Find Me On 66

[findmeon66]

Unspecial K in the Big T

In 1971, Little Feat released what would become one of their signature songs (“Willin’”), featuring the songwriting talents of Lowell George. It includes one of the few references to Tucumcari in recorded song:

I've been from Tucson to Tucumcari, Tehachapi to Tonopah

But what was intended to be a musical memoir of life in a big rig today reads more like the list of towns in which corporate bosses have come to shut down the local Kmart. Yesterday, Sears Holdings (parent corporation of both Sears and Kmart) announced yet another round of store closings, and making the list this time was Tucumcari with its small Kmart on the east end of town. Cited as being “unprofitable,” the store will close forever by early April.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s just another Kmart, just another highly predictable event for a company that cannot seem to do anything right these days. But Tucumcari is different. It’s a Route 66 town. And each time something like this happens along the Route, it strikes a little bit of fear in my heart for the future of small towns like Tucumcari.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have never been a big fan of Kmart. They caught the last train out of my Amarillo some 20 years ago, so it has been a long time since I have even had access to one. But even back 1960s Chicagoland where I was raised, long before Walmart migrated north, I rather despised the cheap-and-chintzy atmosphere of the place, the Pavlovian manipulation of shoppers by Blue Light Specials that caused people to forget their humanity and descend upon merchandise like an unkindness of ravens on roadkill.

“Pantyhose 99 cents on Aisle 7!” Cue the stampeding women.

That’s another way of saying I probably won’t cry at the funeral when the company finally does go belly-up. There’s nothing short of a miracle on high to keep this from happening, Kmart and Sears both. One casket, two occupants. It’s the final countdown.

But what’s a town like Tucumcari to do? With about 5000 people and a hospitality industry that has seen its motel room count dwindle from 2000 to about 1200, it’s a sucker punch to a city that has been winded for a long time. The competing Alco on the west end of town closed three years ago. Were it not for the impressive efforts made to paint murals up and down Route 66, you might not notice that many of the buildings are empty, hollow shells.

While the local Kmart has fewer than 50 employees…not many by chain retailing standards…it is still up to 1% of the population, meaning that up to 50 households will have one less wage earner. That’s a tough blow for any town, especially one whose primary employment base is hospitality (lodging and meals) and retail. The impact will be felt throughout town.

Maybe Dollar General and Family Dollar saw this happening, and wisely invested money in their Tucumcari stores. Those are the about the only shopping opportunities outside of the Lowe’s grocery, or hopping on the 40 for a 110-mile drive to Amarillo or 160 miles to Albuquerque. In fact, Dollar General has become somewhat renown (in a bad kind of way) for preying upon small towns with little or no shopping opportunities. It has become a convenience store for many people in what may well be termed captive markets, and a Wall Street darling.

Don’t believe me? Check out their stock. It’s only about $95 a share these days. Even Walmart has a hard time beating that (about $100).

It’s going to be just a little harder living in Tucumcari in the days ahead, if only because it just became a little more remote. The very road that displaced (some might say killed) Route 66 in these parts is increasingly the road traveled just to keep keeping on.

For the record, please know that I like Tucumcari a lot. I consider it my favorite small town along Route 66. I have many friends there, most of them in business as motel operators, restaurateurs, and retailers. I want to see the town survive. I want to see it prosper, to see it continue to attract Route 66 travelers, to continue to be able to stand on its own. Route 66 needs Tucumcari, no matter how many stores close down.

Tucumcari has been through a lot, has seen many motels, restaurants, and stores close one after the other as the dynamics of the 21C continue to evolve. It has survived because it has pluck, a never say die resistance to whatever economic strain of influenza comes knocking, and a certain je ne c'est quoi that I find irresistable.

But for now may Tucumcari take solace in the rest of Lowell George’s words:



I been warped by the rain, driven by the snow, I'm drunk and dirty, but don't you know, I'm still willin’

Yeah. You can do this. Just be willin’. Dig a little deeper, fight a little harder. You’re still on your feet.

Nick “We’ll Be Back Soon” Gerlich

Photo: Dblackwood on Flickriver

[findmeon66]

Rock and Roll

Writings of the Ancients, or college student prank? We may never know, but the Mystery Stone (aka Inscription Rock, and actually a rather large boulder) that is wedged halfway up a small mountain west of Los Lunas has certainly raised a lot of questions. It is estimated to weigh as much as 100 tons.

The road north and west from Los Lunas is now NM 6, but from 1926-1937 served as Route 66 (and as National Old Trails prior). It was the de facto road for Dust Bowl refugees headed to California, and carried substantial traffic, even if it didn’t follow the much straighter route that was built westbound from Albuquerque around 1937. Countless thousands of Route 66 journeyers sped past this rock oblivious to its presence.

Located near the Rio Puerco, a seasonal river that starts in the mountains a couple of hours north, it makes sense that indigenous peoples may have accessed this large rock and used it as a newspaper of sorts. The area was home to Anasazi, and other tribes following their disappearance. Petroglyphs and pictographs are quite common through western New Mexico, and were the way the Ancients left behind their stories.

The boulder is no longer accessible, having recently ceded into Isleta tribal ownership and jurisdiction. Don’t even think of trying to go there. Admire from Google Earth (34.783528, -106.995948).

But questions arise as to whether those ancients were truly indigenous, or some otherwise undocumented travelers from the Old World who had traveled up the broader Rio Grande Valley from the south. Native Americans have reported finding this inscription rock as early as 1850, and none could decipher it, nor provide proof beyond oral tradition. This still led to some questioning whether Columbus or even the Norse were the first visitors to the New World.

