Four Days on New Mexico’s Route 66

As we pull onto the roadway, I think of the millions of motorists who have passed this way since Route 66 was commissioned in 1926. We’re following their taillights toward the same wide-open skies, mountains, and mesas, drawn like fireflies to flashy neon signs, kitschy curio shops, and mom-and-pop stops. 

“Route 66 has always epitomized the Great American Road Trip, the diversity of culture and history that America is based on,” Brennen Matthews, editor of Route Magazine, tells
me later. 

In tiny San Jon, we encounter our first quirky roadside attraction. The World’s Largest Flip-Flop is a work in progress created by Jumah Culhane for his wife, Caryn Grzegorek. “I want it to give people a sense of nostalgia,” says Culhane, who found his way to the town of less than 200 residents on a cross-country trip. Perched sideways in front of the couple’s house and tiny gift shop, the 40'-x-15' sculpture reminds us of Santa Monica, California, beach culture. 

“We love Route 66,” says Culhane, who’s also the curator at Russell’s Car and Collectible Museum. He laments that driving 75 mph on the interstate has stolen a vital piece of Americana. “People want to have a feeling of what it was like back before the world was moving so fast,” he says.

CREATED BY THE FEDERAL government from a patchwork of existing, mostly unpaved roads, Route 66 became one of the country’s main east-west thoroughfares and a lifeline connecting rural towns to a national highway. The nearly 2,448-mile byway ran through eight states from Chicago to Santa Monica. 

With 507 miles in 1926, New Mexico had the longest Route 66 stretch of any state. The route declined after the 1956 creation of the U.S. Interstate Highway System, which bypassed and often overlaid Route 66 with multilane interstates, cutting off those small towns with bypasses. In 1985, US Route 66 was decommissioned.

John Steinbeck dubbed it the Mother Road in his 1939 novel, The Grapes of Wrath, because it gave millions of Americans refuge and hope as they traveled to sunny California, displaced by the devastation of the Dust Bowl. 

“After World War II, people started purchasing modern, affordable cars, and once you purchased a brand new car, you wanted to go cruising,” says Johnnie Meier, a historic preservationist who restores neon signs throughout New Mexico and owns the Classical Gas Museum in Embudo. “People started building motels, gas stations, and restaurants to provide services for those travelers.” 

But Route 66 has always been more than the asphalt sum of those things. After the route was decommissioned, highway officials assumed it would disappear. Instead, travelers made sure it survived by doing exactly what my husband and I are doing right now. 

“Route 66 is not just a highway connecting Chicago and Santa Monica,” says Jerry McClanahan, whose EZ 66 Guide for Travelers has aided countless motorists, including us, in navigating a highway now chopped into segments. “You’ve got the Old West, the Southwest. You have Native American history. That’s what Route 66 does. It connects history, scenery, and culture across the country.”

Of course, much of Route 66 did fade away. A sadness hits me whenever we pass a crumbling trading post, remnants of a Whiting Brothers gas station, and other faded landmarks. On the flip side, I’m elated to see the neon-lit towns lined with restored 1950s-era motels, family diners, curio shops crammed with souvenirs and memorabilia, and Route 66 museums packed with shiny classic cars. 

WE STOP FOR THE NIGHT in the multicolored glow of Tucumcari. A former railroad town and major stop in the Mother Road’s golden era, it’s still a treasure trove of life-size souvenirs—five miles of neon-saturated motor courts, diners, and a teepee-shaped curio shop. Giant murals painted on buildings throughout town are a modern trend in the state’s Route 66 roadside towns and cities, and here they celebrate Tucumcari’s rich history.

We wander the streets and check out the restored Art Deco Odeon Theatre, built in 1936 and screening the newly released Captain America: Brave New World. Instead of a superhero flick, we opt to return to our room at the restored Roadrunner Lodge and listen to oldies and retro commercials on a vintage Victrola radio. I feel like a time traveler discovering music that got lost in the airwaves. In a way, time travel is what this road trip is all about.

Wherever we go in town, friendly faces make us feel like family. At Del’s Restaurant, for instance, our waitress tells us she’s been working there for 20 years and is always happy to see Route 66 travelers come back. She says she hopes we do too. 

That’s something McClanahan discovered while researching and traveling America’s Main Street for his guidebook. “The most important thing was the people,” he says. “The small towns and the people in them are really friendly.”

