Statisticals

Before I drift off into the blur that is Madrid in Autumn and believe me, I will try and keep this going on a weekly basis, I thought I’d share some figures with you, they are mostly approximate;
Total miles flown – 12,090
Total time travelling by air (incl. stopovers) – 54 hours
Total driven – 3,054 miles (5,082 km)
Cost per person (Flight, Car rental, Petrol, Hotels, Food, Admission charges, not including personal expenses such as pencils, shoes and Hawaiian shirts) - €2,510 ($3,765 at an exchange rate of $1,50).
We flew by Continental Airlines
The car was from National, by far the best rate when you consider the ‘drop off’ fee.
We stayed in ‘Motel 6’ and ‘Super 8’ motels most of the time, cost being between $55 and $70 a room, depending on location and local taxes. Most had wifi, all had t.vs. and coffee pots and some had fridges. A basic breakfast was included most of the time.
Best value for brunch (that we paid for Robin!!!) was ‘Muffin House’.
Best steak (that we paid for Robin!!!) – Harley Davison Restaurant in Las Vegas.
Best munchies – Harold's Deli in New Jersey, Mc Gurks and Tigín in St. Louis, Sonny Bryan's Smokehouse, 302, N. Market Street, Dallas, Applebys in Amarillo, Moloneys in Flagstaff, Peggy Sue’s near Barstow (Calico Ghost Town), the Buffalo wings in ‘Ye Rustic Tavern’ and of course, Robin in St. Louis and Huy in Los Angeles.
And I’ll skip Albuquerque the next time.

August 5th. Burbank.

Last day of the trip and all that remains is to send the last few post cards and find a place where I can upload the blog. The local library has all the facilities but no bar. We had arranged to take Huy out to lunch as a small token of appreciation and he had decided on a place called ‘The Farmers Market’ in The Grove. A curious place, The Grove, a spanking new Shopping Centre has been built to resemble a cosmopolitan European pedestrian street, all very pleasant and expensive. The Farmers Market, on the other hand dates back much further to the time when the area was agricultural and this was where the local farmers sold their produce. Apart from the shops, there are all kinds of excellent, cheap restaurants ranging from fish and seafood through bar-b-qued beef, sushi and Kosher as well as a New York diner complete with the all-day breakfast menu and the famous pastrami sandwich. The Brazilian meat stall sold by weight – not mine – but you just loaded up your plate and they weighed it and charged accordingly, a beautifully simple idea. I tried a couple of grilled sausages, salad and veg, total cost - $3.50. We then took the scenic route back, through Melrose and points Hollywood. Huy then dropped us off at the dream shop, the place where I could happily spend days as well as ‘000’s of loot. It’s called Soap Planet/Wacko and it’s on 4633 Hollywood Boulevard. It was packed with all manner of art books and the largest selection of kitsch I’ve ever seen, absolutely everything from Obama action dolls to Mexican wrestling masks. I picked up a few things but I’ll have to goback with a truck. We then headed for a bar/restaurant called ‘Dresden’, where part of the film ‘Swingers’ was filmed. This used to be a haunt of Frank Sinatra and the décor is pure cocktail lounge, you’d expect to see Dean Martin crooning at the grand piano. To ‘Ye Olde Rustic’ for the last few beers and early home (for me anyway, Willy was under orders to keep the flag flying until last orders) as we leave for the airport at 02:30 on another phase of the trip.

August 4th. Hollywood.

