END OF THE LINE - THE GRAND ADVENTURE DAY EIGHT

Resigned to the fact that this was the last day of of our grand adventure on Route 66 we set our sites on a day of fun. Still, thoughts of the multitude of projects and chores that awaited us upon our return - organization of trip photos, preparing photos for sale as stock photos and prints, a BBC interview, the garden, mom, the office, and finalization of a contract for a new book, a Route 66 encyclopedia and atlas - began weighing heavily with the passing of every mile.
The day began with our morning road trip tradition of oatmeal and coffee in the room before raiding the continental breakfast for fruit. As it was only a few minutes after 6:00 we were the only ones in the entire lobby and breakfast room. How fitting in light of the fact we had spent most of the trip seeking ghost towns, lost highways, and empty places.

The traffic on I-40 in Albuquerque at that early hour was light and soon we were free of the confines of the city with the valley of the Rio Grande fast fading from view in the mirror. At exit 117 we again abandoned the modern era and turned to Route 66 in an effort to prolong the last day of the grand adventure as well to seek out the places missed on the first leg of the trip when we were battling gale force winds.
It was a pleasant morning with cool temperatures and just enough clouds to add shadows, depth and color to the beautiful landscapes that embraced the old ribbon of asphalt. In spite of the situation that sparked the rush home, there was reluctance made manifest in speeds that dropped to 45 miles per hour as we leisurely cruised Route 66. Time and again we were compelled to stop and savor the silence in places such as San Fidel and Cubero.

After a brief pit stop in Grants for gas and coffee we were on the road again. However, this time we were determined to follow Route 66 through Gallup and all the way to Lupton, Arizona.
All to quickly our flirtation with the past drew to a close as we stopped at the old trading post in the shadow of a towering wall of stone just across the Arizona line, took a deep breath, and turned to I-40 in an effort to make time. Even though the clock was ticking and the pressure was on, we forced ourselves to slow the pace as often as possible with excuses such as the need to see what was new in Joseph City or how the legendary Jack Rabbit Trading Post was doing.

You might say we were procrastinating. Still, in spite of our best efforts the miles rolled by and as a last hurrah we set our sites on the ruins at Two Guns.
I am always amazed by how places like Two Guns can capture the imagination and compel people to travel thousands of miles, brave nails and angry caretakers, heat, snakes, and other unpleasantries to visit the forlorn ruins merely because of its association with legendary Route 66. What an amazing highway!
The visit to Two Guns was relatively uneventful. The apocalyptic scene of ruins amongst a stunning landscape of stone and the silence accentuated by the mournful tune played by the wind as it danced through the supports of the old bridge fit our somber mood quiet well.
On I-40 we zipped along wondering how many of those on the road today had any idea of what they were missing or what had been sacrificed to create the super slab where it was possible to motor east or west for thousands of miles, see nothing, and meet no one. A journey on Route 66 is sure to inspire reflection.
Even the child like sadness that comes from the realization the summer vacation is rapidly coming to an end couldn't dampen our spirits as one of our favorite stops was just ahead. To celebrate the blessing that was an uninterrupted week of adventure on America's most famous highway with my dearest friend, we stopped in Williams at the Pine Country Restaurant for a late lunch.
Then it was I-40 and a long uninspiring drive home accentuated by discussions on the next grand adventure. The Senator Highway to Crown King?

THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES - DAY EIGHT

Our plan of being on the road before the sun cleared the eastern horizon fell a bit short. We pinned this on a fitful nights sleep punctuated by skunks at the window, hallway noise, and an odd, intermittent whine from outside.
Still, we managed to have breakfast, showers, and loading out of the way by 7:00 and by 7:30 Clinton was fading fast in the rear view mirror. To make up for lost time we sucked it up, jumped on I-40, and set the cruise control.