So are these characters Phoenician as their shapes suggest? Another language? Or, as some have suggested, mere gibberish etched by pranksters from nearby University of New Mexico?

While the issue is not completely resolved, multiple scholars have argued that it is a translation of the Ten Commandments, and that is where many people stop their questions. It sounds plausible, even if no one can agree on who actually made the inscription.

As for me, I’ll side with the college kids. In the absence of any proof whatsoever of other New World visitors, I have to go with the modern human conclusion. While it would have taken quite some time to make the inscription, whether in the 20th century or many centuries or even millennia prior, it takes a leap of faith greater than I am willing to take.

Nice rock. Nice try. And nice Route 66 mystery.

[findmeon66]

Good Things Come To Those Who Wait

It often takes time to get the credit that is due. Such is the case for Charlie's Radiator Service in Grants NM. It was nominated for inclusion on the National Register of Historical Places in 2010, and reached such designation just a month ago. Charlie Diaz, Proprietor, passed away in 1995, after 52 years of service on the Mother Road. Sitting on the city's west side on Route 66, Charlie's played a pivotal role in servicing motorists all the way back to 1943. Charlie's is actually a complex of several small buildings, one of which was a cafe. He took care of gas, oil, and repair needs of motorists, and then fed them. The other buildings were family residences. Heavy Route 66 traffic, as well as a local population that had swelled during the heyday of uranium mining, kept him busy.

The designation did not come a moment too soon, as the City of Grants had initiated efforts to demolish the building, regarding it as “so ruined and damaged and dilapidated as to be a menace to public comfort, health, peace or safety…” Charlie's (variant spelling "Charley's" in some early photos) is a perfect example of first-generation service stations, right before standardized corporate chains became the norm. Today, Grants has a lot of nostalgic eye candy in the form of old neon signs that attract visitors, but it is easy to go speeding by Charlie's place. It's good to know his building won't be going anywhere soon, and has dodged the wrecking ball of progress.

Nick “Fill ‘Er Up“ Gerlich

[findmeon66]

Up On The Hill

The Cedar Hill station (and motor court) just west of San Jon NM on 66 has always perplexed those of us intrigued by abandonment. It is the only building I have seen that used flat steel oil cans as shingles on the two buildings. The service station once sold Enco gas; the motor court on the west side of the property had...wait for it...three units.

Having been a beer can collector for 40+ years, I knew that the owner (Otto Collins) either had to painstakingly cut and flatten used oil cans, or...better yet...have a friend at the can factory who could get him uncut/unrolled sheets of the oil cans.

I'm betting on the latter. A person could go nuts trying to cut, unroll, and flatten thousands of oil cans. I don't care if it was a service station. That he used steel shingles, though, was genius. They were cheap, and impervious to the sun and hail prevalent on the high plains of eastern New Mexico. Those steel shingles are still doing what they were intended to do, even if the rest of the place is starting to fall down.

One of my favorite views of the building, though, is not on the outside, but rather on the inside. It is only in looking *up* that it becomes obvious what an obsessive recycler/repurposer the proprietor was. He even used as roof decking a plank he had previously used as signage for his station. Farther to the right (out of frame in photo below) are more painted letters indicating he at one time offered free camping.

I doubt we would see such ingenuity today. But a hard knocks life breeds invention. And necessity can be a mother.

Nick “Can Do“ Gerlich

[findmeon66]

Wheels In Motion

A lone cyclist pedals by The Otis, on Amarillo's Route 66. The structure was built by Mr Otis Williams in 1926 (not to be confused with Otis Williams, the founder of The Temptations), with the first floor serving as a mercantile, and the upper floor as apartments. My local friends recall it being occupied as recently as the 1980s. The current owner has done nothing with the building.

Of course, 1926 was a rather magical year for Mother Road fans, because it was the same year that Route 66 was aligned down SW 6th Avenue. I'm betting it stood silent witness to some pretty amazing history back in the day...Dust Bowl refugees headed west, African-American travelers having to carefully seek out safe havens listed in the Negro Green Book, and later travelers enjoying the post-WWII economic boom.

Yeah. The Otis had a ringside seat.

And for all of you who know Route 66 through Amarillo, this is right across the street from the Circus Room. You know...the one with the very cool clown sign. Downtown is only a few blocks east, where a renaissance is occurring.

Maybe one day this stretch of Route 66 will be as vibrant and alive as it was back when The Otis was home to many. Nick “Send In The Clowns“ Gerlich

[findmeon66]

At the Movies

The Tower Theatre in OKC was built in 1937, located on 23rd Street. This served as Route 66 from 1926-1954, having taken local traffic and tourists right past the State Capitol building a few blocks east.

The Tower showed many a major film release, but eventually began swirling ever downward, first with B-movies, foreign language films, and then adult movies. It closed in the 1989. Following a brief resurgence a decade later, it shut down for good. A restoration project in 2015-2016 brought it back to life, where it is now a thriving music venue.

Compare the (first) image shot in 1979 by John Margolies (Library of Congress) with my shot (second) from earlier this month (right). The theatre looks remarkably good, illustrating that these gems can...and should...be saved.

Today, 23rd Street has experienced a resurgence, with a variety of eclectic eateries and shops, especially near the theatre. It ranks right up there among our favorite “kitschy kool” neighborhoods along Route 66.

Too bad hardly anyone seems to note (or care) that this was the original alignment of Route 66 through town. A whole lot of history has passed right by that theatre.

Nick “Who’s Playing Tonight?“ Gerlich

[findmeon66]

Forty Years Apart

The Natatorium (aka The Nat) was built in 1922 in Amarillo, but as it turned out, indoor swimming was not much of a thing at the time, and in 1926, it was turned into a dance hall (right about the time that Route 66 came roaring past it).