Second last day of the trip and still a few things to tick off the list, as well as more ‘stuff’ to be bought. First of all was a trip to the local supermarket to stock up on the various sauces, marinades and seasonings that abound here, most of which are full of msg but hey, sure tastes good. We took the Metro up to Universal City for the visit to the studios. It’s basically a theme park with themed shops and restaurants for the various films and characters. It’s designed to part you from your cash, which was ok by me as I now have most of my Christmas shopping done plus a whole new collection of ‘things’ for my house – some major pottering will take place back in Madrid. We took the trip around he back lot with all the western towns, the Bates Motel, Jaws, The Mummy, the earthquake sequence from some film I slept through and so on – a good laugh. We had a great feed of ribs from the Fred Flintstone bar-b-que and grill. You can pick up beers everywhere and they can be expensive, costing up to $11 a pop. We saw a great Blues Brothers tribute, they put on an excellent show. One of the most memorable things was a ‘New York’ couple sitting at a window on a ‘New York’ street, making comments on everyone who walked past, very improv and quite funny. Time to move on and hit the strip. We took the Metro back to Hollywood and Market, this is where all the stars are remembered on the pavement (I refuse to say sidewalk). It’s where the Kodak Theatre is as well as the famous Chinese Theatre with all the footprints and handprints of the famous. It was a bit strange looking at marks made by people not around anymore, I know I’ve touched on this before, it’s not morbid, it’s a curious observation. We hit a great bar near the corner of Hollywood and Market called ’The Power House’ complete with some starlet who had just got a part as an extra in some Tom Hanks film, she wasn’t picked for her looks, or maybe she was. Time for some more impulse shopping, I’m building up a great collection of shirts. Back to the hood for a few beers in ‘Get Lucky’ where we chatted with Dave the barman, who was in Dingle (Co. Kerry, Ireland, my favourite place in the Universe) a couple of years ago. The bang of the latch was had in ‘Ye Rustic Tavern’ where we are now recognised, great.

August 3rd. Burbank.

Another Sunday on the road, well at our Burbank camp. A stroll around the hood to pick up our contribution to this evening’s bar-b-que and time for a lunchtime pint and an excellent bowl of soup in ‘Ye Rustic Tavern’ although I do miss my Sunday paper. It was time for the bar-b. Huy had prepared a selection of food, tacos, salads and vegetable kebabs. He’d also made a demi-john of mojito which was dangerously pleasant. As usual, we got to mingle with the natives, a great mix of Huy and his girlfriend’s friends. Sunday night is cinema night and one of the things on the list was to go to see ‘Dark Knight’ in Hollywood. Willy and myself set off to the ‘Vista’ cinema, a beautiful, restored building from the golden age of cinema. I have a major problem about cinemas, comfy chairs, controlled temperature and near darkness just sends me to sleep and this was no exception, so I dozed and snored through a box-office mega-hit, with the occasional dig in the ribs from Willy.

August 2nd. Redondo Beach to Burbank.

We finally made contact with our friends in Burbank, so off we set. I also heard from Scott, who lived in Madrid a few years ago and is passing through L.A. today. So now we are near Sunset Boulevard and within striking distance of the Hollywood sign. We met Huy who has kindly consented to allow us destroy his bathroom for the next three days, Patrick having gone to Spain – you can run but you can’t hide, Patrick. Scott finally turned up after driving around for two hours, he didn’t have Betty. We sat down and chugged beers and caught up on old times and our common acquaintances. Time for a stroll around and the first stop was a recommended bar called ‘Ye Rustic Inn’. Only after a few minutes can you actually see anything inside it’s so dark but no problem there. The chicken wings were superb and Willy had the second best martini ever, the first being in Del Diego in Madrid. There were quite a few people falling over and dropping things but I think it had more to do with the poor lighting. We continued on our stroll and ended up in a place called ‘Get Lucky’, an interesting place, decorated a-la-Chinois, again, very dark and with Chinese motifs decorating the bar. Joy Division were playing as we walked in and Willy had another outstanding martini. We said our goodbyes to Scott and I stayed up talking to Huy about the bar trade and restaurants and stuff. It’s interesting how similar experiences repeat themselves around the world.

Redondo Pier

Some colour on the pier

August 1st. Redondo Beach.

