GRANT, Neb. - In this far west corner of the Beef State, it's not a tourist mecca. But it's a great way to avoid crowded highways and colorless interstate routes. Besides, this small town hosts DJ's Bar and Grill, a great place to stop south of the Platte River. Waitresses Angela and Melissa are the friendliest and most efficient ever.
After a late afternoon snack, Tom and I bid Melissa good-bye - we will be back in a week -and head southwest, into Colorado, to Holyoke and U.S. 385, the High Plains Highway that traverses the eastern edge of Colorado.
The sky is black and we can see that it's raining to the south. The oncoming rain and cool breeze makes the air refreshingly cool and pleasant. We roll past golden wheat fields that appear ready for harvest. The higher elevation of eastern Colorado makes for later maturity of the wheat compared to Kansas where the harvest is over.
As we reach Holyoke and veer directly south, the rain begins. But the worst is farther south and east. Lightning flashes in the distance.
We reach Burlington and grab a motel. Just as the sun is setting, there is a break in clouds on the western horizon. This allows the horizontal rays of the full sunshine to reach across and light up the golden wheat fields. The rays of the setting sun shining across the golden wheat and green grass, along with the contrasting jet black sky overhead, create a dramatic, colorful panorama. The air is fresh and cool.
Next morning dawns bright and sunny. In the motel's complimentary breakfast room we visit with a couple members of a combine crew. They tell us that they usually begin at 10 a.m. but with last night's rain, they will be idle for the day.
After breakfast, we head south to Granada on the Arkansas River, then west to Lamar and south to Boise City on the western end of the Oklahoma Panhandle. Boise City was the heart of the tragic Dust Bowl of the 1930s. A partial response to this disaster was establishment of National Grasslands to conserve lands that never should be put to cultivated crops. Just west of Boise City, we head south on the Rita Blanca National Grasslands, into Texas to Dalhart.
From Dalhart we take U.S. 54 to Tucumcari, a usual stop for the night. But it's only mid-afternoon. So instead of the ritual breakfast of huevos rancheros at Tucumcari's Pow Wow Inn, we make it a mid-afternoon meal - huevos rancheros, of course.
South on U.S. 54 to Alamogordo, and west on U.S. 70 across White Sands Missile Range, and over the Organ Mountains, we reach the Mesilla Valley of the Rio Grande in early evening. The Southwest is undergoing a severe heat wave and people ask why I would go to New Mexico this time of year. The Southwest is far from homogeneous. New Mexico's Chihuahua Desert is far different from California's Mojave and Arizona's Sonora deserts. It is of higher elevation and, although hot in summer, nowhere near as hot as Palm Springs or Phoenix. Ninety-five and low humidity in Las Cruces is more tolerable than 85 and humid in this neck of the woods.
I catch up on some errands the next couple of days, including checking on my adobe in old Mesilla. My tenants are happy, and all is well except for an apricot tree that needs to be replaced. A visit to Las Cruces is incomplete without a trip with former colleague and good friend, Willie, down to Chopes restaurant a few miles down the road in La Mesa. Or, without having breakfast with another former colleague and friends, Jim, and some former New Mexico State University profs to discuss the economy and state of the world.
Our time in Las Cruces is short but Tom and I have things to do back home. We retrace our route on U.S. 54 across the Missile Range and north. But instead of through Tucumcari, we cut north to Las Vegas - the "other Las Vegas," New Mexico - on I-25, over the Raton Pass to Trinidad, Colorado. We don't stay long on the Interstate. At Trinidad, we take U.S. 350 northeast to La Junta. This follows the route of the main branch of the old Santa Fe Trail, except that we are going away from Santa Fe instead of toward it.
This stretch of U.S. 350 is lightly traveled. There are a few "towns" along the way, marked both on the map and by signs announcing them along the road. These "towns" are devoid of people, marked only by the signs and a couple of crumbling buildings. But according to the map, and the real life signs, they exist.
At La Junta, we head east along the Arkansas River to Las Animas and Lamar, to Granada where we once again take the High Plains Highway north. The sky to the north is threatening and it looks like we are heading into it. As we reach Cheyenne Wells in early evening, the sky opens up and the lightning is fierce. The sun has not yet set, but you wouldn't know it from the absolute darkness.
As we reach Burlington, the lightning is still flashing in the distance but the worst is over. It's too early to settle in, so we push on toward Holyoke in the northeast corner of Colorado.
Next morning dawns bright and sunny with cool fresh air the result of the previous night's rain. Then it's northeast to Grant, Nebraska and - where else - DJ's Bar and Grill for breakfast.
