Back from Switzerland, I enjoyed classic autumn weather of late September and early October. Then in late October we get the incessant clouds and gloomy weather that characterize November around here.
It's time to head for the Southwest and sunshine if only for a few days. On another gloomy day I toss some gear into my GMC and head west across the Mississippi. Once south of Dubuque on US 151 the clouds break - sunshine at last.
I take Iowa Route 1 through the quaint college town of Mt. Vernon down to I-80. Past Iowa City I stop at a Maid Rite burger and ice cream joint. Older readers may recall that we once had one of those on the south side of Monroe's Square. It disappeared long ago, and I'm surprised this chain is still around. This particular shop is fashioned after the 1950s and, being Iowa, one side is decorated in U. of Iowa Hawkeye colors and the other side in Iowa State U. Cyclone colors.
After enjoying an old fashioned chocolate malt, I hit the road again. The sun is shining, but with that autumn dimness, reminding us that we are heading for winter.
At Des Moines it's south on I-35 to Kansas City, across the Missouri River, Kansas and on to Emporia for the night. Breakfast next morning and I head west across the Flint Hills with a strong south wind blowing. The lush blue-green grass of summer is now shades of reddish brown. The hills are still dotted with herds of Angus and an occasional herd of Herefords. After the Flint Hills the land is again flat, fields with shades of green emerging winter wheat, awaiting its period of winter dormancy. These same fields will be waves of gold next June.
At McPherson I stop at my favorite coffee shop for a break, then it's off to Great Bend. A "Merry Christmas" sign draped across the highway welcomes visitors. I'm not ready for that yet. I grab a salad at Dillon's Super Market, gas up, and head southwest, directly into the mid-afternoon sun to Dodge City. I could bypass Dodge, but travel down Wyatt Earp Boulevard just to say I did it, then head southwest again directly into the sun.
I roll past the small towns with their grain elevators silhouetted against the sun sinking lower in the sky. As the sun reaches the horizon directly in front of me, glaring off the pavement I get off the road until the sun sinks below the horizon.
I stop in Hugoton for dinner, then head south to Guyman in Oklahoma's Panhandle, then across the corner of Texas to New Mexico and my usual stop in Tucumcari at Kathryn and Michaels's Route 66 Motel. Next morning, temperature is a crisp 40, soon to reach the 50s in bright sunshine. I have huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn before heading west on I-40 to Santa Rosa. Like Tucumcari, Santa Rosa's main drag sports a mixture of modern inns and abandoned, decaying gas stations and motels, reminders of the saga of historic Route 66.
South on US 54 I reach Carrizozo and my usual stop at Roy's Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor. As I enter I see that Roy isn't there. He sometimes takes a siesta at this hour. There is a young woman at the counter and a waitress serving up ice cream. I ask if Roy is around. The waitress lowers her eyes and informs me that Roy passed away. The other young woman appears to get a tear in her eye. She is Roy's niece and informs me that, yes, Roy passed away in September.
I tell her that I frequently mention Roy in my travel columns, and promise to send her copies of past columns in which I mention him. She tells me that she would appreciate those mementos for a collection she is assembling about Roy's life. She affirms that the ice cream parlor will remain in operation.
South on US 54 to Tularosa, trees in the valley are shades of yellow and gold in the bright autumn sunshine. Then it's west on US 70, across White Sands Missile Range, up the east side of the Organ Mountains, over St. Augustine Pass, and a view of the broad Mesilla Valley to the west, bathed in the afternoon sunshine.
Down the west side of the Organ Mountains, through Las Cruces and into old Mesilla. My adobe is rented out, but I stay in the guesthouse on the premises. I first make sure the hot water is turned on, then sweep it out prior to a dinner of chiles rellenos, smothered with green chile cheese sauce at Andele's.
Next morning is classic autumn weather, sunshine, crisp temperature in the high 40s, soon to reach low 70s. I take my computer over to the local coffee shop and work on one of my Switzerland columns.
Back to my guesthouse, I decide to take the three-minute stroll over to Mesilla's historic plaza and, whaddaya know - a Mariachi Festival is about to begin.
The historic Mesilla Plaza is anchored at one end by the church, its twin steeples and crosses stark against the azure sky. The plaza is ringed with trees sporting brilliant autumn colors.
I pause at the site of the signing of the Gadsden Purchase of 1854 that made, what is now southern New Mexico and Arizona, Territories of the United States. About 20 yards away is the building that once served as the jail that held Billy the Kid - temporarily, that is, until he escaped. Another 20 yards away is the building that once was a stage stop on the old Butterfield Route.
Brilliant sunshine, pleasant temperatures, Mariachi music - that pair of mourning doves fluttering in the trees seems to be enjoying the music and the afternoon as much as the adoring crowd.