After a wonderful sleep, and about time, we went for a stroll down the pier. First stop was a late breakfast of fish and chips and then down to see the fisherman casting from the end of the pier (they aren’t allowed to overhead cast for obvious reasons), I didn’t see anyone catch anything and there were enough health warnings around about the various types of fish you shouldn’t eat because they are poisoned with dioxins – I hope my bit of fish came from farther out in the Pacific. I then bought a Hawaiian shirt, I’d always wanted one so put your sunglasses on. Then up to Kilkennys Irish bar for some research and try their cider, strange taste. I went off for a siesta, first one this trip and arranged to meet Willy later, he was off on a mission for more footwear, you really have to make the most out of a place where they have everything in your size AND style. We met up back down the pier and hit Tony’s, a historic bar and restaurant on the pier. Tony passed away last year but his legacy lives on, the barman, Billy, has been working there for over thirty years in fact, most of the staff have been there since the last century. It’s a Hawaiian-style cocktail bar with food and so, I sipped on a rum something and gazed out over the pier and the Pacific washing up on the beach. There’s another bar upstairs shaped like an airport control tower with a circular bar in the middle. The 360º view around Rodondo accompanied by whatever concoction the barman produced and a competent musician playing acoustic guitar (He played Mason William’s ‘Classical Gas’, one of my favourites and the first time I’d seen it played) provided a wonderful ambience to enjoy the setting sun. Enough, back to Kilkenny’s bar for the band, stopping off for more shrimps and noodles on the way, the band (Inhale) were an eclectic mix of reggae, rock, screaming guitars and someone playing the trumpet and trying to sound like Sting. It didn’t float my boat. It was at this point that we began to ask ourselves if there was any alcohol in the drinks. We had spent the evening quaffing beers and cocktails and ne’er a glazed eye to be seen or a naughty thought to be had. Back to the crib and raid the fridge.

July 31st. Las Vegas – Santa Monica Pier.

The Last day of Route 66. We left Las Vegas to its devices and headed out into the desert, everybody must live in an air-conditioned cocoon because it is blisteringly hot, and I wanted to do this in a convertible!!! First stop was ‘Peggy Sue’s’ diner in Yermo, this is a 50’s style roadhouse diner, packed full of memorabilia and a great gift shop with all the various themes catered for. Apart from Elvis and Marlyn, there are sections for The Three Stooges, Wizard of Oz, Wonderwoman, I Love Lucy... The food was great, I don’t really know how meatloaf is supposed to taste, but this hit the spot, served with gravy, mash and French beans all served in a truly authentic setting. We then visited Calico about three miles away. It was a ghost town, a mining down that saw it’s heyday at the end of the 19th century but it was restored in the 50’s as a kind of theme village, they even had a gunfight at 15:00, on the dot. But it was a pleasant way to walk off the meatloaf as well as sit in the cool saloon and sip a cold one. A curious thing about the bar, the barmaid couldn't serve us a beer as she was under 21, my kind a gal, so she had to get her pa to serve us. Off to L.A. for the last leg of the trip. We hit Santa Monica pier just after 19:00. The traffic was immense, luckily it wasn’t too bad in our direction, here you are reminded that this is one of the biggest concentrations of humans on the planet, I know Tokyo and Mexico city are all big and that Monaco has the densest population per square kilometre but the Los Angeles area is, well, big. It ranks 13th in the list of big places with lots of people – over 15 Million people in an area a little bigger than ‘La Communidad de Madrid’. We parked the car beside the pier and walked to the end, it’s a holiday resort with fairground attractions, a band playing and seafood stalls and restaurants. We had jumbo prawns, chips and beer to celebrate. Then we had to find somewhere to stay, this is no Amarillo and everywhere was full, even around the airport where we had been recommended to look. It began to get late and frustrating so I started to drive along the Pacific Highway southbound. Not long after, we came across the ‘Redondo Pier Inn’ right by the pier (hence the name) and beach, it’s a tad more expensive, but it’s big and comfortable, has a working wifi and a fridge for my beer collection, the beach will have to wait until tomorrow for I am shattered.

July 30th. Flagstaff to Las Vegas.