The first break of the day came at Shamrock in Texas. We reveled in the surprising cool morning, explored the restored Magnolia station near the market, and topped off the tank ($2.85 per gallon).
An itch on my calf ignored that morning was now a burning, rapidly swelling, angry red circle. Calamine lotion from the first aid kit held the itch at bay and the adventure of being on the road served as enough distraction that I was able to ignore the dull ache.
The culprit remains unknown but my leg, more than a week later still, has a faint red circle the size of a silver dollar. Another odd souvenir is the loss of the hair from that side of my calf! 
We rolled west on Route 66 to McLean, jumped on I-40, and then turned south at exit 124. We had opted to skip a visit to Jericho on the first leg as a result of rains and storms. I was very interested in the legendary Jericho Gap but even with the Jeep we were not looking to experience it at its most infamous.

As it turned out we still got a taste of the muddy gumbo that made Jericho famous even though on our visit the morning was sunny and warm. The road, county road B, had yet to dry from a recent rain and as a result we left deep ruts as we drove to the haunting ruins of Jericho.
An electric fence separated the road from the primary ruins but there were others on the south side that we explored. We also used the opportunity for a long walk through the lush Texas countryside along the old road.

Jericho is worth a visit. However, use some common sense as it would be very easy to get in to trouble if the road was muddy, especially with a vehicle designed for pavement rather than mud slinging.
Again, I tried calling "Croc" Lile when we made Amarillo. Again, I received the same cryptic recorded message about network problems.
We picked up Route 66 at exit 57, Bushland, made a pit stop in Vega, and paid for that privilege by topping off the tank ($2.90). We shared the pump island with a riding lawn mower and some folks from Rhode Island that were lost, lost, lost as the thought they were in Oklahoma having followed U.S. 54 into the Panhandle of that state from Kansas!

At the New Mexico state line the first glimmer of sadness tinged our adventure with the realization that our delightful journey was fast coming to an end. To combat that feeling we again turned to Route 66 at San Jon.
It was on this leg of Route 66 that my reflections turned to the beauty of the southwest. On occasion we have discussed relocating to Alaska or Montana and on this trip talked about how nice it would be to have a place like Spencer.
When we stopped at this old station west of San Jon, and walked the rutted road hand in hand, our love for this raw and wild land was felt with such intensity that without a word we knew this was our home. This is where we belong. This is where our heart is.
Our next breather came with a pit stop in Moriarty. For reasons unknown I have always felt comfortable here even though my associations with the town have most always been in the context of breakdowns.
The remainder of the days drive, but not the day, was relatively uneventful as our destination was Albuquerque. The first adventure of the evening was arrival in Albuquerque on Friday evening at 5:00. Please feel free to use your imagination here.
There is a cluster of motels at Coors Road just off I-40 in Albuquerque that I can recommend for a good nights rest at a central location. In particular we choose the Quality Inn, under sixty dollars including tax.
The rooms are clean and spacious. The staff is friendly. The location is perfect - close to I-40 if your in hurry and don't want to battle the street traffic, close to Old Town and other sites if your visiting.
After checking in and unloading the Jeep we set out for some exploration and a celebratory dinner as this would be our last night on the road. We drove south on Coors Road to Central  (Route 66), and turned east.
It was nice to see the El Vado was still with us even though its fate remains uncertain. The brightly lit, southwestern styled arch commemorating Route 66, filled me with ideas for Kingman, and Old Town was still a delightful oasis.
We settled on the Village Inn near the motel for dinner. It seemed to be a haven for local families and we have always found the food to be excellent at a reasonable price.
As is our custom, over dinner on our last day on the road, we reflected on the trip, laid plans for the final day, and began building dreams for the next grand adventure.

