At last, it’s time to head south to New Mexico to visit friends and former NMSU colleagues, and to check on my adobe in old Mesilla. After a pleasant drive across Iowa, I arrive in Sibley, in the northwest corner of the state to meet traveling pal, Tom. We head to our favorite eatery in Sibley, a great Mexican place where they actually know how to do Mexican food right. We were to be deeply disappointed, as the place is closed, a casualty of the pandemic. So we hit the local steak house for dinner — not bad, but clearly second best.

Next morning, it’s another classic August summer day, and we head west, cross the Big Sioux River into South Dakota. In spite of lack of rain, the crops on that flat prairie land look good. Miles later, we cross the Missouri River at the Ft. Randall Dam. The reservoir is clearly below its usual level. West of the River, the terrain changes from flat prairie to rolling range land. We soon turn south across the border to Nebraska and Highway 12, known as the Old Outlaw Trail. That stretch along Northern Nebraska and the Niobrara River is gently rolling grassland with picturesque herds of grazing beef cattle. We soon reach Valentine. Its Main Street is sunny and windswept on this hot, dry Sunday afternoon.

We head west on US 20 to the dying town of Merriman with its vacant and decaying buildings. Those small prairie towns that were within range of horse and wagon no longer serve any economic purpose. Economic activity on the rural Great Plains is now confined to larger regional economic centers. The dying small towns on the Great Plains that still exist will eventually be totally gone.

At moribund Merriman we turn south across Nebraska’s scenic Sandhills. Herds of beef cattle, mostly Black Angus, are contentedly grazing on the grassy hills. Some cattle are gathered around the windmills and water tanks in the lower ravines and valleys.

A pragmatic, but unusual, coalition of environmentalists and politically conservative ranchers, have opposed construction of the Keystone XL pipeline that was originally planned to cross the ecologically fragile Sandhills. A University of Nebraska agricultural economist once informed me that a disproportionate number of UN’s College of Agriculture honor students are from the Sandhills. When asked how this came to be, they replied that as much as they loved the Sandhills, they saw no opportunity there, and were motivated to hit the books for a brighter economic future elsewhere. 

At the south end of the Sandhills we reach Ogallala and cross the Platte River. Our intention is to reach the small town of Grant where on previous trips we have stopped at a Bar and Grill, and were served by Angela, the friendliest waitress ever. I had some years back featured her in a column. A year later, a copy of that column was still posted on the bulletin board of that Bar and Grill.

Would that Bar and Grill be open this Sunday afternoon?

Again, another disappointment. But it had nothing to do with Sunday afternoon. It looked to have been closed for a long time — no doubt another casualty of the pandemic. Those Mom and Pop establishments have a tough enough road during ordinary times, especially in areas experiencing economic decline. This pandemic was too much to overcome.

Not being able to greet Angela, we head southwest to the High Plains Highway along the east side of Colorado. Reaching Burlington, we stop for the night.

Next morning, the sky is cloudless, but hazy, a result of the fires in California. We head south over terrain that is alternately irrigated cropland, dryland wheat country, and rolling range land. Traffic is sparse, a reason to prefer roads less traveled.

We cross the Oklahoma Panhandle into Texas, turn onto another road less traveled across the Santa Rita National Grasslands on the north edge of the Texas Panhandle. At Dalhart, we take US 54 diagonally across the northwest corner of the Panhandle, into New Mexico. We reach Tucumcari, once a major stop on historic US Route 66. I will not go through Tucumcari without stopping at the Pow Wow Inn for the best huevos rancheros ever. It’s mid-afternoon and the breakfast menu is not on the table. But they will always accommodate you, especially when you insist that their huevos rancheros can’t be beat.

From Tucumcari, it’s a short stretch on I-40 to Santa Rosa, then down US 54 across rolling range land to Carrizozo, site of two disappointments long past: The Outpost, once serving excellent chile cheeseburgers, and Roy’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor have been long gone.

We reach Alamogordo, cross the Tularosa Valley, then over the Organ Mountains, and reach our destination, Las Cruces in the Mesilla Valley of the Rio Grande.

Next day, I run some errands and in the evening we have dinner with friend and former NMSU colleague, Willie. But it’s not our usual stop at “Chopes,” a few miles south in La Mesa. Before New Mexico became a state, Jose “Chope” Benavidez opened a restaurant that would become a southern New Mexico icon. With the three granddaughters of Sr. Benavidez having health issues, and the Pandemic, the place is closed. Hopefully, it’s temporary.

Next day, we have breakfast with friends and former colleagues, Jim and Kathy. When I first arrived at NMSU as Ag Econ Department Head, the Dean of Agriculture asked me if I would work on a public service project with some economists of the Economics Department. I welcomed the opportunity, and my professional and social relationship with Jim and Kathy continued. During presidential elections, NMSU sponsored public debates by faculty members. Readers of this column will not be surprised that Jim and I were debaters on behalf of the Democratic candidates.

With the virus raging in Texas, we abandoned original plans to visit daughter Kara at Ft. Hood, Texas.  After touching base with Jacque, friend and manager of my adobe in Mesilla, we headed north, making it an abbreviated, but pleasant, trip to the Southwest once again.

— John Waelti’s column appears regularly in the Times. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.