We leave Flagstaff, well worth a return visit. First thing was to find a ‘Muffler Man’, these giant lumberjack statues are dotted all over and are a roadside curiosity. There is on in Flagstaff at the entrance to the Walkup Skydome sports arena. The previously mentioned Arizona Cardinals were training and there was great interest and the boys seemed to be having a good time, it was more interesting than watching the big games on the telly. Through pine forests and then into desert. We turned off route 40 at Kingman and headed up through some serious barren country, dry scrubland and a straight swathe of tarmac right through the middle of it. People live out here, I don’t know what they live off or on but I reckon they move very slowly during the day. Next stop was the Hoover Dam. Another item in my ‘Boys Book of Things you should be interested in’, though we couldn’t get a view from down the gorge which would give you some idea of its size. They’re building a new motorway and there is a major bridge being built across the gorge at the dam, I’ve seen a report on Discovery Channel about it, and yes, it is impressive. We crested a hill and there below us lay Las Vegas, sitting in the middle of the desert, the tall hotels along the strip poking through the haze. I was fascinated by the line of ‘planes coming in to land, you could see the line stretching back for miles and miles. We drove down the length of the strip and took in all the sights as well as the famous names – the drive-in chapels for a quickie wedding, Caesar’s Palace, The Flamingo Club (Donny and Marie Osmonde on stage), The Venices, Romes, Mandalays and Egypts of Nevada. We checked into the ‘Happi Inn’ right across from Luxor and they are worlds apart. The Inn was clean but a little shabby ($55 a night) with a curious odour of cheap disinfectant and/or insect repellent. First stop was for some beers and no better place than the ‘Laughing Jackalope’, a normal, if that is the word, bar. Heather, the barmaid was keeping the locals topped up with $1 bottles of Corona, I tried ‘Sierra Nevada’ another pokey Ale. With a shot of Jaegermeister we were ready to tackle the strip. Neither Willy nor myself are into gambling so it was just a case of wandering around and gawking at the people who are, but there are lots of people like ourselves there, just out for the evening, to sense this man-made marvel (quite a contrast from the Grand Canyon yesterday). Food was in order so, no better place than the ‘Harley Davison’ restaurant for some superb T-Bone steaks, what else. They have Harleys swinging over your head on some kind of production line belt thingy, which after the Sierra Nevada beer, shots and a few tinnies walking up the strip, kept my tiny mind occupied. We went to an arcade and blew $25 on arcade games and won a Bart Simpson doll each, Vegas watch out, the high rollers are in town. Las Vegas is all about you parting with your money, they’ll try anything for you to spend, spend and spend. Then, a disastrous walk along the strip trying to find the Star Trek bar which was miles away and not there when we got to the wrong place, if you understand me. Most of the centre of Las Vegas is under construction (again) so most of the ‘walk’ was through hoardings and my favourite commodity, dust. Back to our motel via an interesting taxi driver who said that he had been in Vegas for 16 years and wouldn't change it for the world, he hasn't been to Dingle or Conil. That comforting smell of whatever, though I didn’t really notice.

The rest of the photos

As you can only put a few photos on the blog, I've put the rest (one or two I'm keeping for blackmail purposes) on a picasa site, follow the link to get bored out of your mind.
http://picasaweb.google.com/tubbymurphy/TripToAmerikay

July 29th. Grand Canyon.

Some sore bodies in Flagstaff this morning but everyone has their own particular cure. My one involves various liquids and some solid food – it’ll kill or cure. Willy has raided the medicine chest. We set off for the Grand Canyon, the route is a circular one and we chose to go up the western approach (180) through some beautiful forests which skirted the San Fransisco mountains. There’s a $25 entrance fee and then you drive along the southern rim for about 20 miles and return to Flagstaff by 89. It’s very hard to describe something so immense and beautiful. Everyone has seen pictures and film of it, but to stand on the edge of the Canyon and try to take it all in just takes all your perceptive skills. I took loads of photos but there is no way they can do justice – you’ll all just have to go there. It was very busy and there were people from all over the world there. As we left, there were a lot of stalls along the side of the road selling Indian jewellery but I desisted, having already got my patches, pencils and fridge magnets in one of the shops. Willy got more flattened coins for his collection but he’s suffering today, plus the fact he has vertigo ‘Que cojones!!!’, hungover and with vertigo, standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon. The drive back was through some spectacular western locations, desert plains with bluffs and canyons. This is Navajo territory so I believe and there are lots of settlements scattered around but the preferred architecture is pre-fab or trailer. I can only hazard a guess as to why, any theories out there? Back home and an early night in, draining the cooler, for Vegas beckons tomorrow and we’ll need our wits about us.