THE DETOUR - DAY SIX OF THE ROUTE 66 ADVENTURE

Even with part of the evening spent at the laundromat our stay in Springfield was quite pleasant and restful. In large part this was due to the gentle rains that serenaded us through the night and the attention to detail, such as an overstuffed recliner in our room, at the best Western Route 66 Rail Haven motel.
The only damper on the evening was an incident on the home front that necessitated a faster return trip. So we plotted a course that would combine speed and as much Route 66 exploration as possible.
Counted among the many lessons learned from traveling over the years is the importance of flexibility. This particular trip had already been cancelled twice and the secondary plan of a return through Kansas to catch the pre 1937 alignment of Route 66 in New Mexico had fallen by the wayside weeks before our departure.
So, early on day six, after our simple breakfast of oatmeal, juice, coffee, in the room, and fruit from the continental breakfast, we loaded the trusty Jeep, set out for the mornings book signing at Borders, and topped of the tank so we could make a speedy exit.
From its inception, I had hoped this trip would be an opportunity to experience Route 66 as a series of time capsules and our first stop of the morning fit that bill to a "T". I pulled into a little no name station and was immediately greeted by a smiling attendant who asked, "Fill 'er up, mister." A real live attendant who filled the tank, who asked if I wanted the oil checked, and who cleaned the windshield and the gas was only $2.45 per gallon, the lowest price found on the entire trip!
As it turned out there were two Borders stores. The first store was the wrong one but I was still able to close a deal with the manager in regards to ordering Ghost Towns of the Southwest.
The second store, the correct one, offers a clear example of why the subtitle of this blog pertains to the adventures of a starving artist. Maurie Salenger, the marketing director, had made arrangements with the store and had been informed that two cases of books were being ordered fort he special display of signed copies.
The clerk at the front counter, Steve, was most professional and knowledgeable. Still, he was unaware that I was to sign books for the display. In fact he didn't know where the books were.
So, he checked with the assistant manager. Yes, the computer showed the books as being in inventory. No, they did not know where they were. So, he called the manager, Gary, at home.
Well, we found half the books which were signed for the display. I then left some promotional material such as post cards and we rolled west on U.S. 60 with our eyes on Afton in the hope of catching Laurel at Afton Station.
It was a warm and muggy morning with a promise of afternoon rain hanging in the air. Still, it was a pleasant drive filled with constant reminders of why I have always enjoyed Missouri and roadside stands offering fresh strawberries.
As it turned out, on our second visit to Afton Station we hit the jackpot. Laurel Kane, the ever cheerful proprietress, Ron "the tatooman", and Ron McCoy were all present as were a steady string of visitors.

