Early in the year, I got the itch to drive across the country again. I’ve crossed the country a few times, but last summer’s trip got me hooked on doing it in a piece of automotive history. Last year it was a 1959 Triumph TR3 roadster. This year it was a 1965 Ford F-100 pickup. As with the Triumph, I had to do some work before we got on the road. Unlike the Triumph though, I didn’t even own this truck when we made the road trip plans.
Kate and I began planning our trip early in the year and when I got back to California in March I started looking for a suitable truck. I already own one 1965 F-100, which is nearly indestructible, and I knew I wanted something similar for this trip. For some reason the pickings were unusually slim in norcal, and when I finally found an almost suitable truck I immediately paid too much for it. I soon found out that, while it had low miles and I was only the fourth owner, those three previous owners should probably have had their tools taken away. By the time Kate arrived on the west coast, I had resolved all but one of the truck’s issues – a persistent noise from the rear end. It wasn’t the wheel bearings, and replacing the carrier showed that it wasn’t the spider gears either. As it turned out, the axle housing was slightly bent. One day after we realized that, we were driving 200 miles home from Fresno with no registration and no tail lights in a $375 parts truck bearing a suitable axle. The day after that the axle was serviced, mated with a suitably geared carrier, and bolted into our truck. The following day, and a week after our planned departure, we were driving down the Pacific coast on Route 1.
Our route took us down the California coast through Monterey, Carmel, Big Sur and a series of other mind-blowingly beautiful vistas falling away from the edge of the road to the crashing Pacific, and then inland through Bakersfield, Barstow, and Baker, toward the weird desert oasis of Las Vegas. It’s easy for me to turn west at the start of a cross country trip, but surprisingly difficult to turn east. Having taken our time, we arrived in Vegas around 4am on the second day of the trip. Our affordable lodgings at the Super 8 in North Las Vegas proved fortuitous because, while our visit to the strip was a frustrating bust, we determined that the Silver Nugget Casino may be the Greatest Place On Earth. A bowling alley, buffet, bar, and casino all under one roof with almost no one under the age of 50 in sight. We ate $1 biscuits and gravy and the friendly dealer at the blackjack table even coached us a bit.
Leaving Vegas we made what was probably the single best decision of the trip; to head north to Zion National Park rather than south toward the Grand Canyon. The scenery was like none I’ve seen anywhere else in the country. The pictures speak for themselves, or at least will come closer to portraying the grandeur than can I. From there, we passed through northern Arizona and northern New Mexico through Gallup and into Albuquerque. I’ve always liked Gallup for some reason, though none I can clearly identify other than perhaps the businesses and neon signage along Route 66 as it passes through town. Albuquerque was not particularly interesting, though, as in Austin, we did find a bar with dopplegangers of many Philadelphians. Apparently the hipster uniform extends nationwide.
From there we left for Roswell and points Texan. The terrain and small towns between Albuquerque and Roswell turned out to be some of our favorite of the whole trip. It felt perhaps the most “western” of anywhere I’ve been. Roswell itself was predictably hilarious, though we were pleasantly surprised to find a few hidden gems such as the Robert Goddard exhibit at one of the local museums. I’m beginning to regret not buying the “Buckle Up! It makes it harder for the aliens to suck you out of your car” bumper sticker from the town with alien heads for street lamps.
I’ve never known what to say about Texas, and so I won’t say much of anything other than to point out that I stole a bunch of “Don’t Mess with Texas” postcards from a Walmart near Pecos. Chuck Norris never came after me. I think it is an empty threat.
At the Texas / Louisiana border we fell strangely in love with the Texas Pelican Casino. I think it was the free coffee and cookies, but it may have been simple delirium after driving through the night. It was the second time on the trip that we purchased our breakfast with video poker winnings. We found a place to buy Lil’ John’s Crunk Juice energy drink in Baton Rouge, and were captivated by the Spanish moss, French balconies, and gritty charm of New Orleans. We were also chased across town by folks scouting for a Levis commercial. They seemed entirely unperturbed that I was wearing Rustler jeans; the Wrangler off-brand sold for $9 at Walmart. It is hard to ignore that most places in America look roughly the same. I’m sure there is a Dunkin Donuts in New Orleans somewhere – several more than likely – but the rubber stamped retail scenery was harder to find there than in most places. It is one of America’s unique places, and I cannot wait to go back.
Turning north, we took the route of the King from Tupelo, MS to Memphis and then moved on to Nashville. Nashville was the busiest I’ve ever seen it with what felt like more people on the street than New York City. A marathon had just finished and the city had record crowds. Two more days of driving with a bed full of fireworks through Roanoke, VA and up the blue ridge parkway brought us home to Philadelphia. Now I have a truck for when I am in Philadelphia, Kate and I can say that we’ve finally seen the south, and I’ve added substantially to my collection of bibles.
Look in the Tango Echo flickr pool for the rest of the pictures from this trip.
Pictures from last year’s road trip are on my flickr account.
