Adventure 38: Tucumcari, NM

Just a Little Rest Stop

About four hours straight east of Albuquerque is the little town of Tucumcari. Once, a vital part of Route 66, it's replete with fifties style motels and restaurants-most of which are rundown or forgotten. There are still a few struggling to draw overnight travelers from I-40, which runs along the South side of town. We are part of a surprisingly large overnight crowd, all of whom are tucked closely together in a dusty, slanted gravel patch known as Mountain Road RV Park. There are two large truck stops just beyond the park, a Loves and a Flying J, and the big rig traffic seems endless. On a ride along the frontage road, a stretch of hard pavement left over from Route 66, we counted 500 trucks in one hour. I know we hear stories of hard times economically (according to Wikipedia, the median income around here is about $25,000); nonetheless, the truck traffic along the interstate would suggest that commerce is vibrant in the Southwest. By the way, that truck total is both ways. I was counting those traveling West and Judy was counting those traveling East. My count was larger than hers by about fifty. I don't know what would keep a person here in Tucumcari, but nearly 8,000 souls live here. I do know that it's a common resting point for the trucks. We took a little walk this evening; the sky was deep blue. a sliver of crescent moon hung above Venus, and a soft orange warmed the Western sky. Maybe it's the truly beautiful sunsets that keep people here. The truck stop was a bees nest of rigs coming and going. Some truckers tucked in for the night; some stopped for food, to gas up, or to pee; quite a few were man/woman teams. No one seemed to acknowledge each other. They especially didn't acknowledge two geriatric starry-eyed goofballs walking around wearing orange CROCS and Gonzaga University sweatshirts. Regardless, it seems a solitary ethos or maybe pathos. I can't remember my greekoths right now. Tomorrow, we plan to ride around town a little bit before we head to PaloDuro State Park, which is a little south of Amarillo, and which is probably out of cell phone range. They call it the Grand Canyon of Texas. We're feeling the need to get away from these big cities, and besides the fact that we won't have our pacifying electronics, we'll be happily self-contained. We will be back in communication on Monday, November 11. Tucumcari Mountain: A legendary "Romeo/Juliet" like story starring native Apache Indians. The old chief was dying. He promised his daughter to one of two braves. They fought to the death atop the mountain. However, when the victor was about to plunge his knife into the heart of the vanquished, the chief's daughter, who was hiding nearby, plunged her knife into the victor's heart. (Wrong guy!). Then she plunged her knife into her own heart. Her elderly father discovered the scene, and he, too, plunged his knife into his own chest while yelling Tocom-kari. Tocum was the name of the vanquished brave. Kari was the name of the chief's daughter. The Europeans (Spaniards, I'd guess) named the mountain Tucumcari. The moral of the story, I assume, is that Love hurts. Needless to say, I won't be making any cracks about red heads tonight, and because of that life will be good, especially today.

Lots of company, resting for the night.

 Tucumcari Mountain (i.e. The Tourist Attraction here).

 Love's truck stop, a bee-hive of fast food, junk food, diesel, stuffed animals, and assorted other trinkets just begging to be freed from Tucumcari.

 Flying J truck stop, a repeat of Love's, but across the highway.

 Trucks lined up for the night in the main parking lot.

 Frac shining in the setting sun.

 A crescent moon atop Venus is beautiful anywhere. It amazes me that this same scene can be witnessed just above Eight Mile Island on Priest Lake.