I made it a special point to reexamine the towering Packard sign at Afton Station. In Kingman we have been working to finalize plans for the restoration of a similar sign and return it the front of the Old Trails Garage where it can again cast its gentle neon glow on Route 66 just as it did in 1930.
We could have stayed all day but we had miles to make. So, we bid adios to the Afton Station gang, continued west on U.S. 60/Route 66, and turned south on U.S. 69 at Vinita.
With the southward turn the plans for exploring Depew and catching up with Jerry McClanahan in Chandler went south as well. Never one for crying over spilled milk we focused on the task at hand, finding some place unique for lunch. In tiny little Chouteau we found that in spades.
An Amish store promoting cheese and salami lured us from the highway but it was an older barn looking building with a sign that read, "Old Dutch Restaurant & Buffet" the drew us out of the climate controlled cocoon of the Jeep. My wife summed it quite well, it was as though we had crashed a family reunion and helped ourselves to the potato salad.
The "restaurant" apparently was for evening meals. The buffet consisting of staple and basic farm foods - mashed potatoes, potato salad, fresh green salad, fired chicken, etc. was for dinner. The atmosphere was dusty, musty, and old, with locals discussing the exploits of cousins and farm prices.
It was in the deserts and canned goods for sale that the place really shone. row upon row and shelf upon shelf of fresh cobblers and pies, canned cinnamon pears and watermelon rind, fresh salsa with peaches and garlic, were a gastronomic delightful for this old farm boy. One whiff, one bite and I was instantly transported to the front porch of my Aunt Violet's house on Sand Mountain, Alabama, where we  often ended a day on the farm by savoring a piece of fresh apple pie with home made ice cream as we sat on the front porch catching an evening breeze perfumed with fresh mown hay and honeysuckle.  
We caught up with I-40, but missed our Route 66 adventure, and found temporary solace in sections of U.S. 266. The interstate provided us with speedy passage through Oklahoma City and quick access to Route 66 at Yukon.
Unsure of where we would end the day, a stop was made at a small supermarket that might have been a set for a grade "B" movie about small town America as a seedy, tarnished, backwater. The cashier was dressed in tattered clothes. The floor tiles were well worn. The parking lot was littered with battered trucks and well worn sedans.
Still, the folks were friendly and we soon had our supplies for the evening and morning; muffins, apples, yogurt, whole wheat sandwich thins, lunch meat, fresh tomatoes, a bag of salad, and a case of bottled water. At check out we were informed the store was out of bags so with a smile on our face, suppressed laughter in our throat, and arm loads of food stuffs we wandered out to the Jeep and continued our westward trek alternating between Route 66 and I-40.
The long shadows heralded a fast approaching sunset as we rolled into Clinton. This coupled with tired eyes and the goal of a very early start for day seven, led us to seek shelter for the night.
This leads me to the only lodging of the trip that I can't really recommend unless one is really left with few options. The sign at the Econo Lodge Inn & Suites on Neptune drive proclaimed a recent remodel and the lobby, though a bit musty, gave every indication that this was the case.
Then the illusion was shattered. As per direction, we entered the west side door, stepped down five steps, followed the hall past the customer laundry, found our room, turned the key, and discovered that the air conditioner had been left on very a very long time. The room was an icy, musty meat locker.
After a quick perusal, and turning of the air conditioner, we decided we could suck it up for one night rather than face the hassle of complaining, trying to get our $49.99 refunded. and seeking another motel. So we settled in for the night and prepared our light supper as we watched the weather report for the following day.
I can say that after the laundry room was shut down things were surprisingly quiet, even relaxing. And then the skunks paid a visit to the garden that shaded our ground level window.
The best was yet to come but the excitement about day seven of our adventure and the anticipation of what we might discover on the road ahead was the incentive needed for weathering the ordeal. Besides, good or bad we were on a road trip and road trips are about making memories.

DAY FIVE - THE ROUTE 66 ADVENTURE ON THE GHOST TOWN TRAIL IN MISSOURI

A good nights rest and eager anticipation resulted in a very early departure from Bristow, Oklahoma - 7:00 AM. After exploring the old section of town a bit we stopped at the Tractor Supply Store for a couple of items and braced ourselves for the traffic of Tulsa.
To fortify ourselves for the battle ahead we stopped in Sapulpa at the Subway across the street from a massive buffalo sculpture for a mid morning brunch. On this trip we had discovered the new Subway breakfast sandwich and found them to be a near perfect mid morning pick me up, especially at $2.50, including coffee.
In our travels we have also learned that the Subway shops in the heart of communities are often the modern incarnation of the old cafe where the locals gather for coffee. Sapulpa was no exception and we had a delightful conversation about area history with the mother and daughter team behind the counter whose family had lived in the area for more than a century.
The original game plan was to sail around Tulsa by taking I-75 north and then US 244 east. The carefully planned escape route was quickly abandoned courtesy of road construction, subsequent detours, and other unexpected road issues (missed turns, etc.) that resulted in us driving through the heart of the city.
We found Tulsa to be a treasure box in regards to vintage urban architectural styles. We also found it to be little different than Phoenix, Albuquerque, or Burbank in regards to congestion and maddening traffic.
At Catoosa we gratefully resumed our Route 66 odyssey with eager anticipation as Claremore with its many links to Will Rogers, and Afton Station were just ahead. An hour of exploration in Claremore left us wanting more and so we added this to our of places that warranted further exploration on the return trip.

Afton, in particular Afton Station, was destination one for the day. Laurel was such a help in regards to the latest book, Ghost Towns of Route 66, I wanted to say thank you in person and express my appreciation by giving her some prints of scenes along Route 66 in Arizona.
Laurel was out for the day but we were undaunted as our plans called for a stop on the return leg. Still, we explored the station and all its hidden corners as well as Afton itself. 

