Begun in the 1920s, a great deal of the construction work was achieved by the hands of the unemployed during the Great Depression. The refugees of the dustbowl and myriad shattered dreams hurried west in hopes of a better life, and traffic increased continually. It was after the Second World War that the heyday of Route 66 began, and countless automobiles, buses, trucks and mobile homes moved along and back 66 like a great internal combustion powered tide. And springing up to service these many travelers were motels, coffee shops, and gas stations by the score.
The 1960s, a time of NASA and the Vietnam War and civil unrest and student protests was also the end of an era for those countless small businesses and towns that straddled Route 66 all the way from the Midwest to its final terminus on the Southern California seashore. The more efficient superhighway was completed, and Route 66 sank into darkness, the motels bypassed, the gas stations empty, the diners closed.
Over the years, the highway had transformed itself into an American icon, a symbol of our never-ending, restless forward motion from our yesterdays to our brighter tomorrows.
And Tucumcari, New Mexico is one of the stranger vestiges of that era. Traveling east on my way from California to my own future, just outside Albuquerque is where I began to notice the old billboards. It was just past sunset now, and my headlights illuminated them like ghostly sentinels guarding the road. "Tucumcari Welcomes You To The Land of Enchantment" read one. A few miles later, another proclaimed "10,000 Motel Rooms In Tucumcari." While some seemed brand new, others showed their true age; leaning toward the parched earth like ancient ships listing in a silty port.
10,000 motel rooms? I found this statement odd, given that New Mexico is one of the least populous of the contiguous 48 states. And in any case, I had been on the road since six o'clock that morning; although I had not planned on stopping in Tucumcari, let alone heard of the place, it was as good a place as any.
