Senseless Ramblings

The Hiraeth Series

At 6am I was back on the mother road and headed out of Williams, AZ into a desert darkness that was so thick and so black that it felt like even the headlights couldn’t cut it.

An hour later, with the sun just starting to rise in the east, I rolled into Flagstaff, Arizona. Once a sleepy little mountain town, home to Northern Arizona University, Flagstaff is now a town with a population of 75,000 people. It was gray and drizzly as I hit town, and much like leaving San Bernardino the day before, the clouds hung low over the mountain tops. It was still early, however, and traffic was light, so it was peaceful to roll through town on Old Route 66.

Much to my disappointment as I rolled across Northern Arizona was how much I had to travel on Interstate 40. My goal for this trip was to travel Route 66, and while I knew portions of the old highway had been lost to the interstate system, I was shocked (particularly in wide open Arizona) to find myself on the interstate for miles at a time.

Whether the interstate lies directly over the old road, or the old road was lost, or may even now just a path across private land I don’t know, but it weighed heavily on my heart given my intent for the trip, and the thought of the complete loss of part of historic America. The interstate highway system is vital to the transportation network of the U.S., but it is also sad that it bypassed, and in many cases caused the demise, of so many small towns, so many businesses, and so many American dreams.

One of the constants of my trip so far, the railroad, continues to be my travelling companion and I find a brotherhood in its presence alongside me.

Needing to top up the gas tank, and getting hungry for breakfast, I dropped into the town of Winslow, AZ. True to the line from the Eagles hit in the 70’s, a bronze statue of Glen Frey is “standing on the corner in Winslow, AZ.”

Something that I saw along the highway often on this trip (but not as often as decay) was where someone had fixed up an old Route 66 service station or building to either be a business, a museum, or just a reminder of the road. Winslow has a nice example of one of these in the form of an old Texaco station.

After stopping for a quick bite to eat at the Brown Mug Cafe in Winslow, it was time to get back out on the mother road. That country fried steak and eggs that I had was going to keep me fueled for many miles.

After crossing into New Mexico, the first town of any substance to be seen is Gallup. Gallup sits surrounded by, and is a large provider to, the Navajo Nation. As you enter downtown Gallup you are thrown back in time with the large number of motels, as well as trading posts selling Indian goods and souvenirs. Of course, as you leave, you are greeted by the newest page in the book of survival, the casino.

I have a deep affection for New Mexico. In the mid-90’s my wife and I lived here with our kids. In fact, my youngest was born in New Mexico. One of things that has always stood out are the license plates on the vehicles. They are so colorful and bright. Many of the plates are still the bright yellow with the clay colored lettering and Zuni sun that has been the hallmark of the New Mexico plate for time in memoriam. But in 2012, they offered a Centennial plate. Still vividly colored, this plate offers a turquoise blue background with a yellowish-tan lettering and a multicolored Zuni sun in the center. The new one that I hadn’t seen before is a black plate that has a red chili pepper and a green chili pepper on the left side, celebrating New Mexico’s place as the chili growing capitol of the world. New Mexico, as the state motto says, truly is a Land of Enchantment.

As I continue to drive across western New Mexico, I am reminded of the beautiful red canyons of southern Utah, with the difference being, in Utah you looked down into the canyons, while in New Mexico you are on the valley floor and look up.

New Mexico was once a very volcanic state, and as you drive eastward out of Grants this is very apparent in the vast Malpais lava flow. This thick black lava flow coats the ground on both sides of the highway. One can only imagine the rattlesnakes, scorpions, and lizards that live within this broken, craggy surface. It is a natural wonder and a reminder of the power of mother earth.

As I get closer to Albuquerque, I stop at the Rio Puerco bridge. They have adjusted the road to go around the old bridge now, I assume to preserve it, but I recall driving across this bridge a few times when I lived here. At the time it just seemed and old steel bridge. Little did I know that thirty years later I would stop and take photos of it, this time as a reminder of the old mother road.

When you live in a city for four years you make some memories. In Albuquerque, Route 66 is Central Avenue that runs right through downtown. It takes me past Presbyterian Hospital where my daughter was born. I shot a quick photo of the hospital and shared it with her, saying “this is where you were born.” Her reply said, “it looks like a prison.” Honestly can’t say that I disagree with her; it is very institutional looking. I continue on through the Nob Hill section of the city and past the DeAnza Motor Lodge, where my parents, moving to California in 1962, stayed for the night. The motel itself is gone, but the neon sign has been preserved as a reminder. The DeAnza was still standing when I lived there and I loved being able to drive my parents by it at the time.

I took some side treks while I was in Albuquerque. More nostalgia. I drove by the house my wife and I owned. It was our first home. We were young and it felt good to have a place that was “ours.” I was proud when I painted the house, added some landscaping, and even made an attempt to grow a lawn in the backyard. Note: grass doesn’t do well in sand. I stopped in front of the house and face-timed my wife so she could see it. It is very forlorn and run down now. The shingles were peeling off the roof. I have to assume someone lives there, but if they do I saw no signs of life. The entire area has grown immensely in the thirty years since we moved away. The traffic was terrible where there used to be very little. I also stopped by the old Santa Barbara cemetery to pay respects to a little girl buried there. She was not quite two when she died, and I never actually knew her, but I got to know her. That is a story for another day, but I stopped, said hello and apologized that I hadn’t been back in many years.

For all the losses I had seen so far on Route 66, the abandoned buildings, boarded up store fronts, and now vacant lots, I was pleased to see areas where some of the old buildings have been repurposed. In several places I saw old motels that been given a second lease on life as apartments, offices, and shops. It felt good to see the history remain, but be used to a modern purpose. We will never be able to halt progress, it is just nice to see the past be given some respect also.

As I reached the end of Central Avenue in Albuquerque, I see the Motel 6 where my young family stayed for a few days when we first moved to New Mexico in the 90’s. A little piece of my history still remains on Route 66 and it makes me smile. Central is about to give way to being Old 66 again. It is time to head into the Tijeras Pass, past the little area known as Carnuel, and through the Sandia Mountains. Goodbye Albuquerque, you will always hold a special place in my heart.

It is starting to get dark, and I need to wrap up for the day. Past Albuquerque I drive for about another 117 miles before I stop for the night in Santa Rosa, NM. By now, it is fully dark, I am tired, and I am ready to sleep. Route 66 lay out in front of my motel, not going anywhere, waiting for me to climb on board tomorrow. And I will…

Keep rambling!