It was Tom's idea. I was at the Swissfest with Toni Blum Seitz in Berne, Minn. Unbeknownst to me, my pal and former neighbor from an earlier life in old St. Paul had driven down to Berne. After our performance, as Toni and I were resting in the shade back of the outdoor stage I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. I turned around, and there was Tom.
Naturally, we had a couple of beers at days end. The air-conditioned bar of the famed Hubbell house at nearby Mantorville was a welcome relief from the heat and humidity. We decided that it was time to take a trip to New Mexico.
A few days later I tossed some gear into my GMC and crossed the Mississippi to Dubuque. I was to meet Tom at his mother's house in Worthington, in the southwest corner of Minnesota. It was west on US 20 to Fort Dodge, then north and west amidst corn and soybean fields to Minnesota. The weather gurus had been complaining about the dry weather, but it was cloudy and rainy, and the Iowa crops looked really good.
The next day, we headed west on I-90 to Mitchell. If one is to travel, it is best to avoid other tourists and the routes they take. It's far more interesting to take roads less traveled. At Mitchell we took a state route south for a few miles, then west on another lesser-traveled route through corn and alfalfa country. Once across the Missouri River the country changes from farm to range country. The rolling hills on that cloudy, drizzly day were lush and green, with herds of cattle contentedly grazing.
We soon turn south on another lightly traveled route through more rolling rangeland and cross into Nebraska. While most folks would proceed to US 20, we take State Route 12, known as "the Outlaw Trail," through the National Scenic River country along the Niobrara. We stop to stretch at a convenience store at a small town. A truck pulling a horse trailer drives in. A cowboy steps out of the truck - spurs on his cowboy boots - clearly no drugstore cowboy heading for a photo shoot. His female companion, wearing work clothes and boots, also wearing spurs, joins him. North central Nebraska is clearly genuine cattle and horse country. As we get to Valentine, Nebraska, the sky clears. The temperature is low 70s with low humidity. The locals tell us that is a recent phenomenon - it had been hot and humid like the rest of the country.
We head south toward Thedford, in the heart of Nebraska's sand hills. Traffic is light except for motorcyclists heading north, most likely to the big biker rally in Sturgis, South Dakota. The temperature is mild, the sun bright, the sky blue, and the sand hills lush with green grass. There is a lot of standing water, indicating ample precipitation. The cattle are enjoying good grazing.
At Thedford, we head west on State Route 2 - lightly traveled roads and pleasant scenery - then south at Hyannis on State Route 61, and more rolling range country. It is refreshing to see bucolic, uncluttered parts of America that still exist. We cross the North Platte. We miss the bridge across the South Platte at Ogallala. Instead of turning back, we take the next bridge west that turns into an unimproved road. What the heck; as long as it heads south it's good enough. We wind our way on unmarked gravel roads through irrigated corn and alfalfa fields knowing, hoping that we're eventually going to hit State Route 61 leading into Colorado.
After miles of gravel roads, we hit Route 23, several miles west of where I had thought we were, directly on the Nebraska-Colorado border. In the approaching dusk, we drive west, then take a state route south to Yuma and catch a mom and pop motel for the night. Next morning we have breakfast at a local eatery - clearly no yuppies or tourists of any variety in this neck of the woods.
We head south across the high plains of eastern Colorado, the weather warm and dry. The landscape alternates between irrigated corn and alfalfa and dry range country. The farther south, the more range country, and the drier the range. Large herds of cattle are scattered across the range, and clustered about the water tanks adjacent to the numerous windmills dotting the range. We exit Colorado and enter New Mexico on lightly traveled NM 581 south, a road I had not traveled, even during my years with New Mexico State University. As the altitude rises, the short grass of these mountain meadows is green again. During that short season, cattle graze right up to the side of the road, seemingly oblivious to occasionally passing vehicles.
We reach State Route 39 through Roy and Mosquero, County seat of Harding County (population 71; county,, that is). I had been over that road only once previously, but remember it fondly as the heart of the New Mexico high range cattle country. We soon drop down to lower elevation to Logan and US 54, a familiar stretch I had been over countless times. It's a short drive to Tucumcari where we catch the Route 66 Motel run by Michael and Katherine Fulton - a clean sparkling room for around 30 measly bucks - best lodging deal in the nation. Good old Tucumcari, once the classic stopover on Historic Route 66. The shells of old motels and gas stations still exist on that two mile stretch that parallels I-40 that can never match the history, lore, and romance of historic Route 66 that it replaced.It's time to grab a bite to eat at the Pow Wow Inn, and congratulate ourselves on our success in evading the tourists and the nondescript routes they inevitably take.