Virtually all of the big performers of the day played there. Everyone from Guy Lombardo to Tommy Dorsey, Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, and even Buddy Holly and the Crickets laid down the beat inviting fans to cut a rug. The building still stands today as an antique mall, with a small entrance on SW 6th Ave Route 66) that was an add-on cafe shortly after 1926.

Because everyone wanted to be able to say they were on Route 66, right? I get it.

In 1977, John Margolies photographed it (Image 1), capturing some of its fading glory as a dance hall, as well as the ghosted lettering of signage that was painted over several times starting in 1942. Monty McGee and his Orchestra were regulars at The Nat, and warranted headline status. Note that the signage in fact had a typo, substituting "MAGEE" for "MCGEE."

In spite of several efforts to cover those letters years ago, they kept peaking through the layers of paint for decades. That alone led some people to think the building was haunted. But if that didn’t do the trick, then the unexplained noises on the inside and the ghost-like couple sashaying across the dance floor did.

In 2017, you can still see the G in MAGEE with the naked eye (Image 2) if the light is right, but apparently enough coats of paint finally did their intended job on the rest. The building is nowhere near as colorful as when Margolies captured it 40 years ago, but is a lasting monument nonetheless to Amarillo's storied past.

In recent years, there are periodic talks of trying to revive the place, but nothing ever comes of it. Today, The Nat serves as anchor at the east end of the Historic 6th “Street” District (locals still insist on calling it a street, when it is in fact an avenue...but I digress). For a solid mile west, from Georgia Street to Western Street, a rather eclectic mix of antique shops, bars, restaurants and clubs line the sidewalk. The old San Jacinto Church is now part of a private school bearing the same name, located mid-block.

And if you listen real carefully, you might just hear Mr. McGee and his Orchestra tearing it up down on the corner. Naturally, I suppose.

If those walls could talk, oh the stories they would tell.

Nick “Seems Like Old Times“ Gerlich

(Image 1 used from the public domain John Margolies Collection at the Library of Congress. Mr Margolies (1940-2016) photographed roadside America from 1969-2008. The Library of Congress started acquiring his archive in 2007, and received the bulk of it by 2015. In 2017, 11,710 images were made available via public domain online access.)

[findmeon66]

Get A Room

Perhaps no other aspect of American car culture is more prominent than the roadside motel, and particularly along Route 66. Sure, fast food is huge and provides the calories to get us down the road, but it is the motel that offers us shelter at night while we engage in that quintessential American activity, the road trip.

And those motels have evolved considerably from when the car was first starting to make its presence known.

To be precise, “motel” is a portmanteau, the blending of “motor” and “hotel.” The very existence of them is derived from autos becoming affordable to the masses, and, along with the development of a highway system, American families started taking holidays on four wheels as opposed to trains or ocean-going vessels.

But the motels we see today are only a faint shadow of their ancestors. Today’s motels tend to be corporate chains, each with 80-100 units, unified branding and signage, and rooms large enough to spread out the equally large pile of belongings with which we feel we must travel. The motels of old are now an endangered species.

As serious students and fans of roadside architecture, signage, and attractions, my wife and I seek out the old, the kitschy, the one-of-a-kind. Sure, we spend more nights than most at corporate chains, but whenever we have the chance to stay in a well-kept mom-and-pop motel or historical hotel, we jump at the opportunity.

And we photograph with reckless abandon. As I tell my friends, “Shoot ‘em while you can,” because these vestiges of the past are a vanishing breed. Furthermore, like another matter I tend to preach about regularly, it’s all about the experience. Staying in a 1930s-era motel is something you will never forget.

The number of motels in America has shrunk considerably from 1964, when 61,000 motels were in business, to only 16,000 in 2012. I suspect that it has continued to shrivel since then. Motels of old commonly had only a dozen rooms. In some instance, the oldest of courts had as few as three units (like the Cedar Hill Courts on Route 66 west of San Jon NM, and the motor court in Endee NM (similarly on 66). In most cases, this was all the family could afford to build.

What often started as a family-owned gas station grew into a small court and  a cafe. It was entrepreneurship at its finest. These small motels frequently had gorgeous, artistic signs with neon and chaser bulbs, designed to catch the attention of the passing motorist. As roads were improved and cars could travel faster, these signs grew larger and larger, because there were only a few seconds to speak to your audience. Arrows were often employed on the signs, as if to scream, “Here it is! Down here! Slow down!”

By the 1950s, corporate chains like Holiday Inn, Ramada Inn, and Howard Johnson began to take over. Their cookie cutter approach to building meant that units were predictable. Furthermore, consistency in branding meant that large signage was no longer needed, only enough to be visible. Drivers by then (in particular, the 1970s) knew what to expect, and if they saw a familiar new Holiday Inn sign (not the massive earlier one with the swooping arrow), they knew it was somewhere nearby, right off the freeway.

Today, modern motels can cost upwards of $90,000 a room to build. A new Fairview Inn in Tucumcari NM with 82 units cost $7.7 million to open. Mom and pop could never even begin to think of something that extravagant.

As the American motel continues to evolve, I worry about the saccharine nature of these big box places of lodging forever taking away the charm of what was once one of the best parts of a road trip. We are doing our best to document what is left, as well as any orphaned signage we come across. If you want to catch a serious glimpse of the past, check out my Instagram gallery of neon signage, where I have now posted more than 1000 examples.

If you look hard enough, you can still find these quaint providers of hospitality along our highways, but they tend not to be right along the freeway. That’s another way of saying you have to do your homework before heading out.

