Texas to New Mexico Part 2

A beautiful sunrise began the second day on a great note. I was leaving the Caprock and endeavoring to hit the mesas of Gallup and west-central New Mexico. After opening the gates, driving past a couple of jack rabbits and a beautiful doe, it was time to hit FM 207 and stake the road.

I hit US 62/82 and Texas Highway 114, got some gas in Lorenzo, (where I spoke to the attendant talking about various chew companies) which is about 20 miles east of Lubbock, and got onto the 289 Loop looking for 84. After exiting onto 84 towards Littlefield, the radio was turned loud and proud. For a Sunday morning, it was rather interesting that "No Earthly Good" by Billy Joe Shaver and "How Great Thou Art" by Elvis Presley came on back to back. It felt as if I was in store for an interesting day.
About an hour later I passed through Sudan, TX population 958 and then saw one of the biggest horseshoes in my life.

The one time I hit the twilight zone as a traveler is when I cross time zones. That is what happened upon entering Texico. As I saw two other roads intersect with 84, US 60 and 70, I suddenly saw the magical,

This was a perfect time for a photo opportunity. I drove to a nearby parking lot and went to the take some pictures. During the process, I met a gentleman and his son who were traveling from Austin to Taos. It was time to hit the road and the unknown.

I have learned to appreciate the roadside and stopping in Clovis was a case-and-point. After reaching a grain elevator, it was time to stop by a motel. One may ask, you are 6 hours from the destination, plus it is 8 am, why stop? Well, the Westward Ho motel has one of the more nostalgic looking signs on the road. In the past, I would just drive by and continue, but now I can appreciate the beauty of the roadside and its characters. After I left Clovis, I began caressing the heart of Llano Estacado or the Staked Plains, one of the most beautiful segments of the roadside. As the wind picked up I began glaring at a lonely the windmill...until I saw an old liquor store sign.

It was time to refocus on the road and visit the grave of one of the most popular figures in Old West lore, Billy the Kid. I turned left off US 84 and took State Highway 272 about three miles southwest. I was not sure how close I was until I saw this.

I got out of the truck and walked to the door and lo and behold, they were open. (The first thing one notices in the museum is the plethora of souvenirs. While it is understandable to have old west figures and New Mexico products, but why Route 66? I love the Mother Road, but if anyone has any clue as to where Fort Sumner/Taliban is(exact locale of the Museum) they would be just as curious as I was. Anyway, I digress.) The first group of people I encountered was a couple from Pearland, Texas which is 6 miles from my apartment. After they left I began a conversation with the museum operator and a buddy of his from Kentucky. Amongst the array of topics discussed were Apaches from White Mountain, Arizona; how people on the East Coast understand little about the drought in the West; how some sheriffs in Kentucky actually part take in the marijuana business and possible solutions of ending the drought in Texas, New Mexico and Arizona.

We spoke for so long, I almost forgot where I was heading, until I saw a couple asking about Billy the Kid. At which point, I went to the back and visited the grave of one of the most interesting figures in American history. After paying my respects, it was time to get on the road and see the "Mother" of all roads, 66.

The drive on 84 from Fort Sumner to Santa Rosa was relaxing and beautiful. Surrounded by windmills and ranches and the voice of Merle Haggard, I was in the mindset of a nomad, looking to find the next place to eat. As I hit the "City of Lakes" my stomach was telling me "Son, it is time to feed me." So, after getting onto 66, a frontage for I-40, I stopped at the Route 66 Diner and fueled my engine with a chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes.

Now, I was 3 hours behind schedule and unfortunately needed to take the interstate so I can reach Gallup, which is about 3 hours from Santa Rosa, before night fall. The drive was beautiful...for an interstate. Skies were overcast southeast of Albuquerque, but remained clear all the way to Grants. I was expecting to see canyons and gorgeous blue skies. However, it appeared as smoggy as a crisp Los Angeles afternoon. For the next hour and change, I wondered about that. As I got off exit 22 in Gallup and reached my destination, the El Rancho Hotel, I asked a gentleman and he informed me of fires in the vacinity. At this point I felt a little apprehensive, yet curious. After I put my bags into the Humphrey Bogart room, -- yes, Mr. Bogart stayed there--- I got back into my truck and headed for El Morro National Park.

