perfectly with nature. Santa Fe is twinned with Bukhara, Uzbekistan (been there) and Tsuyama, Japan (been there too) and Sorrento (yes), among other places. I can't think what an Italian seaside resort has in common with a mountain desert resort nearly 1000 miles from the sea or the others, actually. It's at over 7000 feet - about as high as Darjeeling, I'm surprised that they're not twinned too, they have as much in common as anywhere else. It's still over 90F up here but should cool down a lot tonight allowing us to sleep.
I forgot to tell you of two culinary firsts yesterday. We had buffalo for breakfast and prairie oysters aka cowboy caviar or swinging beef for dinner. That's bull calf bollocks to you. They were delicious. Never say that the Shooter's are unadventurous.
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