Along 66, Tucumcari offers several very cool retro motels, each worthy of your lodging dollars (like Blue Swallow Motel, Roadrunner Lodge, and Safari Motel). Or head to Route 66 in Missouri, where you can spend subsequent nights at the Boots Court (Carthage), Munger Moss (Lebanon), and Wagon Wheel (Cuba). All of these are well-maintained blasts from the past, with the Blue Swallow and Boots Court both dating to 1939. Finally, the Wigwams in Holbrook AZ and Rialto CA invite us to sleep a little differently, and the Saga in Pasadena offers up quaint mid-century design sensibilities.

And you can experience what it was like to travel 50-80 years ago.

The American road trip will never go away. Even expensive gasoline will not deter most Americans. It’s up to us to help preserve a little bit of the past as we motor down the road. Trust me…you will remember a night at one of these gems far longer than you will a night at yet another Hampton Inn, Holiday Inn, or Marriott.

Because the artificial sweetener of modern motels just doesn’t taste as good as the sweet goodness of yesterday.

Dr “A Radio In Every Room“ Gerlich

[findmeon66]

In The Pocket

Proof positive that it is cool to save the signs! This gem stood in front of an OKC bowling alley from 1959 to 2010, when the facility closed and keglers were left holding the ball. The sign made its way to the man building a new entertainment complex in Chandler. Now fully restored, it stands along 66 (again) awaiting completion of the new venue.

This amazing sign is visible on Route 66 just east of the main business district of Chandler and the Lincoln Motel. As of this writing (04 Oct 2017), the entertainment complex (which will include bowling, of course!) was not yet complete.

And as far as I’m concerned, the owner just picked up an amazing 7-10 split. Great save on the sign!

Nick “Roll, Baby, Roll“ Gerlich

[findmeon66]

The Last Frontier

San Diego's Old Frontier Trading Post was built in 1927 alongside Route 66. It is built entirely from old telephone poles...and bricks for the chimney. In the next 20 years it underwent several changes in ownership, ultimately landing in the hands of Ray Meany and Ella Blackwell, who modified the name to The Last Frontier.

Ella got the business in the divorce settlement (1955), and renamed it Ella's Frontier Trading Post. She ran it until her death in 1984, at which point the business also crossed the rainbow bridge. The decaying telephone poles still stand along a dead end strand of 66 just west of Joseph City. If you listen real carefully, you may just hear Ella playing the piano, as she was so wont to do.

A quick look inside reveals that many transients have made this place a temporary home through the years. There is ample evidence of people having spent the night there, and then left their trash.

I hope that they enjoyed the music.

[findmeon66]

With Liberty And Justice

The Liberty Theater (tall structure on right; 317 SE 4th Ave) once played a very important role in Amarillo's acceptance of its multiracial and multiethnic population. Built in 1921, at the time it was the first and only theater to allow African-American patrons entrance. They had to sit on one side of the balcony, while Latin Americans sat on the other side.

I have read reports of it still being in operation as of 1950, but it has been abandoned now for many decades. I checked three editions of The Negro Travelers' Green Book for reference, but found no listings (1940, 1954, 1963).

This block and others nearby were once filled with many businesses, but many have since been demolished. Because parking lots. It wound up being sandwiched by #Route66 after 1928 when Fillmore carried 66 traffic between SW 6th Ave and NE 8th Ave, and later when the one-ways were implemented, putting 66 on both Fillmore and Pierce.

An effort was started early in 2015 to gather monies in support of renovation and construction of an arts complex, including a park. Alas, nothing has yet come to fruition.

The casual streetside viewer cannot tell, but the view from high atop the nearby Herring Hotel reveals the sad reality of a recently collapsed roof. This puts the future of the Liberty in grave danger.

And that's too bad...because this little building was once a rare early example of Liberty in our fair city.

~Nick Gerlich

[findmeon66]

Heartbreak Hotel

I love exploring abandoned buildings. The very word sends shivers up and down my spine. My heart skips a beat. I start looking for my boots and camera gear. And once on location, I am usually over the fence or gate faster than anyone else in my van can even get out.

Bam. Let’s go.

Three years ago I was invited to participate in a photography contest in Amarillo, the subject matter being the historic Herring Hotel. My participation involved a walk-through of the building (13 stories plus basement), followed by a morning in which I and two willing friends toting camera gear could explore and shoot at will. I was fortunate to have one of my entries selected for a gallery showing.

I was in heaven.

So when the opportunity arose this month to tour again, I seized the moment, and brought Deanna along to experience one of Amarillo’s treasures.

The Herring was built in about 5 1/2 months in 1926, with a soft opening on 15th December, and a gala opening on New Year’s Eve. The hotel had 600 rooms, and was the crown jewel of the city. Built by C.T. Herring and managed by Ernest Thompson, the hotel towered above what was (and still is) the biggest town between Fort Worth and Denver.

Although the Herring technically was not built along Route 66, it wound up there soon enough. In 1928, Route 66 was realigned from its earliest path through the city (west on SE 10th Ave, north on Fillmore, west on SW 6th Ave) to coming in on NE 8th Ave (aka Amarillo Boulevard), then south on Fillmore, and west on SW 6th. The Herring sits 1/2 block east of Fillmore, at the corner of SE 3rd and Pierce, so it was very close to 66.

But wait. There’s more.

Many years later, Amarillo, like many other cities at the time, implemented one-way streets through downtown. This left Fillmore carrying northbound 66, while Pierce carried southbound traffic. Through sheer luck or divine fiat, it wound up sandwiched between directional Route 66 streets.

Cattle and oil barons frequented the Tascosa Club in the basement, which, given the Prohibition era opening, leaves the mind to imagine how adult beverages may have been served. A couple of frescoes by H.D. Bugbee still survive on those dingy walls, although others were ruthlessly (and shamelessly) painted over.

