Getting our kicks on Route 66

Tuesday, September 27 (Day 11) — We "gained" an hour today with the crossing of the Arizona border into the Pacific time zone, and we needed every minute of it as we faced a long day of driving from Santa Fe to Flagstaff. I ran a check on Mapquest last night and found out that making the journey straight through without any stops along the way was 387 miles and clocked in at over five hours. But we're the Gehlke Family, we're on vacation, and we don't know how to travel from point A to point B without connecting a bunch of tiny dots in the middle of the line.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect out of today's drive because most of it — all of it, actually — would be confined to the interstate highway system, and the one thing that can generally be said for the interstates is that they get you where you want to go in a hurry at the expense of anything you might care to see. We have been driving through the heart of Arizona and New Mexico for more than a week now and were pretty familiar with the long stretches of desert wasteland punctuated by tiny communities whose sole reason for existence is to provide gas or lodging. I knew a little bit about northwestern Arizona from the several times I have been through it, but the northeastern part of the state, with its famous Painted Desert and various roadside attractions, was something I had never experienced before today.

We set out from Santa Fe just before 10 a.m., picking up I-25 for the first leg of the drive down to Albuquerque. We had discussed last night how we would approach this drive, seeing as it was the third longest day planned during our vacation. We had agreed that we wouldn't have a lot of time to stop and look at things along the way — well, perhaps one if it was close to the freeway — because we didn't want to be caught driving after dark and slog into Flagstaff totally zombied out from the long day. That's not exactly how it worked out.

Our first stop came less than 20 miles into the drive when we exited the interstate in search of one of New Mexico's 19 Indian pueblos. Roni has been disappointed that we haven't seen much Native American culture on our trip through New Mexico, so when we read about what the pueblos offer — besides gambling casinos — we thought we would check one out if it was near enough that we wouldn't have to drive over hill and dale in search of it. The first pueblo we tried to find was 13 miles away, which would have meant a 26-mile roundtrip. Too far. We returned to the interstate for a few miles more until we saw signs for an Indian trading post, blanket and smoke shop on the grounds of another pueblo. We exited the freeway and drove a mile or so, seeing nothing but an elementary school. It was a very nice looking school decorated in a Southwestern motif, but there was no sign of a nearby pueblo. We returned to the junction to I-25 and found the trading post tucked behind a gas station. Roni was hoping to find water and ice for our cooler. The gas station convenience store was out so the clerk sent us next door to another convenience store that had what we wanted. The clerks were all Native American, as were most of the patrons. I have no doubt the pueblo was nearby, but we never saw it and weren't inclined to go hunting for it.

Back to the freeway. We drove several more miles until we reached the exit for the Santo Domingo pueblo, which the tour guide Roni had showed as being right off the interstate. On one side of the overpass was a glittering casino and race track. On the other, a two-lane road that led into the pueblo. The Indian bands here don't refer to their communities as reservations, but that's exactly what they are. A big white sign posted at the entrance to the pueblo warned against taking pictures and removing objects from the area, among other no-nos. We were a bit disappointed about the ban on photography, but it is easy to understand when you consider how many folks like us just passing through want to take pictures. It would be like having several people driving through your neighborhood every day stopping to take pictures of your house and your kids at play. You'd come to resent it quickly. Some pueblos do allow photography, but only with a paid permit. It wasn't that important to us to pursue it. And for what we saw of this pueblo it isn't much different than many other poor, rural communities that crop up all over the country. The main difference that I could see was that most of the simple homes that weren't trailers had brick ovens somewhere on the property. I can only assume these are used for cooking and making pottery, which is a big thing in these parts. You can't drive more than a mile without seeing a sign advertising Indian pottery or jewelry. I'm sure it's not all imported from Indonesia, as was one of the pottery pieces I saw today at a roadside stand.