Initially I had excluded this town from consideration as the the new book was about ghost towns and Afton still has a population numbered in the hundreds. However, after exploring the town and talking with Laurel it was apparent that the town may not qualify as a ghost town in the traditional sense but when viewed from the context of what once was it is apparent that this old town is less than a shadow of its former glory.
Vintage automobiles are the passion that first inspired me to write. The collection of cars at Afton Station grabbed my attention from the moment I stepped into the garage and saw the warm glow of the towering Packard sign. Automobile built by this legendary manufacturer may be the centerpiece of the collection but there were two cars in particular that really quickened the pulse. One, a maroon Studebaker coupe, is a vehicle that I have dreamed of owning at least since the days of childhood when laying on the backseat and watching the girders of bridges and their shadows (including the Chain of Rocks Bridge) through that wrap around rear window was a source of amusement on long trips. 
The second vehicle to snag my attention was an ultra rare Hupmobile sedan. This particular vehicle, and its near twin the Graham Hollywood, utilized the body dies of the classic Cord 810/812 and was the swan song for both companies. As I recall, production was less than 200 vehicles.

Packard built automobiles were pure class in every detail. Nowhere is this more evident than in the quality found in the luxurious prewar models. As evidence consider this striking mascot/hood ornament on a yellow coupe in Afton Station.
If you have the remotest interest in vintage automobiles Afton Station has to be added to the list of places to see on your travels. Moreover, if you want to understand what fuels the passions and fascination with Route 66, you only have to spend an hour or so at Afton Station.
Curiosity was the primary motivation for the next destination on our journey of exploration as secret tourists on Route 66. The nine foot wide highway near Narcissa will leave you wondering how in the world this could have made sense to anyone.  

This fascinating historical artifact also provided us a pleasant opportunity to drive the back country of Oklahoma without the need to worry about holding up traffic as we gawked. Our only regret here was that it was to early for a picnic and that we had planned on dinner in either Baxter Springs or Riverton.
Miami and Commerce were filled with a myriad of time capsules that encourage one to park, walk the streets, and to peek into windows. Rating very high on my list of attractions were the Coleman Theater and Waylan's Ku Ku Burger.
We deviated from Route 66 before Quapaw as I was curious about Picher, the ghost town/slash toxic wasteland near the Kansas border. I have been following the tale of the towns tragic plight for years and wanted to see it for myself.
Our next stop was a disappointment in the sense of concern about what the future may hold. For dinner we had decided to try the Cafe on the Route in Baxter Springs. As always the food was a step above average but there was the sense that something was off.
The floors were not clean. In fact there was food under the table next to us that was there when we came in and was there when we left. There was indication the bathroom had not been cleaned for a day or two. The table was sticky. When we went to pay our bill the cashier never stopped talking on her cell phone and instead acted as though we were a distraction to a very important conversation. It is things such as this that can break a business and I would hate to see this landmark fall by the wayside.

North of Baxter Springs may be one of the most photographed sites anywhere on Route 66. This stunning bridge amidst a scene of bucolic tranquility appears almost mythical to the modern eye. There is something about the bridge and the setting that instantly inspires reflection about bygone days on on legendary 66 and other American highways.
For me the reflective mood is fueled by fond memories. It was the summer of 1964 and my dad had stopped at a shady spot in sight of this bridge to replace a bald tire with the spare that had the faintest hint of tread.
Lured by the sound of the stream and invigorated by the freedom of being unleashed from the confines of the old blue Ford I set forth to explore under the watchful gaze of my older sister. Tossing rocks from the shore quickly gave way to wading which in turn led to immersion, courtesy of the wet rocks.
The folks were not overly happy with my adventure.

