Morning in Tucumcari, New Mexico, refreshing dry, cool air at 5,000 feet. After putting the finishing touches on my July 12 column, it's time for huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow Inn on Tucumcari's long tourist drag. "Red or green?" asks the waitress.
All states have a state flower, state bird, state song, and on and on. Only New Mexico has an official state question, "red or green?" That question refers to whether you prefer red or green chile sauce with your enchiladas or, in this case, huevos rancheros. Either one is great, but today I select green.
Having satisfied my huevos rancheros fix, it's an hour west on I-40 to Santa Rosa, then south on U.S. 54. Over rolling rangeland to the railroad town of Vaughn with its two-block wide, mile-long main drag. Then south through high range country dotted with pinon juniper stands, and cattle drinking from tanks adjacent to the occasional windmills. Although the grazing is sparse, as usual for this time of year, there is a slight greet tinge to the range offering some sustenance to grazing cattle.
Then through Corona, and the long stretch to Carrizozo. I make my usual stop at Roy's Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor. Roy is not around, but the waitress assures me that he is doing fine. I assure her that I'll stop on my way back through in a week or so.
Then it's another hour to Tularosa, then Alamogordo to U.S. 70 west, past Holloman Air Force Base, across the White Sands Missile Range to the Organ Mountains. Up the east side of the Organs, over St. Augustine Pass, and down the west side of the Organs to Las Cruces and the Mesilla Valley of the Rio Grande.
Through Las Cruces and into Mesilla, across the historic village plaza and to the guesthouse of the adobe that I lived in during my 11 years in New Mexico. The adobe guesthouse is hot. I get the portable air cooler going and the temperature is soon tolerable.
During the next few days I run some errands and visit friends and former colleagues. Friday evening it's dinner at Chopes in La Mesa - best chiles rellenos far and wide. The drive down to La Mesa is through pecan groves, and across the Rio Grande - still in the U.S. as the Rio Grande doesn't become the border with Mexico until a few miles farther south at El Paso where the river makes a sharp bend to the southeast.
The days pass quickly. I head back, retracing my route over the Organ Mountains, across the White Sands Missile Range, to Tularosa, then Carrizozo. This time, I find Roy at his Ice Cream Parlor and chat with him for a while. Then it's north in the late afternoon sun to Tucumcari for the evening. With the aid of my computer and a beer, I compose the first draft of my July 19 column.
Next morning, Sunday, I forego my usual huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow. I take U.S. 54 to the wide spot in the road, Nara Visa on the New Mexico-Texas border, and turn north on state route 402 and the lonely 64-mile stretch to Clayton in the high range country. I usually encounter a half dozen vehicles on that stretch. Today, it's less than that.
Although Clayton appears to be remote, it has a long history as a crossroads. Comanches once hunted buffalo on the plains. Coronado traveled through that area on his fruitless trek into the Great Plains. Clayton was on the route of the Cimarron cutoff of the old Santa Fe Trail. And it was on the route of the historic Goodnight-Loving cattle trail. That trail was named after Texas cattlemen Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving, who drove cattle from Texas north to Colorado and Wyoming.
I park on Clayton's main drag, noting that "The Lone Ranger" is listed on the local theater marquee. I saw that movie and, as a long time "Lone Ranger" fan, need to review it. Like many critics, I think it was a lousy movie, but for different reasons than most critics.
But for now, it's breakfast at the Historic Eklund Hotel, decorated in tasteful territorial style. When I was on faculty of NMSU, I had eaten there many times, and it's good to see the place up and running after a hiatus of several years.
The Eklund - what the heck was a Swede doing down in that neck of the woods? Carl Eklund was born in Sweden in 1866. In 1885, he left Sweden, immigrating to Colorado. He worked on a railroad being built from Denver to Fort Worth, bringing him to Folsom, NM. In 1889, he and a partner invested in a lunch counter and bar. While Eklund was visiting Clayton a few miles to the south, his partner absconded with the funds.
Eklund stayed in Clayton, worked at odd jobs, and married in 1891. In 1894 he bought a one-half interest in a two-story building, which comprises the saloon area of the present Eklund building. Legend has it that in 1894 Eklund won the rest of the building in a poker game. That legend has not been verified, but makes an interesting story.
In 1905-06, the third floor was added to the hotel. President Teddy Roosevelt visited the hotel in 1905, recounting New Mexicans who had served in his regiment during the war with Spain.
Eklund's saloon sports two bullet holes in the ceiling above the bar - not the result of a gunfight. Rather, the shots were fired by an enthusiastic customer in 1920 when the local railroad telegraph operator brought news that Warren Harding had been elected president. No one in the hotel room above the bar was injured.