The drive down NM 602 and 53 was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. Not fully knowing exactly where the fires were and seeing a sky so dark it felt like a tornado was fixing to hit, my heart rose into my throat. Despite the nervousness I said to myself, "I need to keep on truckin, I want to see this beautiful park." As I got closer, the clouds began to lighten a bit, which coincided with my heart rate returning to normal.

After hiking the Inscription Trail for only an hour, due to the time I had left. I headed back, got some gas then went to the Hotel to eat. Beginning in Post, which saw horrible fires in the Spring and ending in Gallup, which has smoke in the air, it was quite a day.

Texas to New Mexico Part 1

As I sit here in Lubbock reflecting on what has been a great trip thus far, it is appropriate to chronicle the travels. The first day I drove to Post, just south of Lubbock to visit my lady friend before heading to Gallup.

The drive up to Fort Worth was standard. I -45 to US 287 in Waxahachie. However, in Weatherford I decided to take US 180, part of the Bankhead Highway. However, as I saw traffic creep into downtown, I took a sharp left and headed back towards the Interstate, I 20. A disappointment, but I wanted to get to Post without too much traffic. As I hit Ranger, over an hour from Abilene, my air conditioner stopped working. For anyone who has lived or traveled to any part of Texas, dry of humid, losing the a.c. is like losing your keys to the house. After an hour, it decided to work and I began to breathe air again.

The rest of the drive went smoothly. As I got to Post and onto FM 207, which lies off US 84, I called my lady friend asking how to get to the ranch. Instead of making a right, I drove right up the gorgeous caprock and went into the town of Caprock. After following her back to the ranch, I got out and stretched. While on I-20 she warned me about a rattlesnake so I got the 12 gauge ready to place it in its place. However, it was not there and cocking the double pump caused the horses to become spooked a little, but no major worries.

I met the three dogs and relaxed for the evening. We went for a short drive into Post and ate at Sonic's while listening to the 50's on 5 , a XM Radio station.

Afterwards, we went home, fed the horses, took the dogs and watched a beautiful sunset. As it was an early rise and shine the next morning.

A Ten Second Dream That Came True

As I endeavor to head to New Mexico then to this year's Route 66 Festival in Amarillo, it is time to look back at one of the things that peaked my interest in 66, the classic 1957 Chevy Bel Air.

Over a year ago, I decided to watch some college football at Buffalo Wild Wings in Pearland, just south of Houston. After about an hour, I met a couple who drove back home from nearby Stillwater, Oklahoma. Shortly after, we began talking. The conversation ranged from our travel experiences to classic automobiles. I told them that I haled from New York and moved to Texas a few years earlier. As we spoke about Hank Williams' "Lost Highway" and my dream car, the 57' Chevy Bel-Air, I can tell the gentleman was seeing himself in me, at least in terms of music tastes. He then asked me something I will never forget. "Would you like to sit in my 56' Chevy Bel-Air?" Granted it wasnt a 57' but who cares. As we walked out, my heart raced and eyes widened as I saw his periwinkle (I think, do not quote me I am color blind) blue beautiful Chevy. This was the moment I have dreamt of all my life. Albeit, I was not driving down 66 past Tucumcari. Nevertheless, I thought "I can do more than just drool and stare." As I opened up the door, I signed, even stopped breathing for a moment. After I sat down, I caught my composure. I felt very comfortable and being behind the wheel felt natural. Ten seconds later, I got up said "thank you sir" and walked away. My dream came true.

Why do I Love the Road?

As I embark on the trip to New Mexico and the Panhandle of Texas, I wonder why am I in love with the road?