On the road

Don't try this at home

On the road to Flagstaff

Keep the sound off on this (it crackles)

July 28th. A day off in Flagstaff.

I can’t figure out what time it is, every clock tells a different story, the car clock, Betty, my phone, the computer and the bedside clock. I got up thinking it was 09:00 and went to have breakfast only to discover it was 07:00. I made my first ever waffle, not that it’s rocket science. The first job was to go and get Willy’s ‘Dickers’ boots, they cost about a quarter of what they are in Spain and another great thing is they have all the sizes even when I buy a t-shirt, when they say ‘XL’ they mean it. The we visited the Lowell Observatory, I always remember this place from my Collins book of the stars. The telescope here was the biggest in the world for quite a while. Our tour guide was a charming (Dutch?) woman called Maria who regaled us with stories of astronomers and their discoveries. There were quite a few star gazers around, Astronomers do seem to be a special breed, think Patrick Moore, it must be all those hours alone staring at the sky. Time to drop the car off and visit Barnes and Noble, the major book shop chain in the States. Willy picked up some stuff that he’d been looking for including a cool zip-up book cover. I was looking for the books that Pat had recommended but I think Amazon is the best bet. I was also looking for books on sausage making (my new venture), but no luck. Time to hit the town. First stop was Granny’s Closet for the happy hour, two pints, $5. Flagstaff is the summer camp for the Arizona Cardinals football team and there was a local radio station broadcasting from the bar with all the updates of the training schedule – sports analysts will analyse anything, anal being the word. Time for a quick walk around the town. It’s very picturesque Americana, a fine collection of eateries and curio shops, we have to pay a visit to a great retro shop on Aspen St. But valuable beer time is being wasted and Willy is getting tetchy and I’m a little dry. We hit Connor's for more happy hour beers, this time we tried a beer called 'Kilt Lifter' a Scottish style ale. I think we’ll be going back tomorrow, they have a fish race which I feel is my duty to report about, and the barmaids are babes. We went back to Moloney’s for some more pints of Skinny Dip, the barman (Brendon) had been warned of our arrival, it’s nice to feel wanted. That Skinny Dip should carry a health warning especially whe the barman tells us it's much better with fresh orange squeezed in. We visited a student type bar with snowboards and skiis nailed to the wall, this is where we had the shots of Jaegermeister which explains a lot today (the day after).We went back to Granny’s closet for the dinner special – Sirloin steak with all the trimmings for $9, I thought we were well behaved but Willy assures me that although we didn't do anything wrong, we were very happy and the charming Courtney and Kambria looked after us. Then back to the crib for the nightcap and to sleep with the TV on. Bliss.

July 27th. Albuquerque to Flagstaff.