The hotel stayed in business until the 1960s. The federal government leased numerous floors of the then-closed hotel in the 1970s, and housed various agencies. At this time, the building was seriously reconfigured on the inside. Suffice it to say, much of the original beauty was ruined in favor of dropped ceilings and cube farms.

The Herring has been abandoned for decades now, and has been the target both of vandals and pigeons. Paint is peeling. Windows are broken. The stench of abandonment is in the air.

But the building is actually in reasonable enough shape that it could be rehabilitated...if someone turns up willing to buy it and put about $45 million in repairs into it. It’s going to take a minor miracle, but this hotel is a could-be, not a has-been.

My heart breaks every time I see this grand hotel standing on Amarillo’s near north side, standing sentry to a town that has changed many fold since it was built, yet waiting for a chance to show us all once again what a grand lady she is.

And it won’t be Lonely Street anymore.

~Nick

[findmeon66]

Rocking The Paradise

One of the most memorable, if not the best, advertising tag lines along Route 66 has been Tucumcari Tonight. Never mind its alliterative allure (ding ding ding), it has spoken to weary travelers since the 1950s plying their way along the Mother Road, whispering come hither for the night. Back when cars and motorists could not fathom covering 500 or more miles in a day, folks were always thinking about where their next bed was.

The town name alone has a certain melodic quality, and was intoned by several artists through the years. From Little Feat to Chely Wright, from Better Than Ezra to Freedy Johnston, Tucumcari has graced the airwaves either lyrically or in song title.

At one time there were more than 2000 motel rooms in Tucumcari, the first city of any size as you roll into the Land of Enchantment from Texas. Population peaked around 1950, with slightly more than 8400 residents. The most recent census listed about 5300 people, although that number has likely dipped below 5000 since then.

And as for motel rooms, there are about 1200 remaining. In spite of both population and bed count declines, the city still has about one room for every 4.2 residents. But the make-up of those motels has changed considerably. Gone forever are many old mom-and-pop motels and motor courts along Route 66, replaced by large chain motels along the freeway.

The current Tucumcari Chamber of Commerce directory of member motels and hotels sits at 10, although there are certainly a few more non-member motels in town. Still, there were dozens of motels a few generations ago (read: before the freeway), nearly all along Route 66 or nearby US 54. Furthermore, modern motels typically have 80 or more rooms, whereas the older motels were considered large if they had 20 or 25 rooms.

That’s another way of saying that things have changed…drastically.

One of those motels that has recently (as in last 10 years or thereabouts) bitten the dust is the Paradise, located far west of the main business district, near where Tucumcari Boulevard (originally Gaynell Avenue, but better known simply as Route 66) dumps into the freeway.

This motel dates to the 1950s, long before the Interstate Highway System was a twinkle in President Eisenhower’s eye. It would have been the last thing westbound motorists saw before returning to the arid high desert terrain, and the first thing for those heading east.

Their iconic neon sign was renovated around 2003, thanks to the collective efforts of the New Mexico Route 66 Association, New Mexico Historic         Preservation Division, and the National Park Service Route 66 Corridor         Preservation Office. A little sleuthing revealed to them that the original sign once had a diving lady (as was common 60 years ago for motels advertising their swimming pools), but it had been replaced by an Indian’s likeness. The restoration project saw the return of the diving lady, and placement of the Indian head nearer the building.

But, alas, the Paradise did not survive, nor did the gas station/cafe next door. Today, these buildings are the targets of vandals. Each time I return to check on the Paradise, it has slipped a little further into oblivion.

To say that Tucumcari’s west end is in a bit of a blight is an understatement. The gigantic Shell travel plaza and restaurant have been vacant for years now. I last recall visiting it in 2002 when I met up with a cyclist raising money for 911 victim families, although it survived a few more years. And the nearby Payless Inn was torched by a former Tucumcari Police Department office in 2014 (but that’s a separate story).

So why do I continue to drop in at the Paradise? Simple. I love to document the change around us, from the living to the dying and dead. Route 66 provides a 2400-mile long laboratory in which I can study those changes.

As for the Paradise, it appears to have been lived in recently, although was not in business. The manager’s quarters above the office were certainly inhabited, as were numerous of the individual motel rooms. Even the gas station/cafe showed signs until recently that someone came by occasionally to tinker with things; the seemingly random music we could hear from a speaker hiding somewhere told me and many of my friends who have visited that something was going on there, even if it was a bit spooky to ponder the possibilities.

The greater mystery, though, is it appears that whomever was living there woke up one day and decided to disappear, leaving all of their belongings behind…pants, shirts, furniture, you name it. If Hurricane Harvey had visited Tucumcari, you could understand the abandonment. Heck, I have seen the Postman stop to put items in the nearby mailbox. But no one’s home these days.

Today, graffiti artists have taken over with their spray painted eloquence. There are fewer intact windows on each subsequent visit. And left behind items have been pawed through as if one just might find a treasure among the rubble.

It’s not exactly Paradise anymore, and I doubt it ever will be. Abandoned buildings have a way of falling apart much faster than those that are inhabited, regardless of any maintenance given. And in spite of all the Route 66 nostalgia, the phrase Tucumcari Tonight more than likely means a night by the freeway, unless you volitionally seek out the classics.

The new Fairfield Inn by the two truck stops is further evidence of this change. With 82 units and a price tag of $7.7 million (that’s $93,900 per room, for those of you keeping score), it signals that the hospitality business has forever changed. Of course, whenever it’s Tucumcari Tonight for us, we always stay in one of the vintage properties. We hope that you do, too. But for those zooming along the freeway, oblivious to the historical context only an exit ramp away, the story of their day will probably have a different ending.