What drive across Kansas on Route 66 today would be complete without a visit with Melba at 4 Women on the Route? To say she exudes enthusiasm about her town, the station, and Route 66, would be akin to saying winter is cold in Duluth. With folks like this to keep the road alive there is little doubt fascination with the double six will continue for years to come.
One of the most anticipated parts of our adventure was southern Missouri. I have more than fifty years of memories associated with this section of Route 66 and have long awaited the opportunity to introduce my dearest friend to the beauty and friendly people found here.
We found Joplin to be an interesting blend of the old and new woven into a tattered tapestry of color. However, it was the ghost town trail through Carthage and Avilla, with its charming circa 1915 post office, to Springfield that really captured our imagination.

Encapsulating the essence of this section of Route 66 would have to be Spencer and Gay Parita. Driving the little spur through Spencer reawakened my desire to own a bone stock 1931 Model A Ford pick up truck.
To drive this road is to experience time travel. To drive this road in a Model A would be a complete immersion into a world long past.
Springfield was our destination as as it was to a business/slash vacation stop I had made reservations in advance to ensure we had a restful stay. This leads to another lodging recommendation - the Best Western Route 66 Rail Haven.
I had selected this motel for its reputation for cleanliness and proximity to the stores scheduled for book signings the next day. As an added bonus I discovered it was a vintage property recently listed to the register of historic places with a very reasonable price, $54.00 plus tax with a continental breakfast.
Our room was small but in part this was due to the furnishings that included a large bed and a massive recliner! For a delightful blending of the old and new, as well as cleanliness and price, this motel rates at the top of our list.
We ended the exciting, dramatic day in a rather undramatic, boring way - laundry at a nearby laundromat. A late dinner at Jimmy Johns Gourmet Sandwiches followed by a serenade of soft, gentle rain and pleasant nights sleep rounded out a truly wonderful day on legendary Route 66.

ROUTE 66 ADVENTURE - DAY FOUR

Day three flowed into day four of the grand adventure seamlessly. After exploring the ghostly streets of McLean the charming community of Shamrock seemed like a metropolis.

The heavy, dark clouds threatened to put a damper on the evening when we pulled up in front of the iconic Udrop Cafe forever immortalized in the animated classic film, Cars. We snapped a couple of quick photos as intermittent rain drops began pounding the Jeep like a drum
The weather and long day were beginning to take their toll and so soon we turned our attentions to the search for lodging and food. This also provided an excuse for cruising the streets and tagging locations for further exploration.
Apparently the threat of storms had led many to seek shelter for the evening in Shamrock. So, time and again we found there was no room at the inn and as a result when a vacancy was found at the Best Western Shamrock Inn there was no haggling on my part even though this turned out to be the most expensive evening of the entire trip, $85.00.
In the grand scheme of things this resulted in but one problem - throwing our budget off track. To compensate we used the added expense as an excuse to simply retire to the room for a light supper and some much needed relaxation.
As it turned out this decision was quite fortuitous. Our search for a grocery store led us to the restored Magnolia Gas station downtown and a preWalmart era locally owned grocery where we picked up some yogurt and sandwich making items. This little store with its hometown feel and friendly staff proved to be the final piece and we chalked Shamrock up as one of our favorite places.
The evening was a long one. Naps rather than sleep interrupted by tornado warnings, pounding rains, and deafening thunder left us a bit punchy and tired for the start of day four. Still, being on the road again and a stop at lonely little Texola soon banished the fatigue just as a spring shower washes the streets clean.
Under pewter skies we strolled the quiet streets and gave the imagination free reign.
Jack Rittenhouse noted in 1946 that Texola, "...a sun baked small town has an old section of stores which truly savor of pioneer days."
Even with a small remnant population there can be little doubt Texola is for all intents and purposes a ghost town with ample opportunity for the photographer.

After three days of fighting winds and storms the cool temperatures and pleasant breezes inspired us to slow the pace and follow Route 66 through Erick, Hext, Sayre, Elk City, and Canute. In Foss the long suppressed urge to explore was given free reign and we found a quiet place under a tall tree to park the Jeep.
As with Texola, Foss is not a ghost town in the traditional sense but there are still a wide array of vestiges that give indication the little town was once more than a wide spot in the road.