- Monroe resident John Waelti's column appears each Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
Naturally, we had a couple of beers at days end. The air-conditioned bar of the famed Hubbell house at nearby Mantorville was a welcome relief from the heat and humidity. We decided that it was time to take a trip to New Mexico.
A few days later I tossed some gear into my GMC and crossed the Mississippi to Dubuque. I was to meet Tom at his mother's house in Worthington, in the southwest corner of Minnesota. It was west on US 20 to Fort Dodge, then north and west amidst corn and soybean fields to Minnesota. The weather gurus had been complaining about the dry weather, but it was cloudy and rainy, and the Iowa crops looked really good.
The next day, we headed west on I-90 to Mitchell. If one is to travel, it is best to avoid other tourists and the routes they take. It's far more interesting to take roads less traveled. At Mitchell we took a state route south for a few miles, then west on another lesser-traveled route through corn and alfalfa country. Once across the Missouri River the country changes from farm to range country. The rolling hills on that cloudy, drizzly day were lush and green, with herds of cattle contentedly grazing.
We soon turn south on another lightly traveled route through more rolling rangeland and cross into Nebraska. While most folks would proceed to US 20, we take State Route 12, known as "the Outlaw Trail," through the National Scenic River country along the Niobrara. We stop to stretch at a convenience store at a small town. A truck pulling a horse trailer drives in. A cowboy steps out of the truck - spurs on his cowboy boots - clearly no drugstore cowboy heading for a photo shoot. His female companion, wearing work clothes and boots, also wearing spurs, joins him. North central Nebraska is clearly genuine cattle and horse country. As we get to Valentine, Nebraska, the sky clears. The temperature is low 70s with low humidity. The locals tell us that is a recent phenomenon - it had been hot and humid like the rest of the country.
We head south toward Thedford, in the heart of Nebraska's sand hills. Traffic is light except for motorcyclists heading north, most likely to the big biker rally in Sturgis, South Dakota. The temperature is mild, the sun bright, the sky blue, and the sand hills lush with green grass. There is a lot of standing water, indicating ample precipitation. The cattle are enjoying good grazing.
At Thedford, we head west on State Route 2 - lightly traveled roads and pleasant scenery - then south at Hyannis on State Route 61, and more rolling range country. It is refreshing to see bucolic, uncluttered parts of America that still exist. We cross the North Platte. We miss the bridge across the South Platte at Ogallala. Instead of turning back, we take the next bridge west that turns into an unimproved road. What the heck; as long as it heads south it's good enough. We wind our way on unmarked gravel roads through irrigated corn and alfalfa fields knowing, hoping that we're eventually going to hit State Route 61 leading into Colorado.
After miles of gravel roads, we hit Route 23, several miles west of where I had thought we were, directly on the Nebraska-Colorado border. In the approaching dusk, we drive west, then take a state route south to Yuma and catch a mom and pop motel for the night. Next morning we have breakfast at a local eatery - clearly no yuppies or tourists of any variety in this neck of the woods.
We head south across the high plains of eastern Colorado, the weather warm and dry. The landscape alternates between irrigated corn and alfalfa and dry range country. The farther south, the more range country, and the drier the range. Large herds of cattle are scattered across the range, and clustered about the water tanks adjacent to the numerous windmills dotting the range. We exit Colorado and enter New Mexico on lightly traveled NM 581 south, a road I had not traveled, even during my years with New Mexico State University. As the altitude rises, the short grass of these mountain meadows is green again. During that short season, cattle graze right up to the side of the road, seemingly oblivious to occasionally passing vehicles.
We reach State Route 39 through Roy and Mosquero, County seat of Harding County (population 71; county,, that is). I had been over that road only once previously, but remember it fondly as the heart of the New Mexico high range cattle country. We soon drop down to lower elevation to Logan and US 54, a familiar stretch I had been over countless times. It's a short drive to Tucumcari where we catch the Route 66 Motel run by Michael and Katherine Fulton - a clean sparkling room for around 30 measly bucks - best lodging deal in the nation. Good old Tucumcari, once the classic stopover on Historic Route 66. The shells of old motels and gas stations still exist on that two mile stretch that parallels I-40 that can never match the history, lore, and romance of historic Route 66 that it replaced.It's time to grab a bite to eat at the Pow Wow Inn, and congratulate ourselves on our success in evading the tourists and the nondescript routes they inevitably take.
- Monroe resident John Waelti's column appears each Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
