CENTRAL KANSAS - It was our second day on the road, a sunny early October day. We had stopped in Great Bend at Dillion's Supermarket with its great salad bar. Son Johnny and I loaded the take-out gizmo with greens and fruit, took it outside, and sat on the tailgate of my GMC, soaking up the sunshine.
After gassing up, we hit U.S. 56 following the route of the old Santa Fe Trail. We head southwest past the dying town of Pawnee Rock, then through Larned, Kinsley, and to Dodge City, the famous cow town of the Old West. Dodge City owes its fame as a railhead for cattle driven up from the south. It gained fame in fiction as the site of the long-running radio and television series, "Gunsmoke."
Dodge City retains its cowtown heritage with several large feed lots near the city and a large packing plant.
We bypass the city and Wyatt Earp Boulevard, named after the legendary lawman. Wyatt Earp Boulevard leads to Front Street, the supposed site of saloons and gun fights of frontier days. Front Street has been reconstituted as a tourist trap, and is sort of interesting, but not very. We leave that for another day and continue on, heading southwest.
Next is a series of six small towns, each indistinguishable from the other: Ensign, Montezuma, Copeland, Sublette, Satanta and Moscow. Each of them has large grain elevators to the right and a small business district on the left. The land is flat, with wheat stubble, and some irrigated corn and sorghum. At the end of this stretch is Hugoton, where we head straight west to Elkhart, in the extreme southwest corner of Kansas.
Crossing the border into the Oklahoma Panhandle we reach Boise City, county seat of Cimarron County, the western most county of the flat Oklahoma Panhandle. From there, we have two options: Straight west to Clayton, New Mexico, then south to U.S. 54, or directly south across the Rita Blanca National Grasslands to Dalhart, Texas and U.S. 54. When Tom and I were there last June, we took the Dalhart route only to find that Dalhart was all torn up and we had a tough time getting through it.
As the Dalhart route is more direct and it's night time, we take the Dalhart route believing we can get through it at night. Wrong choice - Dalhart is more torn up than last June. I will surely avoid it on the return trip. We wind our way through the torn up streets, making two wrong turns in the process. We finally find U.S. 54 and get to Tucumcari, our destination for the evening.
Tucumcari (population 5,361) is an interesting historic town. It is the largest city between Amarillo, Texas and Albuquerque, New Mexico, and probably best known as a popular stop on historic U.S. 66, now I-40. Tourists will recall signs along the route reading, "Tucumcari Tonite."
As with many American towns, Tucumcari owes its origin to the railroad. The Chicago Rock Island and Pacific built a construction camp, originally called "Ragtown." The camp became known as "Six Shooter Siding," because of numerous gunfights, or so the story goes. Its first formal name for a short time was "Douglas." After it became a permanent settlement, in 1908 it was named "Tucumcari," after nearby Tucumcari Mountain.
So how did Tucumcari Mountain get its name? Once again, these stories revolve around the perennial theme of love, romance, and tragedy.
The aging Apache Chief Wautonomah, with an only daughter, Kari, was concerned over his succession as chief. He summoned two of his finest braves, competitors and suitors for his daughter, to combat, with knives. The winner and survivor would win his daughter Kari's hand and become chief.
The two braves, Tonopah and Tocom, met in combat. Unknown to either, Kari, whose heart was with Tocom, hid nearby as the two braves fought to the death with their knives. The duel ended with Tonopah's knife ending the life of Tocom. With that, the horrified Kari emerged from her hiding place and used her knife to end Tonopah's life, before taking her own.
When the chief came upon the bloody scene and his own daughter's death, the grief-stricken chief buried his daughter's knife in his own heart, crying out in agony, "Tocom-Kari."
So goes the legend. Some critics, unimpressed with the romantic account, credit the story to a group of businessmen seated together at the old Elk Drugstore, each embellishing the story to that dramatic version.
Tucumcari's main drag that most tourists know is a several mile strip of motels, restaurants, convenience stores and other businesses. There once was a thriving non-tourist business section of town several blocks to the north. Although thriving during the 1940s and 50s, it now is all but gone.
We spend the night at the Historic Route 66 Motel. Next morning I insist on my usual breakfast of huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn on the strip. Johnny insists on jogging over there as he needs the exercise. I warn him that it's about a mile away as he heads out the door.
I finish up some details on my computer, toss the gear into my GMC, and drive over to meet him. Cruising down the strip I pass the old motels, some of which are little changed since the 1950s. The old Blue Swallow Motel probably most resembles its past status. Today they even have a couple of 1950s vintage cars out front, lending authenticity to the place.
I find Johnny already seated at the Pow Wow, waiting for me. He suggests that the distance was probably a mile and a half. I think it's probably not over a mile and a quarter, at most.
