How are you today? I’m fine, thanks. What did you do this morning? Oh, sounds pretty mundane…I, on the other hand, went ice-skating on a football field of cow shit. You think I’m kidding, but here’s the proof.
Eleven miles west of downtown Amarillo is Cadillac Ranch. I’m not sure what the significance of it is, but there are ten Cadillacs buried nose-first in the ground in the middle of a farm. Lucky for me, it rained last night. As I pulled up to entrance, two young guys from Massachusetts were laughing and scrubbing their shoes with paper towels. One of them remarked to me that I’d be better off wearing sandals, so I made a quick change before opening the heavy iron gate and marching into the farm. It was quite slippery, and riddled with huge, stinking piles of cow shit, but the herd of cows who call that pasture home noted my presence almost immediately and preceded to guide me all the way to the cars. It was very strange, and quite remarkable experience. A perfect way to start what would be an absurdly amazing day.
Cadillacs, more Cadillacs, and even more Cadillacs. The amount of spray paint was baffling. I think the cows expected me to feed them because a bunch of them wouldn’t take their eyes off me. I got pretty close, too. As I tread through mud and shit on my way back to the Volvo, an older gentleman was stopped about halfway between the entrance and the cars. I told him he’d better not chicken out, he had to see it up close, but he laughed and said that his zoom lens would be enough for him. He didn’t need to go soiling his clothes trying to get there. He asked if the cows were alright, and I promised him that they would do nothing but stare at him if he approached them. With newfound courage, the old man thanked me and decided to continue the remainder of the walk. When I returned to the Volvo, a new set of RVs and cars were parked nearby, and two men (one in his thirties, one much older) were judging whether or not they should enter. I told them both that the people who were leaving when I arrived said to wear sandals, but I thought they’d be better off going in barefoot. The young guy let me borrow the fresh water hose from his RV to clean off my hands and feet, and he also lent me a roll of paper towels to get the dirt and shit and grime out from between my toes. I thanked him, wished him luck, and continued on my way. About a mile down the road, I saw a Love’s gas station. I pulled in, inconspicuously shuffled through the food mart to the restroom, and proceeded to obliterate what had been advertised as “clean restrooms.” I walked out quickly so as not to be noticed. I swear, when I was finished with that bathroom the sinks looked like Dresden.
Back on the road. The sun came out and the world turned from gray morning to beautiful blue-skied afternoon. When I realized that I had crossed over into New Mexico (and Mountain Standard Time), I decided to spend my extra hour exploring historic Route-66. My first stop was Tucumcari, which was something of a ghost town. It was seriously spooky. The amount of abandoned businesses vastly outnumbered operational businesses. For example:
Abandoned gas station #1 (look at Volvo in the reflection!)
Abandoned Motel #1 (and another picture of it, and another, and a padlocked door, vacancies?)
Abandoned motel #2
Abandoned pawn shop
Abandoned gas station #2 (broken windows, and a tumbleweed out front)
Abandoned Antiques (and the front side with Route-66)
Abandoned Drive-Thru Restaurant
Abandoned store
Abandoned Video Palace
People still reside in town, and their houses and backyards were fun to photograph. Some places in Tucumcari were open for business. These included an ice cream shop, Del’s Restaurant, a Mexican joint, and what may or may not have been a Drive-In Tattoo Parlor. I took a few minutes to drive the back streets, tried to get as close to the freight trains as I could without trespassing, and found a quiet nook that apparently is going to soon be an art space. Here, I recorded the sounds of silence. I drove as far as the back road would go (past an old music store, and not one, but two oddly placed political statements. Finally, I found Main Street. It was empty. There was nothing. This is the corner of Main Street. The only car that passed me in my five minutes standing on the corner was a police cruiser. I stood on the corner recording audio for five minutes. Then I got in my car and left town. On my way, I found the masonic temple in Tucumcari. I also found a RadioShack. I bought a stereo 1/8″ cable, so expect all my field recordings to be available soon.
My next stop on Route-66 was Santa Rosa. I found an empty lot and recorded more audio. Then I took a side road several miles into the wilderness – effectively cut off from civilization – before coming to the Santa Rosa dam and lake. And what a lake it was. I found my way down to the shore and sat there for a few minutes recording the sounds of the water and the winds whipping around me. A father and son were fishing off the end of a tiny pier, so I tried to record them talking for a couple minutes while I snapped more pictures of the dam. I didn’t want to stray too far from the beaten path, because apparently I’d be taking my life in my hands. I didn’t see another car the entire time I was driving back to Route-66 from the lake, nor did I see another car or a single person as I drove back to I-40W.
Ah, Albuquerque. Home of “indie” darlings The Shins. They changed my life.
Just kidding.
Oh, how I’ve missed Albuquerque. Perfect weather, friendly locals, and one of the prettiest approaches in the country. In 2005, I described it as being, “like visiting another world. It’s ethereal. It’s all around you. This atmosphere doesn’t exist anywhere I’ve seen in America. Each passing precipice invites you to jump out of the car, climb to the apex and look out over the whole desert. Small adobe houses with flat roofs line the base of the mountain chain. The way that the clouds float, the way that sky goes from white to deep blue is nearly impossible to render in words.”
I checked into my hotel (same one I stayed in two years ago), brought in my belongings, showered away any excess dirt from this morning, and walked a mile into Old Town. Open air marketplaces filled with boutiques, galleries, handmade jewelry stands and Mexican restaurants, with a beautiful square in the center of it all. Also, a smoking hot girl walking around looking totally out of place.
From Old Town, I walked to Ben Michael’s Restaurant. For those of you who don’t remember (or weren’t reading this website during) my last trip to Albuquerque, I spent several hours at Ben Michael’s talking to him and his girlfriend about travel, music, his family history…If you haven’t read that blog entry, you should. Ben and his girlfriend were both there tonight, but he didn’t recognize me until I went to pay my bill and asked if he remembered me. He smiled and his eyes widened as he shook my hand violently and thanked me for returning. He sat me down with his girlfriend and one of her friends, and we spoke for an hour about music, travel, and life. She continued to rave about the “scene” in Oxford, Mississippi. She called the town “the velvet ditch,” so-named because “once you fall in it’s really comfortable”. She spoke about her friends who run Fat Possum Records (I neglected to tell her I blacklisted them a few months ago after I received that cease & desist order), a band called The Neckbones she loves, and her friend’s wedding to Rob Wasserman from the Dead. A folk singer was beginning to set up to play, so I took the opportunity to duck out for the night. I thanked them both and promised I would visit again soon. I left–much less drunk than last time–with an incredible sense of well-being after a day that started unusually, veered into a sort-of fantasy world, and ended in the company of new-old friends.
All week, I’ve been trying as hard as I can, but I don’t think I can even begin to express how much fun this is, and how happy I am to have unique opportunities to see the country and interact with so many people.