It all started with gasoline. I was raised in an apartment building overlooking the Belt Parkway where one could look at the Atlantic Ocean and the Verazzano Bridge, which leads into Staten Island. Before going to school every morning, whenever a bus or vehicle passed by, I soaked in the wonderful odor of gasoline. For a long time I loved the smell. It injected me with a dose of energy and passion for the macadam. From there I went along road trips as the navigator looking to seek the next mile. "What comes after this exit?" was my mantra, trying to figure out what lied ahead. Whether I got out of the car by the salty Atlantic in Cape Cod, Massachusetts or the windy, anti-tupee climate of the Great Plains in Meade, Kansas, the road has always been in my blood.

My favorite terrains changed over the years. Originally, I loved the trees and its seclusiveess. Everytime my mom, sister and I went to Uncle Charlie's , who resides south of Bear Mountain in upstate New York, I would stare at the trees as we drove wondering, "what lies within." As my traveling experiences augmented I began to appreciate other terrains. In Arizona, for example, the drive between Flagstaff and Page on US 89 was majestic simply because of the plateaus. I could see them, yet knew they were very far away. After moving to Houston I began driving throughout Texas, where I found my current love, the Plains. While most may think it is flat and monotonous, I find beauty in the fact it is wide open causing me to feel free. In addition, the sunsets/sunrises are spectacular.

As Merle Haggard eloquently put it, "The Highway is my Home."

Native Americans and Baseball

( I know it is not related to the highway, but the topic was too interesting to keep to myself)

As I sit here pondering the life and times of the late, great Harmon Kilebrew, I wonder what it was like for fans during the 30's and 40s to see their favorite ballplayers come to their communities. This was known as barnstorming where players would take time out of their way to play in areas that did not host professional baseball. However, as I am researching, I came into contact with another interesting facet. While some may know about Babe Ruth, Negro League legend Josh Gibson and other high profile players, there is another group of people that has largely been ignored by baseball fans, Native Americans.

During the later part of the 19th Century and early into the 20th Century, the United States policy with Native Americans was to have them assimilate to the dominant culture. This meant adopting a new way of living. One thing they did was create boarding schools (known as the Federal Indian Boarding School)such as the Haskell Institute and the Santa Fe Indian School. By creating these schools the United States government tried to break down the individual Native American identities. Many young Native Americans suffered mental and physical anguish. One detraction from their plight was baseball.

In 1879, former U.S. Army Officer Colonel Richard H Pratt formed the Carlisle Indian Industrial School. He strongly advocated a military style discipline that promoted civic and industrial learning. Many Native Americans who became successful baseball and football athletes attended Carlisle. The sport of baseball was considered to be "something nobler and higher to think about and do." Starting in 1886, baseball became an implement of assimilation. According to Pratt, "athletic accomplishments prepared the young men for broader and keener contentions of life they are to engage in later."

Baseball teams formed to become a positive outlet for many Native Americans students. It created a sense of pride and strength for these young men. They now were able to feel comfortable in their surroundings while learning a team game. Moreover, it provided them with the ability to display their grace, spirit ,nobility and pride.

The first to hit the Major Leagues was Louis Socalexis in 1897 when he joined the Cleveland Spiders. In 1903, Chief Bender became the first Native American to play in the American League and one of two American Indians to be enshrined in the Hall of Fame; the other is Zach Wheat.

For Chief Bender,"the reason I went into baseball as a profession was that when I left school, baseball offered me the best opportunity both for money and achievement. I adopted it because I played baseball better than I could do anything else, because the life and the game appealed to me and because there was so little of racial prejudice in the game. There has been scarcely a trace of sentiment against me on account of birth. I have been treated the same as other men."

Today, we have an extremely talented player of Navajo background, Boston Red Sox outfielder, Jacoby Ellsbury. He is a member of the Colorado River Indian Tribes and is the first Navajo to play in the Major Leagues. Along with Ellsbury, St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Kyle Loshe (Nomlaki Nation) and New York Yankees pitcher Joba Chamberlain (his father was born on the Winnebago Indian Reservation) are the only non-Hispanic Native Americans in baseball today.