-John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
It's time to head for the Southwest and sunshine if only for a few days. On another gloomy day I toss some gear into my GMC and head west across the Mississippi. Once south of Dubuque on US 151 the clouds break - sunshine at last.
I take Iowa Route 1 through the quaint college town of Mt. Vernon down to I-80. Past Iowa City I stop at a Maid Rite burger and ice cream joint. Older readers may recall that we once had one of those on the south side of Monroe's Square. It disappeared long ago, and I'm surprised this chain is still around. This particular shop is fashioned after the 1950s and, being Iowa, one side is decorated in U. of Iowa Hawkeye colors and the other side in Iowa State U. Cyclone colors.
After enjoying an old fashioned chocolate malt, I hit the road again. The sun is shining, but with that autumn dimness, reminding us that we are heading for winter.
At Des Moines it's south on I-35 to Kansas City, across the Missouri River, Kansas and on to Emporia for the night. Breakfast next morning and I head west across the Flint Hills with a strong south wind blowing. The lush blue-green grass of summer is now shades of reddish brown. The hills are still dotted with herds of Angus and an occasional herd of Herefords. After the Flint Hills the land is again flat, fields with shades of green emerging winter wheat, awaiting its period of winter dormancy. These same fields will be waves of gold next June.
At McPherson I stop at my favorite coffee shop for a break, then it's off to Great Bend. A "Merry Christmas" sign draped across the highway welcomes visitors. I'm not ready for that yet. I grab a salad at Dillon's Super Market, gas up, and head southwest, directly into the mid-afternoon sun to Dodge City. I could bypass Dodge, but travel down Wyatt Earp Boulevard just to say I did it, then head southwest again directly into the sun.
I roll past the small towns with their grain elevators silhouetted against the sun sinking lower in the sky. As the sun reaches the horizon directly in front of me, glaring off the pavement I get off the road until the sun sinks below the horizon.
I stop in Hugoton for dinner, then head south to Guyman in Oklahoma's Panhandle, then across the corner of Texas to New Mexico and my usual stop in Tucumcari at Kathryn and Michaels's Route 66 Motel. Next morning, temperature is a crisp 40, soon to reach the 50s in bright sunshine. I have huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn before heading west on I-40 to Santa Rosa. Like Tucumcari, Santa Rosa's main drag sports a mixture of modern inns and abandoned, decaying gas stations and motels, reminders of the saga of historic Route 66.
South on US 54 I reach Carrizozo and my usual stop at Roy's Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor. As I enter I see that Roy isn't there. He sometimes takes a siesta at this hour. There is a young woman at the counter and a waitress serving up ice cream. I ask if Roy is around. The waitress lowers her eyes and informs me that Roy passed away. The other young woman appears to get a tear in her eye. She is Roy's niece and informs me that, yes, Roy passed away in September.
I tell her that I frequently mention Roy in my travel columns, and promise to send her copies of past columns in which I mention him. She tells me that she would appreciate those mementos for a collection she is assembling about Roy's life. She affirms that the ice cream parlor will remain in operation.
South on US 54 to Tularosa, trees in the valley are shades of yellow and gold in the bright autumn sunshine. Then it's west on US 70, across White Sands Missile Range, up the east side of the Organ Mountains, over St. Augustine Pass, and a view of the broad Mesilla Valley to the west, bathed in the afternoon sunshine.
Down the west side of the Organ Mountains, through Las Cruces and into old Mesilla. My adobe is rented out, but I stay in the guesthouse on the premises. I first make sure the hot water is turned on, then sweep it out prior to a dinner of chiles rellenos, smothered with green chile cheese sauce at Andele's.
Next morning is classic autumn weather, sunshine, crisp temperature in the high 40s, soon to reach low 70s. I take my computer over to the local coffee shop and work on one of my Switzerland columns.
Back to my guesthouse, I decide to take the three-minute stroll over to Mesilla's historic plaza and, whaddaya know - a Mariachi Festival is about to begin.
The historic Mesilla Plaza is anchored at one end by the church, its twin steeples and crosses stark against the azure sky. The plaza is ringed with trees sporting brilliant autumn colors.
I pause at the site of the signing of the Gadsden Purchase of 1854 that made, what is now southern New Mexico and Arizona, Territories of the United States. About 20 yards away is the building that once served as the jail that held Billy the Kid - temporarily, that is, until he escaped. Another 20 yards away is the building that once was a stage stop on the old Butterfield Route.
Brilliant sunshine, pleasant temperatures, Mariachi music - that pair of mourning doves fluttering in the trees seems to be enjoying the music and the afternoon as much as the adoring crowd.
-John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
