This is another blog post in my Following Old Trails section of the blog.

I recently traveled west for a family reunion. One of my characters in the second book of my “Palmetto Pioneers” series moved to Texas in the 1870s, and his offspring was having a family reunion near Tulsa, Oklahoma. Anyway, a flood canceled the reunion, but I had already made my flight arrangements and lodging reservations. So, I made the trip anyway and followed an old trail—or road in this case.

About 19 years ago, my youngest daughter and I did a significant section of Route 66 from Santa Monica in California to Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was a great two-week vacation, and we had planned to do another section of the road later—plans that never came to fruition.

So, I did another section of it from Albuquerque to Tulsa in the first week of June. Here are some scenes from my first day, which was Albuquerque to Amarillo, TX.

By the way, originally Route 66 followed the Old Santa Fe Trail, which ended in Santa Fe, New Mexico; but they re-routed and bypassed Santa Fe in the 1930s. I had already traveled the Santa Fe portion of Route 66 many years ago; therefore, on this trip I followed the bypassed, straighter, and more direct section.

Albuquerque was getting ready to celebrate the 100th birthday of the road, and I took a few pictures before leaving the city. The Mother Road came to Albuquerque in 1926. There were banners on the road,

and people had restored some of the old signs, even though the properties were long gone.

From our earlier trip in the early 2000s to now, there was not much left of the old stores, motels, and sites. But there were a few.

Check out this bus stop!

Once you leave the city on Route 66, the road becomes State Road 333.

There’s hardly anything man-made left ,

but the views and the vistas are exceptional.

This is a pretty part of New Mexico. Imagine what the earliest people who used this road, especially those moving west, thought about these views.

Route 66 is also called the Mother Road. Through many states, it runs alongside I-40.

Frequently, Route 66 was on higher ground here, running along the top of a ridge. They had been getting rain, so everything was green. However, between Moriarity and Santa Rosa, they buried the road beneath Interstate 40. I got off when there was a town.

One of the former Harvey girls ran the Blue Swallow Inn in Tucumcari, NM. “The Harvey Girls, sometimes known as the women who ‘civilized’ the Wild West, were young Americans (well-groomed, well-behaved, single, 8th-grade educated, and white) who left family and friends to head west as waitresses for the Fred Harvey restaurants,” writes Alison Owings. Mr. Harvey owned a chain of restaurants beginning in the late 1800s, and his women became legendary as independent women. There is a Judy Garland movie about them called “The Harvey Girls.”

Some places have done Route 66 art to commemorate the road. This monument to “The Mother Road” is in Tucumcari. Notice its tailfins, commemorating the golden age of American automobiles.

I stopped at the Silver Moon Cafe, established in 1959, for lunch in Santa Rosa. Great Mexican-American food. I had their Indian Tacos.

A popular place for travelers to stop was the Blue Hole in Santa Rosa, an 81-foot deep artesian well. Its crystal clear waters have a constant temperature of 62 degrees.

Before I got to Texas, the road ended, and I had to get on the interstate. There are stretches of the road in New Mexico, just before I got to the Texas state line, where the locals said that they were better off with an interstate because this stretch was so dangerous. I noticed one time that what was left of the roadbed went up the side of a draw, and it occurred to me that only a car that could climb like a mountain goat could’ve made it. The roadbed was gone, and there was nothing but a rocky dirt road going up.

This part of the road near the state line reminded me of the old Road Runner cartoons. I kept looking for one or at least a coyote, but saw neither, except for this sign.

When I got to Texas, everything flattened out. These were the plains of Texas, and I was in Comanche territory. This was also where the big herds of buffalo roamed.

Route 66 moved across the state like a rifle shot, and mostly it was right next to the interstate, but Texas did not do a very good job of maintaining this road. I think it is used only by ranchers. And their ranches were few and far between.

Gone were the vistas from the Mother Road where it ran higher than the interstate. Instead, in Texas, it ran directly beside the interstate. On my left as I traveled east, my view was of Interstate 40. This part of Route 66 was not my favorite. Only where the road intersects with towns, can you see anything left of what the road used to be. Route 66 was famous for sites that displayed unusual sights to get people to stop. Even today, they still use this strategy.

Also, Texas chopped up the Mother Road into fragments, crossing the panhandle. Here are little towns, long passed by the interstate, called Glenrio, Adrian, and Vega. Adrian was at the midpoint of Route 66. A sign said it was 1,139 miles to Chicago and 1,139 miles to Los Angeles.

I got to Amarillo in time to have dinner with one of my Andrew’s cousins. Her second great-grandfather is Henry Andrews in the book, and Henry was two years older than my second great-grandmother, Laura, who is also in the book. Henry named one of his daughters Laura.

I stayed at a Route 66 hotel called the Big Texan.

And we had dinner at the Big Texan Steak Ranch, next door. This motel and restaurant made it because they left the Mother Road and rebuilt their operation next to the interstate in the late 1970s. The restaurant gained renown for its free 72-ounce steak. If you can eat it in one sitting, there is no charge.

Just as we left, a man was trying to eat one. Neither of us wanted to see him get sick.