Sunday morning in Albuquerque is like Sunday morning anywhere, empty streets with a few lost souls trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the night before. We headed West with a few stops picked up from the internet. Laguna was supposed to have a ‘Muffler Man’ the giant lumberjack statues that dot the west. But no. Laguna is like a town in the hills of Almeria or Murcia – adobe houses, a church, a post office and every yard with its obligatory abandoned car. Nondescript rubble, is there any other kind, filled in the gaps. We headed on to Grants, another town on ’66 where we had a late breakfast/lunch, I out-ate Willy for once. Some classic (I know I use this a lot, but I haven’t got my thesaurus with me) roadside cafes and motels, most of which are abandoned. We drove along the slab to Milan and then rejoined I-40 until Gallup, where we drove up and down this roadside town. It’s a great mix of the old and the new and it’s a survivor, there’s a big rail-head here, so that’s where all the endless trains come from. We started getting hints of desert, vast plains and scrubland, treeless buffs and gullies, quite spectacular western scenery, but I have to keep my eye on the road. As I said before, everyone tools along at about the speed limit, in this case 75 M.P.H. (just over 120 K.P.H.) so I slide in and out of lanes, letting a truck pass, bursting past a caravan, just keeping the fabric of west-bound traffic together, well, doing my bit, though I think, the car being King, the locals have the edge. I saw a sign for ‘Indian City’ a gift shop/trading post of old, selling Navajo jewellery and blankets. I realised it would be the perfect place to pick up some stuff for the ladies, it’s good stuff, so I told myself as I parted with the food and drink budget for the next two days but we’ll have to wait ‘til Christmas to find out, won’t we ladies? We then stopped off in another essential ’66 stop – ‘Stewarts petrified park’, it’s a very bizarre collection of shop dummies in various poses, petrified tree-trunks, an ostrich farm and a shop full of gems and polished stone some, or most of which was rather expensive, but I got out for $20. As we approached Flagstaff the scenery changed again, to a kind of mountain feel, with pine trees and mountains. As we drove around we could see that this place is a resort, both in winter with the snow and in summer with trekking and the Grand Canyon up the road. We checked in to another ‘Super 8’ and headed off downtown for a beer. Sunday night in Flagstaff is like Sunday night anywhere, the bars were empty but the ‘vibe’ in the town is very good, people saying hello as we passed, though it might have been out of fear what with the giant Willy ambling along and tubby trotting(?) along a few steps behind. We found another ‘Maloneys’ and set ourselves up with food and some more excellent local-ish brew. This one was called ‘Skinny Dipping’, but I desisted on jumping into our indoor heated swimming-pool. Meanwhile, Willy came up with a brilliant idea. As we are a day ahead of schedule he suggested we have a rest day tomorrow and hit the Grand Canyon on Tuesday. So tomorrows blog will contain details of a day off in Flagstaff, Arizona. We are on holidays, lest we forget.

July 26th. Amarillo to Albuquerque.

We checked out of ‘Motel 6’ and headed down the road to ‘Waffle House’ for breakfast. A small classic diner with waiters easing around, carrying pots of coffee or plates of food. At the business end was the short-order cook with a battery of waffle irons and grills in front of him as he effortlessly filled the constant stream of orders. We had orange juice, hash browns cheese and with bacon on the side and a few cups of scalding coffee, all for $15 – yummee. Back on the road again, we drive through wide open plains and then drop down onto another undulating landscape complete with obligatory bluffs, still fairly green but with the reddish earth peeking through here and there. One of the things that strikes me every day is the stream, every half hour or so, of trucks carrying military equipment painted in desert colours, heading East, just to remind you that there is unfinished business being taken care of. The first stop was Adrian, the halfway point on ’66 exactly 1139 miles from Chicago and Los Angeles. As we made a detour to Memphis and Dallas we passed the halfway point a while ago, but hey, lets celebrate. Next stop was Tucumcari a stretch of ’66 just off the main highway but wonderfully preserved, there are a few closed down motels and garages but there is a classic collection of roadside Motels and shops and quite a few people buzzing around as well, locals and travellers. We went on to Santa Rosa to visit the ‘Blue Hole’ apparently a 100 ft. deep, crystal clear swimming hole but there were no signposts (something which I’ve noticed, some curiosities are not signposted, shops, motels and restaurants are) and Betty didn’t know where it was, so instead of driving around for half an hour we headed on to Clines Corners, a place which cropped up in several books as a trading post and stop-off point. It still is but the Indian section is dwarfed by a shop containing enormous amounts of tack, some of which I will gladly show you on my return to Madrid. We then drove through some heavy rain which I can only assume was the leftover from Hurricane Dolly as she spent her forces meandering upstate. We arrived in Albuquerque (founded by the Spanish and named after the cork-producing town of the same name in Extremadura, Spain, a region where a lot of the Conquistadores came from). We checked into the cheapest motel yet - $50, but it’s within striking distance of the action, which takes place on Central and 4th. We weren’t allowed into the first bar, the gorilla at the door said something about Willy’s Ramones t-shirt but I think it had more to do with the fact that the mono cellular life-form had never seen a Spanish passport before, mind you, the conditions of entry were daunting – No known felons, no guns, no knives, no gang colours, no bandanas, no baseball caps on backwards… Just as well I suppose, so we took our custom across the road to Maloneys, a great bar with enormous beer mugs , close on a litre. As usual, loads of staff making sure that everyone was well attended, if this bar were in Madrid, there would be a third of the staff, embittered and grumpy, skiving off for cigarette breaks and with little or no table service, but I won’t go down that road. I noticed the doorman was ‘carding’ everyone as they came in and passing the card through some sort of scanner, as I had already had two buckets of ‘Fat Tire’ ale, a very pleasant brew, I decided that we were the best of mates so I asked him what that (the scanning) was all about. He said that because the legal age for drinking is 21 (you can die for your country at 18), a lot of people had forged IDs and the law were very strict on underage drinking. Apparently in this part of the world they are prone to fisticuffs and car crashes after a night on the sauce, now where does that remind me of…We left Maloneys and said goodbye to our new best friends, the barmaid was excellent – I saw her refuse a guy on no uncertain terms – it was only when we got out onto the street that Willy pointed out a long string of snot stuck to my t-shirt, I’d had a sneezing fit and thought I’d cleaned it all up, so much for credibility. We went up to a square where every Saturday there is some kind of ‘Summerfest’, a soul band was just finishing and all the food stalls were shutting up, it was still quite early, don’t ask me what time. Most of the stuff on offer was Mexican and South American which reflects the population mix here. We got a Pizza and back to the ranch for pizzas, beers and Saturday night live, though I must say the latter escaped me.

