The Slow Southwest Slide into Seclusion

Well folks, I am sure we have all gathered plenty of tales in these last few days, and what seems like an exponential scale of reaction and adjustment.  Sometimes it seems like the script is coming right off the pages of Atlas Shrugged, with a few minor adjustments.  The motor of the world is slowly coming to a creeping halt.  Who is John Galt?

So how did we get here in such a short time?  Here, in our physical location bunkered down in a casita in the desert hills north of Tuscon, and also here as a nation and a world... it all seems surreal.

Heading back to our recent travels....we headed northwest out of the Austin area, did some touch and goes in some small towns such as Abilene and Dublin.  Dublin, being the home of the original "Dublin Dr. Pepper," the original Dr. Pepper.  Dublin was now almost a ghost town, but as we learned later through a great documentary "The Battle Over Dublin Dr. Pepper," the town was once a bustling hub even as recently as 20111.  But the crush was put on the good guys by corporate, and even some small town politics.  If you get a chance, I highly recommend the short movie as it displays the challenges of hardworking, productive Americans, and how so many will work against that kind of success... even at their own expense.  Again, I am forced to consider why so many that benefit from the golden goose, would in turn want to destroy it.

At the end of the day we rolled into Lubbock, the home of Mac Davis, and Buddy Holly.  It seemed to be mostly a college town with a small downtown social scene.  So we put our baseball caps on backwards, grabbed our fake IDs and went out to hit it hard.  So not much was going on at 7pm... but we hung in there till at least 10pm, wondering around an assortment of bars, most just having their signature shot or shooter.  As we wondered around we also began to think about food, and found in the midst of all these college kids there was only one small barbecue food truck. 

Heading into one bar (whose signature shot was pickle juice and tequila...and yes, we indulged) we asked the bouncer about where to eat.  So he says, "All there is is that one barbecue truck, and to be honest, it ain't that good."  What, a college town, with kids out drinking, and no late night bar food?!?!

Well, as you know from some of our historic posts about The Bowery Station Story, we have always been ones that look for opportunity, and man, let me just say... here was one.  This was such a no brainer that we almost found an apartment and dug in.  But alas, we must continue on, there was more to see.  We had nothing to eat, enjoyed a fairly decent band reminiscent of Six String South from our neck of the woods, and packed it in early (compared to the kids that were just coming out!) with empty stomachs. 

But alas, we made up for empty stomachs the night before with a small breakfast in the morning... just a small plate of chicken fried steak smothered in sausage gravy, eggs, hashbrowns, and toast.  We were off for points west, and wouldn't need to eat for days after that breakfast.

We rolled out of town, geared up for Amarillo and Route 66... but it was now that we began to hear the rumblings of hard times, the scarcity of toilet paper, everywhere we went you could feel the anxiety of folks as they went about their daily lives... the times they were a changin'.

We stopped in Amarillo at The Big Texan Steak Ranch... the home of the 72 Ounce steak.... you eat the whole thing, it's free.  But having just had the 71 ounce chicken fried steak... I opted not to compete.  Although, for those of you that know my eating prowess, you can imagine how much I wanted a shot at the title.  But things were glum, the day was rainy and dreary and it met the mood of the people stopping at the ranch... people were giving "social distance," mothers told their children not to play with the guns in the shooting gallery that would make the piano player kick in... anyone offering a slight sniffle from the damp cold air would turn heads and make people scurry. 

Westward Ho, we stopped at Cadillac Ranch, a relic of artist from the 70s just west of Amarillo.  They had buried a line of Caddys in the middle of a cow pasture, and over time they had become so graffitied that that became the meme of the meca.  We parked and
worked our way out through the muddy pasture, dodging cow paddies along the way.  I was brought back to my childhood in Vermont, although I sure longed for my shitkickers, versus my stylish Chuck Taylors.

After our foray into the cow pasture, I was determined to drive the true Route 66.  Interstate 40 had pretty much been built on top of the old road, but with a little research I was able to get off the highway and find the old 66 that ran parallel to the new Highway.  At first the road seemed a bit deserted, and the pavement was well on it's way to crumbling.  But sights along the way were amazing, old gas stations and motels, decayed with time lined the old road.  Gone were the filling stations and drive up burger joints... this essence of americana was gone.

But just as we were settling into a bumpy slow ride, we crested a hill, and alas it would just be too much for our liking.  Nothing but red muddy dirt!  Thus was our end of the road, and we turned back
and took the softy Highway 40.  Although, the two occasionally entwined through small little towns such as Tucumcari.  The 66 local routes through these small towns had seemed to be lost in time, but also in decay.  Seems as is so many places, when they built the big Highway around town, the small Mom and Pops seemed to have dried up, and alas, some more character evaporated into the beltways, strip malls and chain hotels.

In one town at one point we did witness a sign...$1.39 for a gallon of gas... something was definitely afoot.  I had been following the oil prices and OPEC/Russia issues, and been watching the volatility of all our markets... but $1.39/gallon.  Something big was happening in the world we know and the change was just starting to rear it's ugly head....on we drove....