Our curiosity satisfied, we returned to the interstate (we hadn't traveled more than about 35 miles) and finished the drive into Albuquerque. I had originally thought we wanted to bypass Albuquerque because I had heard it is similar to El Paso; just one huge sprawl with not a lot of attractions to recommend it. I am seeing now that that assessment was probably wrong. The annual balloon fiesta here happens this coming weekend, and Roni and I are both disappointed we won't be around when it begins. The show features hundreds of hot air balloons and is attended by tens of thousands of people. We have been seeing the vehicles of the balloonists all around during our visit to Santa Fe and today's return trip. Albuquerque also boasts a zoo and some museums, as well as something called Petroglyph Park that I had been interested in seeing. When I saw a sign advertising access to "Historic Route 66" I had to exit. I tried to follow what I thought was the route to drive on the famous road, but somehow I never found it. Instead, I discovered the road leading to the aforementioned Petroglyph Park. So my sense of wanderlust took over and I just started following the road. According to a map I'd found on the Internet, the park was only four miles away. Wasn't it? It seemed like I was driving through the city forever. And then Roni asked me where I was going. Hadn't we agreed that we didn't have time to waste on a lot of sidetrips? Well, yes, but I was curious just to see where this park was and what it was all about. She was increasingly less pleased with my adventure when the signs started directing us into the hills and through residential neighborhoods under construction. Finally we found the park, and when I realized that seeing anything would involve a hike into the mountains I agreed with Roni that perhaps she had been right all along and this was just a waste of valuable time. Besides, we had already seen two petroglyph displays and didn't really need to see another one.

So I backtracked through the city until we rejoined I-25. And once again we didn't stay on the road long, but this time it had nothing to do with diversions; I-40 was there to take the handoff as we merged to continue our journey west. Interstate 40 (this part of it at any rate) runs counter to all I've learned about interstates. Even in western New Mexico there was plenty to see as we passed hillsides filled with new development and shoulders lined with sprays of purple and yellow flowers. The hills are interesting, changing from gray to red the farther west you travel. And then there are the Indian trading posts. Lots of them. At no other point in our vacation have we encountered so many places to buy Navajo blankets and Kachina dolls as on I-40. We have been visiting a number of trading posts owned by a company called Bowlin's. In fact, I think we have driven past every one of them in the past week. We saw two more today, one of which we stopped at for the daily ritual of checking out the gift aisles. We were getting closer to being out of New Mexico, so our quest for New Mexican trinkets took on added urgency. My postcard pile is testing the limits of the trunk of my car as I continue to add a few here and there, taking advantage of the numerous five- or six-for-a-buck deals.

The Bowlin's shop is located on a frontage road to I-40 that happens to be part of the old Route 66. Across from the store is the old Rio Puerco truss bridge that was built in 1933 and decommissioned in 1999. You can park at the eastern end of the bridge and walk out onto it, which Ben and I did for a few minutes. You are filled with a sense of history when you travel this famous road, however short a distance, and imagine what it must have been like to drive it back in the 1930s when much of it was new. It is also sad to see what has become of it as Route 66 — officially known as U.S. Highway 66 — has given way to progress. Interstate 40 replaced most of it through New Mexico and Arizona, although in places such as Rio Puerco you can still see it as it was.

Our walk down memory lane finished, we returned to the present and our westward voyage along I-40. Our new destination was Gallup, N.M., where we planned to eat lunch and get gas for the car. The temperature was the lowest it has been our entire vacation, hovering between 78 and 82 degrees. It made the drive much easier. We listened to a country music station out of Albuquerque as long as we could get a signal, and then switched over to Roni's country music MP3s. Ben busied himself playing his new Megaman 5 game for his Gameboy Advance when he wasn't looking out the window counting the numerous freight trains we saw traveling parallel to the freeway. I was feeling in good spirits, my mood bolstered by the music and the fun I was having checking out the gift shops and the spectacular scenery. The only concern was the darkening clouds growing on the southwestern horizon. We had only seen a couple brief sprinkles of rain so far on the trip and weren't anxious to see any heavy showers.

