It was late October and finally the chance to take that long-delayed trip to New Mexico to visit friends, check on my adobe in old Mesilla, and enjoy New Mexico style Mexican food. I would enjoy revisiting some traditional stops along the way.

Sunshine and blue skies can turn dry corn stalks into bright colors against a bright blue sky. But not today as I cross the rolling hills of eastern Iowa under gray skies.

I reach Des Moines and take I-35 south to Kansas City, then west to Emporia. From there it’s highway 50 for a few miles before taking Kansas 150 across the Flint Hills to US 56. With these short autumn days darkness comes early and I miss seeing those cattle grazing on the lush Flint Hills grass.

I reach the nice Kansas town of McPherson and pack it up for the night. I look forward next morning to visit its great downtown coffee house with its fine pastries and local citizens visiting in that reading room.

The last few times I went through McPherson it was on a Sunday and the place was closed. But this was Monday and finally I could visit that shop. Approaching the place, I noticed that the sign was gone. But there was activity as I went inside.

I was taken by surprise; the place was completely changed and the reading room previously filled with local patrons was gone. It was now a small gourmet coffee shop complete with health drinks, but without those great pastries. Katie, the new owner, cordially greeted me. She explained how during the pandemic the place was closed. Originally from southwest Kansas, she had been an athlete at Wichita State and, upon graduation, purchased the place and renamed it. 

All that was fine, but it would be a tradition now gone.

OK, things change. But I anticipate another tradition as I head west on US 56 to Great Bend. I generally avoid fast food eateries, even when traveling. Dillon’s Supermarket in Great Bend has long featured a great salad bar, loaded with nutritional good stuff. I’m eager to stop there after several years of absence.

I’m looking forward to a delicious healthful lunch as I enter the supermarket and glance toward where the salad bar had been located. Oops — I should have braced for that surprise. That tremendous salad bar was gone; no doubt another casualty of the pandemic — another tradition gone.

There is a great ice cream shop next door but I’m not ready for desert. There is a nearby Mexican restaurant, but this is Monday, and, like many restaurants, it’s closed Mondays.

So I head west to Dodge City and will catch lunch there. I turn off US 56 onto Wyatt Earp Boulevard and sure enough; there is an inviting Mexican restaurant. I surely hit the right place as this is no tourist joint. It’s filled with working people and I’m the only Gringo in the place. I order two tacos, one beef and one chicken. These are not the bland American style with shredded pale iceberg lettuce and ground beef. They are flavorful with wonderfully spiced and marinated meats. I will surely stop there again. Maybe this is a new tradition in the making to compensate for the lost traditions.

From Dodge, I head south, through the small towns of Ensign, Montezuma, Copeland, to Sublette, where I turn south to Liberal on the Kansas border. It’s now dark as I take US 54 across the Oklahoma Panhandle, to Dalhart, then diagonally across the Texas Panhandle, to New Mexico. About thirty-five miles later I reach Tucumcari that was once a main stop along historic Route 66.

I stop at the Motel where I have traditionally stayed for years, but not lately; I had not seen owners Kathryn and Mike for years. As I enter to register, I note that neither of them is there, replaced by a guy I had not seen before. But he assures me that Kathryn and Mike still own the place. Somehow, that is reassuring.

I tell the guy that I’m eagerly looking forward to my favorite huevos rancheros for breakfast at the Pow Wow Inn the next morning. He tells me that the best breakfast is at the Kix at Sixty-Six restaurant. I don’t pay much attention to that — I’m heading for the Pow Wow in the morning.

So next morning I head for the Pow Wow. What! The place is closed. He didn’t tell me that; he only said that the best breakfast was Kix at Sixty-Six. There’s a guy doing some work outside the Pow Wow and he tells me it’s still open, but only for lunch and dinner. He advises me to go down to Kix at Sixty-Six as they have the same menu. So that’s what I do. The huevos rancheros are the same, but lacking the ambience of the Pow Wow. I’ll be coming through Tucumcari on my way back, probably during an afternoon, so I will be able to follow that longstanding tradition to stop at the Pow Wow then.

After breakfast I take the short stretch on I-40 to Santa Rosa, then US 54 south, and reach Las Cruces in the evening. At least the motel where I usually stay is still there, run by Coral, who, as always, greets me cordially.

During the next few days I visit friends, including Jacque, who lives next door to, and manages, my adobe. 

Heading back, as anticipated, I arrive in Tucumcari in early afternoon. The Pow Wow is open and I grab a booth. Before the waitress arrives, the chef walks by and I tell him how much I enjoy those huevos rancheros. His reply astonishes me. “We don’t serve breakfast anymore so they aren’t on the menu.”  

What? I tell him that they used to be available in the afternoon. He recognizes my obvious disappointment and replies, “Maybe I can whip some up for you anyway.”

I thank him and, indeed, they are as good as ever. 

Things inevitably change, but more so with casualties of the pandemic, including longstanding travel traditions.

— John Waelti’s column appears monthly. He can be reached at jjwaelti1@tds.net.