Overtaking a house

You should keep the sound turned off as it's all crackly

July 25th. Vernon to Amarillo

Got up early and went for a walk around Vernon, a curious place which may or may not have seen better days. Most of the shops on the only main street were closed down, a gym with a boxing ring was up a side street and going up this side street I came across the residential area, a lot of the houses were boarded up and some of the vacant lots were littered with broken bottles. The houses that were still being lived in were making an attempt to cling on to some kind of normality, some had given up and were acquiring the collection of tell-tale junk that spells indifference – broken-down cars in the drive, plastic flowers planted in the garden, old car seats as sofas on the front porch, abandoned toys and overgrown gardens. We set off for Amarillo and the landscape is changing oh so imperceptibly, flatlands and fewer trees, cattle ranches and open spaces. We passed through some pretty towns, Childress, Memphis (not the Elvis one) and Claude with their shops, banks and people going about their everyday business. There were antique shops, a curious concept this in the States. Anything over three years old is considered an antique, well maybe I exaggerate but most of the stuff wouldn’t make a jumble sale although there were a few pieces of kitsch I wouldn’t mind having. We hit Amarillo and checked into a ‘Motel 6’, one of the cheaper chains but it’s good, clean and suits our needs though there is no fridge so we had to finish all the beer in the cooler. We then decided to visit some of the sites, most famous of which is the Cadillac farm where some chap – A millionaire called Stanley Marsh offered the space to a San Fransisco collective to come up with something, so they buried a row of Cadillacs nose down in a field. They have since been spray-painted by everyone and I think it’s the only thing that holds them together. We then stumbled across a wonderful bar and grill called ‘Applebees’ at 5630 West Amarillo Boulevard and we tucked into some delicious burgers and quaffed a few beers. It’s well worth a visit, a classic sports bar with great food, wonderful cocktails being concocted by Mike, the general manager and the charming Elena behind the bar looking after us. In fact we didn’t want to leave and debated abandoning the car along with the Cadillacs and chaining ourselves to the bar but sense got the better of us and we (I) dropped the car back to the motel and we walked about a mile to ‘Cadillac Jim’s’ a local Texan steak house and bar. When we got there the bar was in full swing with a band pumping out classic rock (‘More cowbell’ they roared at one stage), though they did mention Dan Fogelburg I don’t think they played any, the place was hopping with the Friday night locals, out for a bit of devilment. I realised that this is probably the furthest I’ve ever been from the sea – strange the ‘Amarillo effect’. We didn’t make it to 6th Avenue which is on old 66 and where all the biker and cowboy bars are, but Albuquerque awaits