It was about early afternoon on Wednesday by the time we'd made it through Tucumcari. Daylight threatened scarcity, but our day of New Mexico autombilia still had one more stop to go- Santa Rosa, specifically the Route 66 Auto Museum. Small Child needed to get out and stretch her legs a bit, so we let her wander the mostly-empty parking lot.
I'd seen this Edsel-loader before, but didn't realize it called here home. The other classics in this lineup were equally interesting.
Little VCH wandered off behind the museum, and found a few other treasures stashed away for someday. This was her favorite, of course.
Wife needed to visit the comfort facilities of the museum, which allowed me some time to explain the history and significance of Chrysler's Hemi engine to my daughter.
No kitschy small American town would be complete without its own unique examples of early and mid-century signage, naturally, and Santa Rosa is no exception.
Now, like one of the old "choose your adventure" books, our path bifurcated, and a route needed to be chosen. The old 66 alignment shot up what is now US-84 ntowards Las Vegas (New Mexico, not Nevada) and then over to Santa Fe and back down to Albuquerque (yes, I spelled that without the aid of spell checker). The later 66 route simply continued west from Santa Rosa along what is now I-40 to the Buquerque. The earlier route was about an hour more driving, but seemed more scenic, so up US-87 we went, Mrs. VCH still at the wheel. Just south of Las Vegas, I-25 took off west.
A few miles shy of Santa Fe, we exited 25 and took a leisurely drive through Santa Fe, stopping along the river park for Small Child to stretch her legs again. As it should have become obvious by now, we determined that these little micro-stops every few hours, interspersed with in-car naps, kept her reasonably good natured and allowed us to make as good a time as possible. And, frankly, the shorter stints let us stay hydrated (owing to more opportunities to relive the natural by-products of good hydration) and prevent various appendages from loosing circulation.
Santa Fe architecture is stylistically very consistent. This statement is not mean to detract at all from it's aesthetic value. Unfortunately we somehow managed to drive through the entire area without taking one picture. I guess you can google it to see what it looks like. Or, better yet, go there.
Since I-25 doesn't have too much in the way of a daughter road between Santa Fe and Algodones, we followed it south until NW-313 began, at which point the interstate was once again put aside in favor of something more closely resembling a motoring adventure in the pre-Eisenhower years. And soon, we were in Albuquerque.
The old road is well-marked through quirky Albuquerque, and heads out of town adorned with these markers. Being twilight at this point, the markers even illuminated.
With all the best intentions, we stuck with Route 66 as it frontaged I-40 west of Albuquerque, but missed our last opportunity to get on I-40 before 66 dead ended. We ended up behind a prison bus, which quite possibly freaked out the bus driver slightly as we only U-turned when we'd reached the point where the bus turned left to head towards some correctional facility. Oops. Back on I-40, Lucy the Jimmy charged west yet again. We were determined to get as far as possible, so the last leg of the trip into Phoenix on Thursday wouldn't have to be too painful. The New Mexico sun draped across the horizon.
We stopped in Grants for gas, and to sooth the littlest member of our tribe. Business 40 bypasses the interstate for a few miles here, which gave us a scenic tour of Grants and let us assess the situation a little. While a number of worthy-looking motels lured us with their neon, the town of Gallup seemed to be only another hop down the road. So we went for it. I leaned on Lucy, and the four-point-three engine put mass quantities of blacktop behind us.
The strip in Gallup, New Mexico was a sight to behold, surpassing even Tucumcari for sheer quantities of neon and glitz. And being fully dark by now, the light show was at it's prime. After cruising up and down the strip a couple of times, and stopping at a gas station to check online reviews of a few places, we made the decision. We'd spend the last night on the road at the El Rancho.
This place was a palace in the desert. Dark wood and white painted walls, heavy dark furniture, deceased animal busts, and a triple wagon wheel chandelier created a real lodge-type atmosphere in the lobby.
A 20 foot Christmas tree, lit with red chili pepper lights, tickled the ceiling.
Rooms were named after the famous celebrities who had stayed there. We had room 230- Robert Taylor. The room itself was quite large, with multiple closets and a neat little sitting area (in which I typed Tuesday's update). The bathroom was quite small, but clean, and it's really nice to find older places like this with character that are well-preserved and not scary to spend the night in. Much, much of an improvement over the previous night in Amarillo; in fact, the nicest lodging we found along our trip.
After checking in and bringing our belongings inside, we set out in search of food- Mexican, always a safe choice. Neon signs illuminated the short walk across the street to the restaurant, and like the Northern Star, guided us back to the El Rancho afterwards for the night.