And that, my friends, is not at all perfectly paradise. Alliteratively speaking, of course.

Nick “Make Ours Kitschy” Gerlich

[findmeon66]

A Tiger In Every Tank

A revolution is starting to take place. It’s one that has happened before, and it involves cars. The only difference is that this time the revolution is all the result of one company, not the 1800 companies that made cars in the early years of automotive transportation. And this revolution is taking place right along Route 66, the Road of Hope that took many an early traveler west in search of a new life in the 1920s and 1930s.

Tesla is leading the way with an expanding lineup of cars, as well as supercharging stations across the US, southern Canada, and parts of Mexico. There are currently 5655 superchargers in operation at 861 stations. One such station is in Shamrock TX, adjacent to the historic U-Drop Inn and Tower Station (once a Conoco). The irony of a supercharging station in the parking lot in an old gas station was not lost on me.

The problem with having a revolutionary product is that, if no one you know has one (like in the case of telephones or fax machines), they can be useless. The same holds for finding the vital ingredient needed to make the thing run.

Like electricity (Tesla) or gasoline (everyone else).

I recently completed a bicycle expedition along Route 66 from Amarillo to Chicago (1210 miles in 16 days), and noticed several Tesla-branded supercharging stations along the way. They are part of a network that allows Tesla owners to drive the entirety of Route 66 in their electric cars (EVs) without risk of running out of “fuel.” In Shamrock, I spoke with a volunteer at the gift shop at the U-Drop, as well as Larry Clonts, Director of the Shamrock Economic Development Corporation.

Both are happy to have the Tesla station (six units!), and report that, while at first seeing a Tesla there was a bit of a novelty and grab-your-camera-moment, they are both now so accustomed to seeing Teslas there that they just look the other way. We even saw someone charging at 10pm yesterday when we stopped in town for the night while en route back to Amarillo.

While there are several limiting factors associated with EVs (noticeably price of the auto, range, and charging time), the most important, of course, is access to electricity. Just like early autoists (yes, that’s what they were called) worried about finding gas stations in remote areas (they often carried jerry cans filled with gas for those moments), Tesla owners worry about the practical use of their increasingly less exotic cars.

Tesla stations can provide an 80% charge in 30 minutes, which is good for about 170 miles. To get a full 100% charge, though, requires another hour, because charging is not a linear process. The last 20% is done slowly as electricity is delivered to top off the individual cells. Drivers must either take a nap or go find coffee while their cars is charging at these Tesla-sponsored free stations, thereby interrupting their roads trip a half hour every 2.5 hours of driving.

As of last December, some 107,000 Teslas have been sold. With 861 charging stations, that comes out to 124 cars per station. In 1920 alone, 7.5 million gas-guzzling autos were sold, while there were 15,000 service stations, which comes out to 500 cars per station. And never mind that there were actually far more than 20 million autos on the road by then, and even more by the time Route 66 was christened in 1926.

If anything, the odds are far better for Tesla owners (about a 4:1 ratio better). The big difference, of course, is that Tesla sells the cars and provides the charging stations. With fossil fuel-powered cars, a variety of manufacturers still exist, but none own the gas stations selling that most important of ingredients.

While early autoist s and current Tesla owners share the risk of running out of “gas,” at least those early car owners could bring along five or 10 gallons roped to the side. Tesla owners can’t bring along stored energy, and mounting a solar array to the top just isn’t practical. While it is possible to charge a Tesla elsewhere, regular current requires far longer charging times, thus making long distance travel nearly impossible without the supercharging stations in place.

I love to see this revolution take place. No, it’s not one that will happen over night, but with the price of EVs coming down (not just Tesla, but all of the makers), and range and charging options improving, we will see more EVs on the road. That people can drive all of Route 66 without using a drop of gas is a breath of exhaust-free fresh air.

Those early Model T drivers were the pioneers of automotive transport, but Tesla owners are the second wave. Their challenges may be different in many regards, but just having one big thing in common…need for go-juice…puts them in the same company. Their demands are being met today just like early autopsist found happiness as the number of gas stations increased.

Ladies and gentlemen, start your engines. Or batteries. Or whatever it is that powers you down the road. I’m grabbing a ringside seat at the revolution, and will save one for you.

Dr “Gallons to Watts” Gerlich

[findmeon66]

Day 16: My Kind Of Town, Chicago Is

Day 16 photo gallery available at SmugMug.

Ursula K. LeGuin once said, “It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.“ Today found us staring down journey’s end, Chicago not so much what we cycled toward, but rather that we cycled in the first place.

As I reflect on the last 16 days and 1200+ miles, I see a group for which the journey itself was more important than the destination. Sure, Chicago truly was our ultimate and final destination, but our goal was to experience Route 66.

And that we did. We saw semi-arid high plains, rolling hills, rivers large and small, and tall grass prairies. We felt heat and we felt wind. We were scorched in dry air, we were swimming in humidity. We tasted the food of countless quintessential American diners. We smelled feed lot cattle in Texas, and pig farms in Illinois.

We saw towns that prospered after the end of 66, and we saw towns that died. We saw abandoned sections of road, pavement laid decades ago that is cracking and crumbling through the annual cycle of the seasons.

Yeah, we pretty much hit it all. Chicago just happened to be where 66 ended for eastbound travelers.

Our day started rather subdued, as we all knew it would be the last hurrah. Twenty miles of quiet Sunday morning city streets took us into downtown, where we stopped at Lou Mitchell’s for breakfast. U.S. Senator Dick Durbin was even there, and greeted us heartily.