Angela is on duty and greets Tom and me with smiles and hugs. I don't think she believed me last year when I told her I would feature her in a column. That column still hangs on DJ's bulletin board in the far corner of Nebraska.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in the Monroe Times.
After a late afternoon snack, Tom and I bid Melissa good-bye - we will be back in a week -and head southwest, into Colorado, to Holyoke and U.S. 385, the High Plains Highway that traverses the eastern edge of Colorado.
The sky is black and we can see that it's raining to the south. The oncoming rain and cool breeze makes the air refreshingly cool and pleasant. We roll past golden wheat fields that appear ready for harvest. The higher elevation of eastern Colorado makes for later maturity of the wheat compared to Kansas where the harvest is over.
As we reach Holyoke and veer directly south, the rain begins. But the worst is farther south and east. Lightning flashes in the distance.
We reach Burlington and grab a motel. Just as the sun is setting, there is a break in clouds on the western horizon. This allows the horizontal rays of the full sunshine to reach across and light up the golden wheat fields. The rays of the setting sun shining across the golden wheat and green grass, along with the contrasting jet black sky overhead, create a dramatic, colorful panorama. The air is fresh and cool.
Next morning dawns bright and sunny. In the motel's complimentary breakfast room we visit with a couple members of a combine crew. They tell us that they usually begin at 10 a.m. but with last night's rain, they will be idle for the day.
After breakfast, we head south to Granada on the Arkansas River, then west to Lamar and south to Boise City on the western end of the Oklahoma Panhandle. Boise City was the heart of the tragic Dust Bowl of the 1930s. A partial response to this disaster was establishment of National Grasslands to conserve lands that never should be put to cultivated crops. Just west of Boise City, we head south on the Rita Blanca National Grasslands, into Texas to Dalhart.
From Dalhart we take U.S. 54 to Tucumcari, a usual stop for the night. But it's only mid-afternoon. So instead of the ritual breakfast of huevos rancheros at Tucumcari's Pow Wow Inn, we make it a mid-afternoon meal - huevos rancheros, of course.
South on U.S. 54 to Alamogordo, and west on U.S. 70 across White Sands Missile Range, and over the Organ Mountains, we reach the Mesilla Valley of the Rio Grande in early evening. The Southwest is undergoing a severe heat wave and people ask why I would go to New Mexico this time of year. The Southwest is far from homogeneous. New Mexico's Chihuahua Desert is far different from California's Mojave and Arizona's Sonora deserts. It is of higher elevation and, although hot in summer, nowhere near as hot as Palm Springs or Phoenix. Ninety-five and low humidity in Las Cruces is more tolerable than 85 and humid in this neck of the woods.
I catch up on some errands the next couple of days, including checking on my adobe in old Mesilla. My tenants are happy, and all is well except for an apricot tree that needs to be replaced. A visit to Las Cruces is incomplete without a trip with former colleague and good friend, Willie, down to Chopes restaurant a few miles down the road in La Mesa. Or, without having breakfast with another former colleague and friends, Jim, and some former New Mexico State University profs to discuss the economy and state of the world.
Our time in Las Cruces is short but Tom and I have things to do back home. We retrace our route on U.S. 54 across the Missile Range and north. But instead of through Tucumcari, we cut north to Las Vegas - the "other Las Vegas," New Mexico - on I-25, over the Raton Pass to Trinidad, Colorado. We don't stay long on the Interstate. At Trinidad, we take U.S. 350 northeast to La Junta. This follows the route of the main branch of the old Santa Fe Trail, except that we are going away from Santa Fe instead of toward it.
This stretch of U.S. 350 is lightly traveled. There are a few "towns" along the way, marked both on the map and by signs announcing them along the road. These "towns" are devoid of people, marked only by the signs and a couple of crumbling buildings. But according to the map, and the real life signs, they exist.
At La Junta, we head east along the Arkansas River to Las Animas and Lamar, to Granada where we once again take the High Plains Highway north. The sky to the north is threatening and it looks like we are heading into it. As we reach Cheyenne Wells in early evening, the sky opens up and the lightning is fierce. The sun has not yet set, but you wouldn't know it from the absolute darkness.
As we reach Burlington, the lightning is still flashing in the distance but the worst is over. It's too early to settle in, so we push on toward Holyoke in the northeast corner of Colorado.
Next morning dawns bright and sunny with cool fresh air the result of the previous night's rain. Then it's northeast to Grant, Nebraska and - where else - DJ's Bar and Grill for breakfast.
Angela is on duty and greets Tom and me with smiles and hugs. I don't think she believed me last year when I told her I would feature her in a column. That column still hangs on DJ's bulletin board in the far corner of Nebraska.
- John Waelti of Monroe can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net. His column appears Fridays in the Monroe Times.