But today in the Eklund, breakfast was peaceful - no shots fired.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
All states have a state flower, state bird, state song, and on and on. Only New Mexico has an official state question, "red or green?" That question refers to whether you prefer red or green chile sauce with your enchiladas or, in this case, huevos rancheros. Either one is great, but today I select green.
Having satisfied my huevos rancheros fix, it's an hour west on I-40 to Santa Rosa, then south on U.S. 54. Over rolling rangeland to the railroad town of Vaughn with its two-block wide, mile-long main drag. Then south through high range country dotted with pinon juniper stands, and cattle drinking from tanks adjacent to the occasional windmills. Although the grazing is sparse, as usual for this time of year, there is a slight greet tinge to the range offering some sustenance to grazing cattle.
Then through Corona, and the long stretch to Carrizozo. I make my usual stop at Roy's Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor. Roy is not around, but the waitress assures me that he is doing fine. I assure her that I'll stop on my way back through in a week or so.
Then it's another hour to Tularosa, then Alamogordo to U.S. 70 west, past Holloman Air Force Base, across the White Sands Missile Range to the Organ Mountains. Up the east side of the Organs, over St. Augustine Pass, and down the west side of the Organs to Las Cruces and the Mesilla Valley of the Rio Grande.
Through Las Cruces and into Mesilla, across the historic village plaza and to the guesthouse of the adobe that I lived in during my 11 years in New Mexico. The adobe guesthouse is hot. I get the portable air cooler going and the temperature is soon tolerable.
During the next few days I run some errands and visit friends and former colleagues. Friday evening it's dinner at Chopes in La Mesa - best chiles rellenos far and wide. The drive down to La Mesa is through pecan groves, and across the Rio Grande - still in the U.S. as the Rio Grande doesn't become the border with Mexico until a few miles farther south at El Paso where the river makes a sharp bend to the southeast.
The days pass quickly. I head back, retracing my route over the Organ Mountains, across the White Sands Missile Range, to Tularosa, then Carrizozo. This time, I find Roy at his Ice Cream Parlor and chat with him for a while. Then it's north in the late afternoon sun to Tucumcari for the evening. With the aid of my computer and a beer, I compose the first draft of my July 19 column.
Next morning, Sunday, I forego my usual huevos rancheros at the Pow Wow. I take U.S. 54 to the wide spot in the road, Nara Visa on the New Mexico-Texas border, and turn north on state route 402 and the lonely 64-mile stretch to Clayton in the high range country. I usually encounter a half dozen vehicles on that stretch. Today, it's less than that.
Although Clayton appears to be remote, it has a long history as a crossroads. Comanches once hunted buffalo on the plains. Coronado traveled through that area on his fruitless trek into the Great Plains. Clayton was on the route of the Cimarron cutoff of the old Santa Fe Trail. And it was on the route of the historic Goodnight-Loving cattle trail. That trail was named after Texas cattlemen Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving, who drove cattle from Texas north to Colorado and Wyoming.
I park on Clayton's main drag, noting that "The Lone Ranger" is listed on the local theater marquee. I saw that movie and, as a long time "Lone Ranger" fan, need to review it. Like many critics, I think it was a lousy movie, but for different reasons than most critics.
But for now, it's breakfast at the Historic Eklund Hotel, decorated in tasteful territorial style. When I was on faculty of NMSU, I had eaten there many times, and it's good to see the place up and running after a hiatus of several years.
The Eklund - what the heck was a Swede doing down in that neck of the woods? Carl Eklund was born in Sweden in 1866. In 1885, he left Sweden, immigrating to Colorado. He worked on a railroad being built from Denver to Fort Worth, bringing him to Folsom, NM. In 1889, he and a partner invested in a lunch counter and bar. While Eklund was visiting Clayton a few miles to the south, his partner absconded with the funds.
Eklund stayed in Clayton, worked at odd jobs, and married in 1891. In 1894 he bought a one-half interest in a two-story building, which comprises the saloon area of the present Eklund building. Legend has it that in 1894 Eklund won the rest of the building in a poker game. That legend has not been verified, but makes an interesting story.
In 1905-06, the third floor was added to the hotel. President Teddy Roosevelt visited the hotel in 1905, recounting New Mexicans who had served in his regiment during the war with Spain.
Eklund's saloon sports two bullet holes in the ceiling above the bar - not the result of a gunfight. Rather, the shots were fired by an enthusiastic customer in 1920 when the local railroad telegraph operator brought news that Warren Harding had been elected president. No one in the hotel room above the bar was injured.
But today in the Eklund, breakfast was peaceful - no shots fired.
- John Waelti's column appears every Friday in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.
