Tucumcari

Position: 35°10’51.4″N 103°43’34.5″W

America’s answer to Timbuktu is Tucumcari, a small town in eastern New Mexico. Before Route 66 was the main road west to California, Tucumcari had already gained notoriety. Founded as a construction camp for the Rock Island and Pacific Railroad in 1901, “Six Shooter Siding” was famous for its frequent gunfights.

Sergio Leone put it on the world’s atlas in his 1965 Spaghetti Western, ‘For a Few Dollars More’. Until I watched Lee Van Cleef utter the immortal line, “Is it far to Tucumcari?”, I hadn’t heard of the place. Sergio piqued my interest, so on the return leg of our cross-country road trip last October we stopped in for breakfast. It is still there. Clinging on by its fingernails.

Straight Shot

We had taken a southerly route home via Tennessee and didn’t find Route 66 again until the merger of I-40 with I-44 at Oklahoma City. Much of the old, potholed road is still navigable. In places, however, collapsed bridges and washouts make it challenging for the unprepared. Best not to drive it in the dark.

We stopped in Amarillo for the night and because the roads follow the old Rock Island line, it was a straight, 125 mile shot to Tucumcari in the morning. Amarillo has modernized and expanded over the years. To the point where the relics of Route 66 are difficult to pick out. Tucumcari has no such pretences. Like the few citizens we saw, it is a little worn and fading slowly into the dust.

Leaving the highway, we drove a couple of miles into the east end of town. Four lanes wide, Tucumcari Boulevard (aka. Route 66) transports you back 70 years. The chipped and fading plastic of the Relax Inn’s sign, for example, looks like it dates from the 1990s. Scrape a little more paint off and underneath you’d find its 1949 origins as the Circle S Ranch Court. A couple of antique green pickups and a rusting Chevrolet out front lend character. We could see all this from our table at the Kix on 66 Diner across the street, itself a relic of the 1960s. Kitty-corner is the renovated Roadrunner Lodge, promising a modern take on the mid-20^th century motel experience.

Heyday

Given the number of establishments built in the first couple of years after World War II, Tucumcari’s heyday appears short-lived. About 30 years by my estimation.

The station opened in 1926. Trains like the Golden State and Arizona Limited routinely stopped so passengers could make alternate westbound connections. In the go-go ‘50s automobiles toppled the train’s hegemony. The last passenger train departed in 1968. Coast-to-coast air travel became the norm in the 1970s, and dozens of motels, restaurants, and amusement arcades steadily went out of business.

Our diner was a mash-up of traditional and modern Americana. The menu ran two narrowly spaced, laminated pages of eggs, meat, coffee and pancakes in various combinations. The clientele was eclectic. An aging solo motorcyclist in chaps and blue jeans, a local character with a loud voice, pronounced limp and open-carry sidearm, a couple of state patrol officers, and a few skinny, shaggy guys that were either day-workers or meth heads, or both.

Breakfast was just as we expected. Omelettes, stuffed with sauteed vegetables and melting orange cheese, with a side of fried potatoes, arrived promptly. Coffee was also exactly what you would expect: thin, hot, and bottomless. Keeping with the vibe, I was kind of hoping it was a cash only establishment. Contactless transactions seem more like an anachronism than a convenience in places like that. But since we were out of cash, I didn’t dwell on it too long.

Warmer

Back outside, the sun had risen higher in the sky and warmed things up considerably. Without wind there were no tumbleweeds crossing the highway. Ours was one of the few cars on the road. Nobody was out walking around.

The train station became a museum in 2015. It was closed, but through its windows I peered in on a few fragments of history. The tracks outside belong to the Union Pacific Railroad and appeared in good condition. It wasn’t clear if any trains stopped by these days.

Good News

It’s not all bad news. Motels in out of the way places are making a bit of a comeback as people seek out experiences, especially ones that don’t involve shared public spaces. Yet, comfortably restored places like the Roadrunner are few and far between. That makes reservations at the height of summer essential. Passing through town we saw a couple of other motel renovations underway.

The local Chamber of Commerce hosts an annual film festival and does its best to keep the neon lights burning. Despite the general state of dilapidation, old-timey politically incorrect signage abounds and (probably) also deserves preservation. Murals decorate walls across the city and it has a couple of historical museums, that we didn’t venture into. Missing is a microbrewery. Odd given Tucumcari’s vibrant history and the potential for all sorts of beer-naming punnery.

Tucumcari, like much of Route 66, seems poised for rescue by Tiktok influencers – if they can figure out a way of getting there and someplace to stay on arrival.

---