The Suburban caresses each dip as the stomach reacts. The winds continue to blow the Chevy from side to side, yet the steering is as smooth as silk. Moments later, a turn is made into a place where people call home for all of eternity. As Jerry Swagerty pulls up to Clayton Memorial Cemetery, thoughts of Halloween past crops up. The door closes and there we are: in front of a man who literally lost his mind, Thomas Edward "Black Jack" Ketchum who committed many robberies, but his last one saw him at the end of a rope. Unfortunately, according to Legends of America, the novice hangmen forgot the sandbag they had used to test the rope and the weight of it caused the rope to be as rigid as a wire. As a result, his head was decapitated.
(
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-blackjackketchum.html)
The day began at the Ashmore Inn in Lubbock, Texas at 5:44 A.M. when my eyes deceived me and woke up. Nonetheless, after managing to outgun the wake up call it was time to get into the shower, roll of the assembly line and hit the road. The first 45 miles to Plainview along Interstate 27/US 87 was smooth. As I approached town, the lanes began to become narrow and the speed limit went down from 75 to 65 miles-an-hour. Unfortunately, not knowing where the new lane was, I swerved a bit and had to slow down. As my heart rate slowed, the road cleared and made it to Amarillo without an incident.
The sun made its first appearance as I hit Randall County. After existing onto US 87/287 and onto Buchanan, traffic was stop and go, but thanks to Buddy Holly I did not panic. Moments later, the road began to open up and was time to enter cruise city.
After twisting around the curves, it was time to get off along Texas 354 and head west. The road not used by most often have some spectacular sites and sounds.
40 mile-an-hour gusts along with 29 degrees adds to a chilly moment.
The body warms up as I caress TX 354 through Channing where I turned onto US 385. An hour later, it was time to visit the XIT Museum in the northwest Texas Panhandle town of Dalhart. Before going in, I saw a 1920's Chevrolet Dealership.
The door opened and the smell of rubber overwhelms the nose, spark plugs and fan belts caress the wall. Moments later a gentleman in his early 70's with hands worn by time walks to the cashier. "Hello, what can I do for you?" After explaining the history of the building, I walk out and head down the block to the museum.
The XIT Museum (
http://www.xitmuseum.com/)offers visitors a look at the history of the biggest ranch in Texas;
a view of life in early portion of the 20th Century, including an old gas pump with the classic globe on top.
The time is running short, as I have an appointment in Clayton, so I greet the curator and left. For the next 40 miles I examined US 87, a beautiful road with nothing taller than a grain elevator. The winds caress the tumbleweeds across the two-lane highway as the mid-size truck skates side to side. The hands begin to sweat on the steering wheel as the unknown is planted into the mind. The truck is parked and it is time to enter the Herzstein Historic Museum in Clayton, New Mexico. (
http://herzsteinmuseum.com/)
Upon going up the stairs of the former Methodist Church, where I soaked in a 1950's bathtub: a basketball court Wally Cleaver played on along with pictures and letterman jackets in glass casings. Victoria Baker, director of the museum walks over and asks, "Hello, Gregory, what can I do for you?" After explaining I was conducting some research of the community, she introduced me to Darlene Walker, long time resident who grew up just outside of town. From remembering "Black Sunday," which was when the black blizzard came over the dusty Plains during the Depression and darkened the community, to shopping during the 1950's, it was a pleasant conversation.
A few minutes later Jerry Swagerty, a former lumber store owner, and his wife came by. "What would you like to know?" Jerry asks in a raspy Rooster Cogburn tone. From there he spoke about getting into the lumber and how he enjoyed sitting in the station wagon at the local drive in with his lady.
Over the next several minutes he showed some of the furniture that was built by the WPA, many of which he redid. "They made some real nice furniture (made out of white pine)." We walk out of the museum, "Would you like to see the grave of "Blackjack Ketchum?" "You bet," I replied.
As we drove into the cemetery, I began to wonder, "Should I be glad to get a headache?"