It was only another mile east on Jackson Street to the terminus of 66 as it remains today. Of course, things are not quite like they once were, back when 66 ran all the way to Lake Shore drive (by virtue of law, US highways can only end by intersecting another US highway, which is where US 41 still runs).

Chicago implemented new one-way downtown streets in 1955, and so Jackson became eastbound 66, while Adams, a block north, carried westbound 66 traffic. We are thus left today with a 66 that is slightly removed from its original state, but close enough that no one gets upset.

In January 1977, the signs denoting the official end of 66 were taken down. It was only after Route 66 had grown in nostalgic affection that the newer brown “Historic Route” signs were posted as replacements. It was under that “End” sign this morning that many a photo was taken by our group.

It was all rather anti-climactic after that. A large group of us circled around to Adams to take pics of the “Begin Historic Route 66″ sign, and then over to Buckingham Fountain for pics of the most amazing skyline in the US.

Another 20 miles separated us from the van and trailer, which was awaiting us in Niles on the north side. A combination of Lake Shore bike path, surface streets, and more bike paths took us to a shiny new Holiday Inn Express, where bikes were disassembled and packed, duffel bags rearranged, hugs and goodbyes exchanged.

In no time at all, it was as if this stage play called PAC Tour Eastern 66 hadn’t even happened, because all of the actors had scattered to the wind, some to Europe and Canada, the remainder from Boston to Seattle to LA.

LeGuin was right. It was the journey that mattered most. Tomorrow morning we will all wake up better people, having accomplished something far larger than most would ever contemplate. It will feel odd not loading up at 8:00am and rolling down the road for another 80 miles. We will be tired and jet-lagged, brain-blurred and sunburned, but we will be stronger for all that wear and tear.

It’s always bittersweet to have to turn the page on a journey. Mission: accomplished. We did it. But while this chapter is over, there are still more pages waiting to be written, new chapters with new adventures. How and what we write is up to us. The story is ours for the creating.

I pray that our stories intersect again in the future. Grab your pen and start writing. Don’t wait for the ink to dry on this one before you start plotting the next.

Go. Do it. Now.

Nick

I have thoroughly enjoyed serving as historian and cultural guide on this journey. The privilege has been mine. Being able to ride among all of you made it more real for all of us, as we lived it, learned it, loved it together. Peace be with you all. I’ll see you down the road.

[findmeon66]

Day 15: Smelling The Barn

Day 15 photo gallery available on SmugMug.

All good trips must come to an end, and today marked the last full day of cycling together for this journey. With approximately 83 windblown miles in our legs (tailwinds again!), we made it from Pontiac to Willowbrook.

And had we taken the time to look carefully, we could have seen Chicago’s skyline from there.

The day started with a delicious breakfast at Edinger’s Filling Station back in Pontiac, followed by a brief visit with Chinese airbrush artist Tang Dongbai, who has made Pontiac his home.

By 8:00am, Mother Nature had fired up the wind machine, and we were seemingly off to the races. The string of small towns that were seldom more than 5-8 miles apart maintained our interest, entertaining us as we kept a blazing pace.

Our first unofficial stop was in Odell, home of the beautifully restored Standard station. Rather than allow Progress to claim another victim, the town of Odell gathered up its resources and saved this quaint relic from the past, forever enshrining it as a matter of civic pride.

Odell may not have much today, but it has this old station, along with the filled-in remains of a 1930s-era pedestrian undercrossing. It’s hard to imagine that Route 66 was once so busy in towns like Odell that pedestrians found it difficult and unsafe to cross the highway, but that it was. Today, were it not for the increase in Route 66 tourism, one could probably take a quick nap in the middle of Main Street.

Our first break (as if we needed a break from a roaring tailwind!) was in Dwight, home of the restored Texaco station that serves as a visitor information center. Interestingly, an EV (Electric Vehicle) charging station sits on the north side of the property, a nod to the changes afoot to reduce our reliance on the fossil fuel that allowed us to be more mobile in the first place.

A few miles up the road awaited Gardner, with its oddly intriguing 2-cell jail and dining car only one block off 66. It was in Gardner that the historic Riviera Roadhouse once called home, until a tragic fire in 2010 brought it to the ground. The restaurant had remained open until the year prior, when concerns over fire safety issues spelled its demise.

Irony can be twisted like that. At least the dining car and jail are still there for 66 fans to enjoy.

The role of the railroad can certainly be felt along old 66 in Illinois. Practically every city through which we rode was founded because of those rails. Some prospered and are still sizeable cities today, while others faded into obscurity as those rails became less important for their survival.

Such is the case of Braceville and Godley, two little hamlets north of Gardner that were once situated in the middle of northern Illinois coal country. In rapid succession, they were in our rear view mirror as we made our way into Braidwood, home of the Polk-A-Dot Drive-In, and then Wilmington, where the Gemini Giant stands guard over 66.

The Polk-A-Dot is known for it quirky statuary, with Elvis out front, Jake and Elwood dancing along the south side, and Elvis (because we need more Elvises!), Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and Betty Boop gracing the north side.

Five miles north is Wilmington, where the former Launching Pad restaurant stands empty. Fortunately, their Gemini Giant version of a Muffler Man remains to watch over things. Someone had apparently come by recently to remove the many stickers that been placed on this fiberglass behemoth. He served as a great place for the second break of the day. A steady stream of tourists pulled in for a few quick pics.

From there the traffic picked up considerably as we made our way into Joliet, a town that can lay claim to the intersection of Route 66 and the Lincoln Highway (which is US 30 in these parts). Downtown Joliet is a beautiful work-in-progress, anchored by the historic Rialto Theatre.

We scattered about for lunch, and took in the history of this town that has become a distant suburb of Chicago to the north. A cold milk shake at the Rich & Creamy got us ready for the final push to Willowbrook. Joliet is home to quirk and kitsch (like Dick’s on 66), as well as prison lore at the old Stateville penitentiary.