As I learned about these leagues, it makes me wonder, if Major League Baseball keeps promoting diversity, then why don't they speak more about these men?


Link with a very good documentary on Native Americans in baseball

http://public.csusm.edu/NativeAmericansinBaseball/Baseball.mov

Sources:
http://public.csusm.edu/NativeAmericansinBaseball/Federal%20Indian%20Boarding%20Schools%202.html

http://ispy.mnhs.org

Almost a Road to Perdition: Houston, I Had a Problem

I woke up an hour earlier than normal this morning because I needed to pick up a 1936 map of Brazoria County, south and southeast of Houston. I am doing an article on one of the main arteries in Pearland, Texas. The morning rise was better than normal as I was not so cranky. In addition, I put on the tv and I Love Lucy was on, so my mind became focused. Got dressed and went on my way.

Traffic was light on TX 288,my normal route to work. As I got onto Interstate 45 , traffic was tolerable and even more surprisingly, the trip off I-10 was flowing. I got to the vacinity at 6:54 , six minutes before the TX Dept. of Transportation (DOT) opened. Things looked real crisp until... I went to the building that dealt solely with registration and license renewals. After I realized my error, I first went left to ask a gentleman in front of a Bud Light plant where 7615 (#number of the building I needed) was. He did not know so I went back towards the light, went right and found myself back on I-10 in the lane heading north on I-610, Houston's major loop. When I get lost, my instincts tell me to get off at the first exit and attempt to get back. Well, the first part was performed admirably. However, as I saw the sign for 610 South, which was located literally under the highway, I missed it and went west. I turned north at N. Post Oak Road and then went back East in hopes that I find a miracle. I went down the road and not only did I turn onto Hempstead , which is a major traffic corridor, but I found myself back at the Bud Light plant. Life was looking serendipitous. I found my destination and took care of business.

The adventure was coming to work. Don't you hate leaving parking lot exits that point you in one direction, the one going the OTHER way? Well, that is where I found myself. I got lost once again. This time I decided to let God take control of the wheel before I find a ravine and let Thelma and Louise know that I am coming. After ten minutes of living "dazed and confused" I found the Bud Light plant again. Two 360 turns in one hour! At which point, I found I-10 and made it through the traffic jungle, aka the Houston Morning Derby and got to work.

Secret Mission: Trip Planning

As I sit here on Sunday thinking about the trip to New Mexico and the Texas Panhandle in a month, I wonder why planning a trip so special. Is it the anticipation or a great way to relieve stress, or both?

Ever since I was young I looked forward to vacations and road trips. Whether they were to drive up to see an aunt in Cape Cod, Massachusetts or head to Mississippi, a state I had never been to before, I always enjoyed thinking about the adventure that lied ahead. While the driving and execution of a trip are fun and priceless, it is taking that the trip down the future's lane that has this roadie full of excitement.

In a month, I will embark on a journey that will not only take me to Route 66, parts of which I never traveled on (west of Albuquerque to Gallup, NM), but to paths and trails the Native American traversed for thousands of years. The thought of traveling down a trail that the Acoma's, Coronado, Lt. Beale and Dean Cassidy traversed across puts goosebumps on my arms.

While life has been stressful at times, the thought about the trip has put me in a majestic and peaceful state of mind. As I wander, I turn into a modern day Gart Williams, a person who dreamt of an ideal place. For him it was Willoughby in the 1880's, for me it is the two-lane highway of yesteryear. Each day as I plan my trip to Gallup and eventually east to the 66 Festival in Amarillo, my mind and soul leave my body. At work, frequent, but quick daydreams put me in the 2009 Chevy Colorado with the Marshall Tucker Band singing the ode, "Take the Highway."

As we speak, I am looking at Rand and McNally's maps, as well as the 66 map guide beautifully laid out by Jerry McClanahan. While my body resides in Houston, the soul and mind are cruising down 66 at the New Mexico line as the sun sets. June, May you get here, wait you already are.