The Suburban caresses each dip as the stomach reacts. The winds continue to blow the Chevy from side to side, yet the steering is as smooth as silk. Moments later, a turn is made into a place where people call home for all of eternity. As Jerry Swagerty pulls up to Clayton Memorial Cemetery, thoughts of Halloween past crops up. The door closes and there we are: in front of a man who literally lost his mind, Thomas Edward "Black Jack" Ketchum who committed many robberies, but his last one saw him at the end of a rope. Unfortunately, according to Legends of America, the novice hangmen forgot the sandbag they had used to test the rope and the weight of it caused the rope to be as rigid as a wire. As a result, his head was decapitated.
(http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-blackjackketchum.html)
The day began at the Ashmore Inn in Lubbock, Texas at 5:44 A.M. when my eyes deceived me and woke up. Nonetheless, after managing to outgun the wake up call it was time to get into the shower, roll of the assembly line and hit the road. The first 45 miles to Plainview along Interstate 27/US 87 was smooth. As I approached town, the lanes began to become narrow and the speed limit went down from 75 to 65 miles-an-hour. Unfortunately, not knowing where the new lane was, I swerved a bit and had to slow down. As my heart rate slowed, the road cleared and made it to Amarillo without an incident.
The sun made its first appearance as I hit Randall County. After existing onto US 87/287 and onto Buchanan, traffic was stop and go, but thanks to Buddy Holly I did not panic. Moments later, the road began to open up and was time to enter cruise city.
After twisting around the curves, it was time to get off along Texas 354 and head west. The road not used by most often have some spectacular sites and sounds.
40 mile-an-hour gusts along with 29 degrees adds to a chilly moment.
The body warms up as I caress TX 354 through Channing where I turned onto US 385. An hour later, it was time to visit the XIT Museum in the northwest Texas Panhandle town of Dalhart. Before going in, I saw a 1920's Chevrolet Dealership.
The door opened and the smell of rubber overwhelms the nose, spark plugs and fan belts caress the wall. Moments later a gentleman in his early 70's with hands worn by time walks to the cashier. "Hello, what can I do for you?" After explaining the history of the building, I walk out and head down the block to the museum.
The XIT Museum (http://www.xitmuseum.com/)offers visitors a look at the history of the biggest ranch in Texas;
a view of life in early portion of the 20th Century, including an old gas pump with the classic globe on top.
The time is running short, as I have an appointment in Clayton, so I greet the curator and left. For the next 40 miles I examined US 87, a beautiful road with nothing taller than a grain elevator. The winds caress the tumbleweeds across the two-lane highway as the mid-size truck skates side to side. The hands begin to sweat on the steering wheel as the unknown is planted into the mind. The truck is parked and it is time to enter the Herzstein Historic Museum in Clayton, New Mexico. (http://herzsteinmuseum.com/)
Upon going up the stairs of the former Methodist Church, where I soaked in a 1950's bathtub: a basketball court Wally Cleaver played on along with pictures and letterman jackets in glass casings. Victoria Baker, director of the museum walks over and asks, "Hello, Gregory, what can I do for you?" After explaining I was conducting some research of the community, she introduced me to Darlene Walker, long time resident who grew up just outside of town. From remembering "Black Sunday," which was when the black blizzard came over the dusty Plains during the Depression and darkened the community, to shopping during the 1950's, it was a pleasant conversation.
A few minutes later Jerry Swagerty, a former lumber store owner, and his wife came by. "What would you like to know?" Jerry asks in a raspy Rooster Cogburn tone. From there he spoke about getting into the lumber and how he enjoyed sitting in the station wagon at the local drive in with his lady.
Over the next several minutes he showed some of the furniture that was built by the WPA, many of which he redid. "They made some real nice furniture (made out of white pine)." We walk out of the museum, "Would you like to see the grave of "Blackjack Ketchum?" "You bet," I replied.
As we drove into the cemetery, I began to wonder, "Should I be glad to get a headache?"
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