The last 20 miles marked a steady progression deeper and deeper into Chicagoland. Countless stop lights and heavy traffic required our steady attention, and quite frankly, there is little left of 66 to enjoy along this stretch. In fact, I-55 covers 66 for many miles, forever obliterating it, save for the short orphaned section near our motel in Willowbrook. It is along this stretch that Dell Rhea’s Chicken Basket (opened in 1946) stands, where we had our final dinner together.

Our last evening meal was bittersweet, for we knew it marked the near-completion of our journey, but also the beginning of the farewells. We could smell the barn from here. Only 20 more miles separate us from downtown Chicago and the end of 66.

And with that in mind, we bedded down knowing that the chapter in our lives that we started writing two weeks ago today in Amarillo was down to its last page.

Nick

[findmeon66]

Day 14: Pontiac: We Are Riding Excitement

Day 14 photo gallery available on SmugMug.

Nothing beats a tailwind to start the day. Well, except maybe a tailwind that just got stronger and stronger as the day progressed, and turned 75 miles into a stroll in the prairie.

No complaints there. We took it gladly. Lincoln to Pontiac? You betcha. Easy peasy.

Our first stop today was in Atlanta, about a dozen miles into the ride. Atlanta is a quaint little town trying hard to make itself a Route 66 stopover. Some antique stores, The Palms Grill, and a big guy toting a hot dog are doing just that.

Excuse me? How was that?

That big guy with the hot dog is one of a small remnant breed of “muffler men” from the 1960s, many of which once held a muffler (naturally!) and were used as outdoor advertising for an automotive shop. These fiberglass giants, usually 18-25 feet tall, came in numerous varieties and could be customized for whatever business bought it (the first, in 1962, actually depicted Paul Bunyan). Collectively, all of the varieties are known as muffler men, though.

The muffler man in Atlanta is a transplant, having been moved from Cicero IL after the hot dog shop in front of which he stood went out of business. Atlanta seized the moment and gave the giant a new home, which now attracts thousands of people each year.

And causes them to at least stop for a few minutes in this little town. That, of course, is half the battle. Once people stop, you pull them in with food and souvenirs. In my line of work, we call that great marketing.

Six miles down the road breakfast awaited in McLean at the Dixie Trucker’s Home. Open since 1928 along 66, the Dixie is one of the few places I remember along 66 from my childhood. My parents would load up my brother and me in the car at 4:00am, and try to get down that holiday road a couple of hours before stopping for breakfast at the Dixie...just like we did today.

There wasn’t a whole lot of talking going on among our group, because both the buffet and menu items were amazingly delicious. That’s exactly how I remember it from the late-1960s.

We sped along all morning, cruising along on nearly perfectly flat land. Funk’s Maple Sirup in Funk’s Grove (intentionally spelled that way to distinguish it from the fake stuff on grocers’ shelves spelled “syrup”) beckoned riders to buy a gooey, sticky sweet souvenir. At least one rider did so. Oh, to have had a stack of pancakes right about then.

After navigating surface streets through the twin cities of Bloomington and Normal, we found ourselves once more paralleling I-55 much of the day. After a quick break at Towanda, we then zoomed through Lexington (with its Memory Lane attraction on a long-abandoned segment of 66) and Chenoa (where many of us ate lunch).

Along the way, we had many happy miles on glass-smooth bike paths, either alongside the old road, or atop the abandoned southbound section of the four-lane version of 66. It was possible to sit up and coast at 20 much of the time. What’s to grumble about when the riding is this easy?

Just shy of Pontiac we spied the abandoned State Police building on the left. Built in 1942, its Art Deco styling reflected the spirit of the day with dozens of glass blocks so typical of that genre. Metal art in front depicts a motorcycle cop, as was common during 66′s heyday. You had to watch your speed back then just like today.

But what makes the old police building so interesting is something that cannot be seen on the ground. It is only by looking down from above...like from satellite...that it becomes obvious a little joke was intended.

The building is shaped like a pistol. For real.

Our destination for the day, Pontiac, is an amazing town of 12,000 that has fully embraced its Route 66 heritage and is leveraging it to the hilt. Four large museums (and several smaller one) and 27 murals give tourists plenty of things to ponder, as well as stop long enough for spend the night. Named for Chief Pontiac of the Ottawans tribe, Pontiac the city is captained by Mayor Bob Russell, who welcomed us at dinner and told the history of both the city and the Mother Road running through it (all three alignments!).

The crown jewel of Pontiac attractions, though, is the Route 66 Association Hall of Fame & Museum a block north of the courthouse square. This multilevel tribute to 66 contains hundreds of rare artifacts, photography new and old, and other treasures of our favorite road.

The best parts of their collection are Bob Waldmire’s VW Bus (showcased indoors) and his uniquely modified school bus home on wheels (outdoors). Both reflect the whimsy of a man who became the muse of Route 66, an artist and cartographer who captured every last little detail about the Mother Road in his works. Bob passed away in 2009, but will forever be remembered for his priceless contributions to promoting Route 66.

Bob owned and operated the Hackberry (AZ) Store for a while in the 90s, but went on later to live off the grid in the southeastern part of that state. He was a simple man of modest means, and probably could have died a rich man if that had been his desire. Instead, he chose a frugal, humble path.

Which is to say that Bob lived his life a lot like we did today...wind at our backs, not a care in the world. Kind of like that old 66 we’ve been chasing. Nothing fancy...just a little old road that carried people from A to B.

We’ll leave the fancy stuff to the super slab freeways.

Goodnight, y’all!

Nick