One empty old station nestled in the brush had a restroom paneled with the old style aluminum press sheets used by newspapers. The print was faded to the point of being almost unreadable but on one was the date 1965.
We deviated from Route 66 after learning that there was a small herd of buffalo on a farm near Arapaho. For weeks and countless miles I had been teasing my wife that this trip could only be deemed a success if we saw real, live free roaming buffalo.

In Clinton we stopped at the Route 66 Museum, a must see attraction that will require a minimum of one hour to get the most out of your visit. Initially we were torn betweenn the museum in Elk City and the one in Clinton as our schedule prohibited two lengthy stops. A flip of a coin helped make the decision an easy one. 

One of the primary restrictions on our time for day four was the desire to explore the area of Bridgeport and Geary. Having read about the history and scandal of the bridge at Bridgeport, and its replacement to the south on the Canadian River in Jim Ross's book, had really piqued my interest. We were not disappointed. What a fascinating area filled with a wide array of attractions, sites, and, best of all, quiet places for a picnic.
At Yukon we closed our eyes, sucked it up, and hit the interstate to expedite our drive through Oklahoma City. See, I have a very low tolerance for miles of urban traffic punctuated with stop and go. As this was to a relaxing trip it seemed a very logical decision.

To celebrate our survival of the gauntlet we stopped in Arcadia at Pops. We had hoped to also explore the round barn but it had closed at 5:00 PM, about twenty minutes previous to our arrival.
We sampled an Australian ginger ale and picked up a six pack of various types of soda as a souvenir for our son. My son has an odd sense of humor that mirrors mine and as a result how could we resist buying soda with names like Kitty Piddle and Rat Bastard?

As a result of the late hour we decided to skip  calling Jerry McClanahan or dropping in unexpectedly. Instead we added this as well as a stop at the Rock Cafe to the list of to do items for the return trip.
We found Chandler and Stroud to be entrancing little communities that we could easily call home and so we mentally added them to the list of towns that had enamored us on this trip. The only criticism we can offer is they are not surrounded by desert!
One of the more intriguing stops on this portion of our trip was Depew. As the sun was fast setting in the west we earmarked this little community for further exploration, perhaps on the return trip.
The day drew to a close with us cruising through Bristow. This leads to a lodging recommendation. The Carolyn Inn, at the east end of town near the turnpike entrance, was a pleasant surprise.
The property is old but clean. The staff was very friendly. The aamenities were basic but the cost, $60.00 including tax, was quite acceptable.
As with every day of the trip this one ended with eager anticipation about the day to come. For day five the schedule included Afton Station, Kansas, exploration of the ghost town trail in Missouri, and a pleasant evening in Springfield.

ROUTE 66 ADVENTURE - DAY THREE

There was the faintest hint of dawn in the sky when I rolled from bed on day three of our grand adventure on Route 66. The morning was deceptively calm but we were prepared for another day of strong winds as we rolled east onto the plains of Texas thanks to the Weather Channel.
As we planning a day of backroad adventure in spite of the winds I had topped the tank off the night before ($.2.87). Now all that was needed before taking to the road again was topping off our tank and loading the Jeep.
I used the coffee maker to heat water for some instant oatmeal to go with the muffins purchased in Holbrook and then made coffee. This was followed with some fresh fruit and yogurt at the complimentary continental breakfast.

As it rained for most of the night we decided that discretion was the better part of valor, even with the Jeep, and skipped the Cuervo cut off. Instead we followed I-4- to exit 291 and began the days adventure with the exploration of Cuervo.
Route 66 and the trappings from that highways glory days are found on the north side of the interstate. However, the most fascinating remnants, those that predate the highway by decades, are found on the south side of I-40.