We finally reached Gallup around 3:30 p.m. Mountain time, running considerably behind schedule. There were still close to 200 miles to go to Flagstaff and the day was getting away from us as usual. Gallup is a decent-sized city, much of which sits along the former Route 66. About the center of town I found gas at a Chevron station for $2.69 a gallon. Not quite sure why Chevron, which is usually the most expensive brand, was cheaper than everyone else, but I'll take it. Then we found lunch at a place called Olympic Kitchen. It looked like a typical family-style restaurant with one notable exception: we were the only family in the place. In fact, we were the only customers period. The place was empty except for the greeter/cashier/waitress/chef. She was joined during our meal by a janitor and his vacuum, and a couple of kids I assume were related to our server. She claimed the place was packed during lunch hour, which we had missed by a long shot. The food was decent if not great. At least we had full stomachs for the remainder of the trip.

Ah, wouldn't it have been too easy just to drive straight into Flagstaff without stopping again? Sorry. First we had to check out an Indian trading post at the Arizona/New Mexico border. This place was typical of every other we'd passed, with some gimmick to get you to stop in. Theirs was a gift shop in the shape of a giant tepee. The prices were a bit high, Roni reported. I figure now that when I see a sign offering merchandise "at reservation prices" it means the prices will be a couple bucks higher than you would pay if you weren't a gullible tourist. The trading posts at the border were set against an awe-inspiring backdrop of a red-rock cliff. We took some photos of it before moving on.

Once more we didn't get far. The trading post signs virtually scream at you from every exit. And just like the squeaky wheel that gets the grease, if you scream loud enough eventually someone will listen. So we found ourselves at yet another gift shop. This time it was a place called Chee's Rock Shop. The place offered souvenir items on one side and collectible rocks and minerals on the other. We actually stopped in for Ben, our resident rockhound. The shop has a little area out back where customers can pick through hunks of colored glass and petrified wood and buy it by the pound. Ben asked the Indian at the counter if he could go out back and look at the rocks, to which the man replied that if Ben wasn't back in an hour he'd send out the search party. No need, because Ben had Mom and Dad. We helped him pick out some specimens to take home and then were on the road once more. It was after 5:30 and we were 150 miles away from Flagstaff. Darkness would be falling in an hour or so. So we did the only logical thing we could do: we found other places to stop.

Roni was taking tons of pictures through the bug-splattered windshield, so I pulled over to splash some Windex on the glass and clean up her view. Naturally, no sooner had I done that than the raindrops started falling. We had a series of very brief showers as the day wore on, most lasting no more than 10 seconds. We have been so lucky on weather. The sunset was spectacular through all the storm clouds, casting down filtered rays of golden light. I was hauling butt now, pushing the car to 75 mph and a bit over at times to cover as much ground as possible before night took hold. The speed limit along I-40 through the Painted Desert is 75 mph, but few drivers heed it. The other reason I wanted to cover some ground in as little time as possible was because we were coming up on Winslow, Ariz., which was made famous by the Eagles song "Take It Easy" more than 30 years ago. In the song there is a lyric that goes: "Well I'm standin' on the corner in Winslow, Arizona/such a fine sight to see/it's a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford/slowin' down to take a look at me..." Winslow, being the tourist-savvy place it is, erected a monument to the famous lyrics in its downtown on Second Street. I'd heard about it a couple of years ago, and Roni had read about it in one of her tour books. The only way to see it would be if we reached the spot before darkness set in.

As luck would have it we reached town just minutes before 6:30 and the departure of the last rays of sunshine. We had enough time to snap a few photos of us in front of the monument and tour one of the two gift shops that sit on the corners opposite the park. I spent too much for a postcard of the scene (99 cents for what would have been a quarter anywhere else) and that was all the time we had. Now all there was to do was make the remaining 50 miles to Flagstaff in the dark. I hate driving on unfamiliar roads in the dark, especially when being pursued by big-rigs at 80 mph. We got delayed by road work about 40 miles from Flagstaff, then spent the rest of those miles jockeying for lanes with the trucks and faster passenger cars. I was relieved to be off the freeway when we finally reached the exit for our hotel. We had a free room waiting for us (#129) at the Quality Inn on Lucky Lane, thanks to the Choice Privileges Rewards program. We accumulated enough points from last year's trip to get three free rooms this trip. We've now used two of the freebies.

We were all pretty exhausted and not all too sure what we wanted to do for dinner, so we wound up ordering a pizza from Pizza Hut. I'm going to have to diet for a month to lose the excess pounds I've added on with all the fattening food I've eaten this vacation.