23rd May – Boise City OK to Santa Rosa NM

We survived a mediocre meal last night at “The Rocking A” with some rather unappetising locals and a total absence of alcohol, which is banned because the diner is opposite a school! The A was in fact anything but rocking. The American attitude to drink seems to swing from being extremely puritanical to wildly enthusiastic depending on which part of the country you are in. Boise was notable for having far more churches than bars – which wasn’t difficult as I counted at least six of the former and precisely none of the latter.

In the room next to us at the motel last night there was a chap about our age who rejoiced in the name Kermit. He rolled up on an immaculate bike and was resplendent in a leather Harley Davidson vest overlying a Harley-Davidson tee-shirt, all topped off with a Harley-Davidson bandanna. No prizes for guessing what he was riding! He told us he was an Okie from further east and he goes on 2 or 3 day runs quite regularly, apparently to get away from his wife. He seemed fine except when he decided to make an early start and left at 6am demonstrating to a sleeping world that his bike had straight-through exhaust pipes!

At 7.30 am the sky was overcast and the smell of damp earth suggested that it might have rained in the night. It was also noticeably cool at only 52F. We decided to make an early start and try to outrun the weather. After rummaging through our bags for cold-weather gear (which it was quite nice to actually use after lugging it round uselessly for the last two weeks) we set off down Highway 385 towards Dalhart in Texas. Crossing the Texas state line after about 30 miles, the skies almost miraculously started to clear and the sun came out. A further 20 miles took us through Dalhart where we joined Highway 54. This was agricultural and cattle country and just outside of Dalhart we passed enormous pens full of cows waiting patiently to become next week’s t-bone steaks.

The roads were wide and straight and at one point we went nearly 40 miles seeing only another two vehicles in front of us and maybe only about 20 passing the other way, so we had only the long freight trains for company where the line ran parallel to the road. After about 90 miles of Texas we crossed another state line into New Mexico and also crossed from the Central time zone to Mountain time which meant that it was now an hour earlier than it had been a second before.

Having passed through a town called Logan we seemed to attract the attention of the State Police and a car followed us for about 10 miles waiting for us to do something wrong. We refused to oblige and finally he got bored and sped past us in search of easier prey.

We were now in the high desert rising to about 5000 ft above sea level. The next town on the route was Tucumcari and just outside of there we passed through a small settlement in Quay County that was virtually a ghost town. People still lived there but all the gas stations and businesses seemed to be deserted and derelict. Tucumcari didn’t seem to be much better. We stopped in the hopes of getting a cup of tea or coffee but soon decided that was a forlorn hope and decided to move on.

After 200 miles in total we got to Santa Rosa. This is a small town whose main claim to fame appears to be its connection to Route 66. In fact there are three Route 66s here – the current Interstate 40 which has superseded it in places; the Historic Route 66 and the Prehistoric (well pre-1937) Route 66. The latter is little more than a farm track now but we did follow it for a couple of miles seeing the original concrete advertising billboards set into large boulders by the side of the road. We stopped off at the Blue Hole which is a natural pool in the limestone rock about 80 feet wide and the same deep. It’s a popular swimming and scuba diving spot.

However the high spot of the day so far has to be being refused service when we tried to buy a couple of bottles of beer in the local store. The cashier, who must have been all of 18, told us we couldn’t be served unless we had a photo ID that proved we were of legal age to buy alcohol. Despite Mark’s ever more desperate protestations that he was 39, she remained unmoved and we had to go back to the hotel for a passport. Even then she remained suspicious and demanded to be shown precisely where the date of birth was displayed. On the positive side, Mark has now been signed up to do a series of commercials on how his moisturiser has kept him so young looking.

Tonight we might try the Silver Moon which claims to be one of the original Route 66 diners. Tomorrow we’re heading east to Gallup.