Long before we had satisfied our curiosity the winds were again howling and we were on the road again. The old highway between exit 291 and 321 is a stunning string of abandoned businesses, ruins, and lonely old homes that stand in mute testimony to more than a century of history.
In Tucumcari we stopped at the legendary Blue Swallow to pay a visit to Bill who once was the used car manager for the parent company that I work for in Kingman! After a pleasant visit and some photos I gave him a few of the large 11x14 inch prints of scenes in Hackberry and Route 66 on the eastern slope of the Black Mountains and saddled up for San Jon, another orphan of the double six that clings to life with its busy service centers at exit 356.

The drive was a pleasant one but I must confess my patience with the incessant wind was wearing quite thin. This was our third day on the road and we had yet had the opportunity for a leisurely picnic or long stroll without a face filled with sand.
As my wife derives a great deal of pleasure from cruising the back roads in the Jeep we changed seats on the east end of San Jon where the pavement gives way to rutted gravel and headed east in search of the tattered remnants of Endee. What a delightful drive!

Prairie dogs raced us across the old bridges, the views were wonderful, and vestiges from the railroad that gave rise to the town in 1902 begged us to explore. Our complaint was but one, we fond an ideal place for a picnic under a grove of trees across the road from the ghostly remnants of Endee but the winds had increased in velocity!
Undaunted, we pressed on and soon the rutted gravel track gave way to four lanes of cracked, empty pavement and we rolled into the eerily quiet village of Glenrio. I can' be sure but in the back of my mind there is a shadowy memory of a stop here (1963?) for gas, a cold soda, and a flat repair.

We climbed from the Jeep, took a few photos, and watched sand blow down the old highway that was once served as a stream bed for an endless flotilla of Buicks, Edsels, Fords, Hudsons, and Studebakers. Jack Rittenhouse, in his now classic A Guide Book To Highway 66 published in 1946 noted, Endee had a population of 110 and a "business district" that included a gas station, small garage, grocery and a handful of cabins as well as a school. Glenrio had a store and gas station and was the smaller of the two communities.
Our return to I-40 and the modern era was a rude awakening after miles of savoring the solitude, the empty places, and the land of shattered dreams. As solace we set our sights on the legendary Midpoint Cafe in Adrian.

I never tire of this wonderful time capsule from the pregeneric world. We basked in the atmosphere of small town friendliness as we enjoyed coffee, a grill cheese sandwich, and a piece of peanut butter/chocolate pie.
We drew our visit out for more than an hour before resigning ourselves to the need to bid adios to this little corner of heaven for the weary road warrior. The disappointment of knowing that soon we would again be returning to the sterile world of the interstate highway was tempered with a stop in Vega.

The wide array of treasures and hidden gems found here belies the towns size. To be counted among these are the refurbished Magnolia Station that dates to the 1920s on an older alignment of the highway near the courthouse.
Our on again off again trip had made it difficult to coordinate a number of stops. On more than one occasion this led to missed opportunities. 
In Amarillo the casualty was Bob Lile. I have been corresponding with Bob for some time and his gallery at the Sunset Gallery is the official point of sale for our limited edition prints.
Still, we have never met and I was eagerly anticipating a visit. We also missed Becky Ransom at the Big Texan. So, I stopped at a couple of book stores to sign inventory and then we took to the road again.
We found Conway to be rather pleasant, what there was of it, and in Groom, near the old station at the intersection, we discussed a trip to Jericho. The decision was made for us when the sky opened and buckets of rain poured upon us from ominous black clouds.

With Jericho scratched from our list until the return trip we turned to Alanreed and McClean. The rain had stopped but the sky was still grey when we parked in Alanreed and the air was heavy with the smell of fresh mowed grass.
In our very loose game plan day three was to end at the Cactus Motel in McLean. As we also planned on stocking up at a supermarket we shelved those plans and instead toured the empty streets and decided to call it a day in Shamrock.

I have fond memories of McLean and as a result its current state that gives the impression it is the set for a post apocalyptic movie thriller made me feel rather uneasy. In 1969 when we stopped here to discuss the purchase of a windmill from a shop east of town that sold and repaired them, this town had a healthy pulse and a charm that is difficult to describe. Now ...
Day four of our adventure actually began with the end of day three. But that is a story for another day.