After breakfast, we check it out. It is actually 1.6 miles, and that's only a portion of the strip.
Next week: On to Las Cruces.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in The Monroe Times.
After gassing up, we hit U.S. 56 following the route of the old Santa Fe Trail. We head southwest past the dying town of Pawnee Rock, then through Larned, Kinsley, and to Dodge City, the famous cow town of the Old West. Dodge City owes its fame as a railhead for cattle driven up from the south. It gained fame in fiction as the site of the long-running radio and television series, "Gunsmoke."
Dodge City retains its cowtown heritage with several large feed lots near the city and a large packing plant.
We bypass the city and Wyatt Earp Boulevard, named after the legendary lawman. Wyatt Earp Boulevard leads to Front Street, the supposed site of saloons and gun fights of frontier days. Front Street has been reconstituted as a tourist trap, and is sort of interesting, but not very. We leave that for another day and continue on, heading southwest.
Next is a series of six small towns, each indistinguishable from the other: Ensign, Montezuma, Copeland, Sublette, Satanta and Moscow. Each of them has large grain elevators to the right and a small business district on the left. The land is flat, with wheat stubble, and some irrigated corn and sorghum. At the end of this stretch is Hugoton, where we head straight west to Elkhart, in the extreme southwest corner of Kansas.
Crossing the border into the Oklahoma Panhandle we reach Boise City, county seat of Cimarron County, the western most county of the flat Oklahoma Panhandle. From there, we have two options: Straight west to Clayton, New Mexico, then south to U.S. 54, or directly south across the Rita Blanca National Grasslands to Dalhart, Texas and U.S. 54. When Tom and I were there last June, we took the Dalhart route only to find that Dalhart was all torn up and we had a tough time getting through it.
As the Dalhart route is more direct and it's night time, we take the Dalhart route believing we can get through it at night. Wrong choice - Dalhart is more torn up than last June. I will surely avoid it on the return trip. We wind our way through the torn up streets, making two wrong turns in the process. We finally find U.S. 54 and get to Tucumcari, our destination for the evening.
Tucumcari (population 5,361) is an interesting historic town. It is the largest city between Amarillo, Texas and Albuquerque, New Mexico, and probably best known as a popular stop on historic U.S. 66, now I-40. Tourists will recall signs along the route reading, "Tucumcari Tonite."
As with many American towns, Tucumcari owes its origin to the railroad. The Chicago Rock Island and Pacific built a construction camp, originally called "Ragtown." The camp became known as "Six Shooter Siding," because of numerous gunfights, or so the story goes. Its first formal name for a short time was "Douglas." After it became a permanent settlement, in 1908 it was named "Tucumcari," after nearby Tucumcari Mountain.
So how did Tucumcari Mountain get its name? Once again, these stories revolve around the perennial theme of love, romance, and tragedy.
The aging Apache Chief Wautonomah, with an only daughter, Kari, was concerned over his succession as chief. He summoned two of his finest braves, competitors and suitors for his daughter, to combat, with knives. The winner and survivor would win his daughter Kari's hand and become chief.
The two braves, Tonopah and Tocom, met in combat. Unknown to either, Kari, whose heart was with Tocom, hid nearby as the two braves fought to the death with their knives. The duel ended with Tonopah's knife ending the life of Tocom. With that, the horrified Kari emerged from her hiding place and used her knife to end Tonopah's life, before taking her own.
When the chief came upon the bloody scene and his own daughter's death, the grief-stricken chief buried his daughter's knife in his own heart, crying out in agony, "Tocom-Kari."
So goes the legend. Some critics, unimpressed with the romantic account, credit the story to a group of businessmen seated together at the old Elk Drugstore, each embellishing the story to that dramatic version.
Tucumcari's main drag that most tourists know is a several mile strip of motels, restaurants, convenience stores and other businesses. There once was a thriving non-tourist business section of town several blocks to the north. Although thriving during the 1940s and 50s, it now is all but gone.
We spend the night at the Historic Route 66 Motel. Next morning I insist on my usual breakfast of huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn on the strip. Johnny insists on jogging over there as he needs the exercise. I warn him that it's about a mile away as he heads out the door.
I finish up some details on my computer, toss the gear into my GMC, and drive over to meet him. Cruising down the strip I pass the old motels, some of which are little changed since the 1950s. The old Blue Swallow Motel probably most resembles its past status. Today they even have a couple of 1950s vintage cars out front, lending authenticity to the place.
I find Johnny already seated at the Pow Wow, waiting for me. He suggests that the distance was probably a mile and a half. I think it's probably not over a mile and a quarter, at most.
After breakfast, we check it out. It is actually 1.6 miles, and that's only a portion of the strip.
Next week: On to Las Cruces.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in The Monroe Times.