Headed toward Albuquerque, we drive through Montoya, founded in 1902 as a loading stop for the Southern Pacific Railroad. Not much remains but a forlorn cemetery and an old stone store still promising “Cold Beer” in faded paint on its outer wall. From the highway, we would never see these historical remnants, never know that lives were lived and lost here. Winding our way down the lonely road, Kyle points out how, on old Route 66, we’re driving with the contours of the landscape rather than cutting through the landscape, like the interstate demands. 

After Santa Rosa, we could pick up the 1926 alignment of Route 66 and follow a lazy S curve north through Pecos to Santa Fe and then south into Albuquerque. Instead, we stay on the post-1937 alignment and plan to hit the Santa Fe Loop on our return trip. 

This route leads to the sprawling Clines Corners Travel Center, opened in 1934, which draws motorists as much for souvenirs, candy, and jewelry as it does for fuel. There’s a restaurant, an RV park, and a mob of friendly people to chat with as Kyle and I browse fudge and T-shirts decorated with flying saucers. “Just don’t forget to gas up,” I whisper before we leave.

Decisions abound on any road trip, but especially this one. A loose itinerary can be a blessing, but we have a schedule to keep. So we skip a stay at Moriarty’s 1959 Sunset Motel, the only Route 66 motel in New Mexico still owned by the original family. Next time, we think.

DUSK IS SETTLING AS WE REACH Albuquerque’s Central Avenue, the Route 66 strip since 1937. Nob Hill is alive with shops, galleries, and restaurants decked in neon. After driving through so many empty stretches of road, it’s a joy to encounter bright lights and festive crowds. 

We check in to the Imperial, a newly renovated boutique motel first opened in 1950. At the swanky bar, a boisterous young crowd enjoys craft cocktails, live music, and a view of the restored outdoor swimming pool. This is where the old Route 66 meets the hip highway, as younger generations discover the road. “We get a lot of young people here,” says Shantel Rosales, a barista who also works the front desk. “It’s been remodeled but still has a retro vibe. People love it.”

Families are hitting the road too. “We live in an age where everybody’s lost in their own technological bubble,” says Matthews, who wrote a memoir in 2022 called Miles to Go: An African Family in Search of America Along Route 66. “I think parents want to get their kids out of those bubbles and connect as families. They want to get on the road, see things, and spend intimate time together. You don’t get any more intimate than when you’re tucked into a car together for hours.”

The next morning, we spy more Duke City neon—El Don Motel’s colorful cowboy riding his horse and Dog House Drive In, where a tail-wagging dachshund dines on hot dogs. At Fourth Street and Central Avenue, the only place in the country where Route 66 crosses itself, we honk our horn out of respect.

The next stretch wanders through the stark beauty of Laguna Pueblo, passing the large and whimsical Owl Rock lava outcrop, then winding precariously around Dead Man’s Curve just west of Mesita. The dark lava flows of El Malpais remind me just how ancient this land is. 

Rolling into Grants, the town’s history unfurls in a series of murals depicting the railroad era and the mining boom after the 1950 discovery of uranium. I realize how a journey on Route 66 is a trip through time but also a window into America’s past. We can’t help but stop for a photo op at the drive-through, neon-lit Route 66 arch that acts as a glowing gateway.  

Heading west, we encounter a landscape of pink- and red-hued rocks and mesas familiar as backdrops in Western movies. The scenery prepares us for Gallup, the midcentury Hollywood hub for John Wayne, Katharine Hepburn, and dozens of other stars who filmed in the area. Driving into the city, we can’t help but sing “Route 66.” After all, Gallup is the only place in New Mexico that Troup mentioned in his lyrics.

Long known as the Gateway to Native America, Gallup’s stretch of the Mother Road is jammed with trading posts, Native jewelry stores, galleries, and museums. It feels like the Old West. We spend the night in a chromatic Route 66–themed room at El Rancho Motel, built in 1974 as an annex of the historic 1936 El Rancho Hotel. 

The next morning, Kyle and I get back on the road to head home to Santa Fe. Gazing out the window, I marvel at the mystique of this fabled highway. It seems we’ve both fallen under its spell, a potent blend of endless adventure, rolling beauty, fascinating history, and authentic hospitality. 

I think of something McClanahan told me, which now holds a deeper meaning: “When the road was decertified in 1985, immediately fans started clawing it back. It’s an ongoing, breathing thing. We keep reinventing it, adding to it. There are people dedicated to this dream.”

Read more: Fuel your passion for Route 66 at these museums.