Wednesday, March 23, 2022 (today’s lectionary)
Making friends along the Route
Now hear the statutes and decrees that I am teaching you to observe, that you may live, and take possession of the land which the Lord, the God of your fathers, is giving you.
At Palo Duro Canyon the wind blew into my face. If it were behind me it might have blown me over the wall.
The blizzard’s six inches of snow was quickly melting, and I stepped into three inch puddles on the way to the car. Of course I was wearing those Croc sandals I’ve been in love with for three years, the ones with the back straps that are bedraggled and mashed down. My feet were freezing.
But the roads to Palo Duro Canyon were spic-n-span, all the snow and ice swept off to the side. Several cars and one semi were swept off too, not yet picked up by busy tow trucks. Black angus cows grazed beside the road, in the snow, against dark blue clouds and a snowscape far away to the east.
A few other hardy souls from Texas, Minnesota, Boston and who knows where else, congregated in the visitor center parking lot, grieving at the locked doors but like me, marveling at the canyon. It’s 15 miles south of Amarillo, and the roads on the way sweep straight through the flattest land I have ever seen. I could see for miles and miles. And then, like a knife slicing through butter, the second longest canyon in the country stops us in our tracks.
The Lord has strengthened the bars of your gates. He has blessed your children within you. He sends forth his command to the earth; swiftly runs his word. He spreads snow like wool; frost he strews like ashes.
The wind chill might have been 15, but all day the sun was shining, and I felt happy. I chose not to think much about the ugly history of the US Army vs Comanches that ended in this canyon.
Whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do so will be called least in the Kingdom of heaven.
Gradually I’m working my way down the “Route.” Cadillac Ranch was on my list, but it’s a long walk into the fields on a good day, and impossible yesterday. Walking back, the 30 mph wind would have been straight in my face. I turned into it for five seconds, and decided to skip that walk.
By the time I reached Adrian, Texas I was hungry. This is the midpoint of Old Route 66, 1139 miles go Chicago, and 1139 miles to Los Angeles. And the Midpoint Café was unexpectedly open! After I filled up taking photos of everything in the vicinity, I stepped inside. A perfect lunchtime café, waiting for travelers to stop and stretch and decide to eat. I immediately felt at home. “I’ll have a hamburger with everything except ketchup and fries and a root beer float.” No menu necesssary.
Miss Brenda is the owner these days. She calls herself Brenda, and I did too, but she’s a “Miss Brenda” if ever there was one. And she is a hugger. Her helper (daughter?) totes a 4 month old girl in a front harness and brings me a root beer float after a minute or two. The baby’s name is Remington Grace.
“She’s named after a gun!” Well, yeah, that was her daddy’s idea. Remington had her shots the day before. No pun intended. She was a little pouty today, her mama told me.
In the booth next to me Eric and Aleisha drank coffee. “Hello! We were at the same hotel last night.” Erik’s head is shaved and his beard is nine inches long. Couldn’t miss that guy. They had driven from our motel to Cadillac Ranch like me.
Aleisha has lost part of her right leg, and she walks with a prosthesis. You didn’t walk all the way out there, did you? “Oh, yes we did! And it was snowy and muddy and freezing and on the way back I could barely breathe.”
And of course, she was glad they took the walk.
Eric’s traveling nurse contract was over in Massachusetts, so they flew to Chicago, rented a car for 20 days, and started down Route 66. When they get to Los Angeles they plan to drive up Route 5 through California to Oregon and then fly back. By that time Eric’s next contract will be set to begin, much further south this time so they can be near their 2 year old grandson in South Carolina.
“When will we ever have another chance to do this? We couldn’t say no.” Eric ate a triple hamburger, about six inches tall, while I ate half of my single. He ordered whisky pecan pie to go. They were hoping for Albuquerque tonight, waiting as usual till the last minute to get a motel room.
As I left, Miss Brenda asked me if I’d like a taste of that whisky pecan pie. Of course! She brought out a piece for me to taste. I had already eaten half of my piece of coconut pie. This was even better. She closed up the to-go box.
You’re just trying to get my bill up to $66, I laughed. When that happens everyone is happy, here at the midpoint of Route 66. But she said, “No, this piece is on me.” That’s when she gave me my hug. I have two kinds of pie and half a fabulous burger for supper.
These amazing friendly hosts and hostesses along Route 66 know each other, too. My next motel was in Tucumcari, New Mexico. The Blue Swallow Motel, oldest motor lodge in the United States, is painted coral and turquoise with garages for each room and yellow metal chairs in front, sitting in the morning sun. I thought of Perry Mason plots, set in the 50s, where murder and mayhem sometimes happened in motor lodges like this one.
Rob and Donna moved here from Wheaton a couple of years ago to buy this motel. A 1957 Hudson sits in front, along the highway. Their neon is world-famous. They show each new renter their room personally. If you use the old phone, don’t have anyone call you, because every room phone in the motel will ring on the old party line. Music from the 50’s plays in the courtyard. Really good coffee waits in the lobby.
I mentioned the Midpoint Café. “How is Brenda?” Rob asked. Dawn was there last week and Brenda invited her back in the kitchen because her cook was sick. Spatula in one hand and wooden spoon in the other, she reached out for a big hug.
Whoever obeys and teaches these commandments will be called greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.
This hospitality stretches out all along the highway, I told Rob. No surprise to him. I mentioned Lebanon, Missouri, and the Munger Moss Motel where I stayed two nights ago. “Oh, how is Ramona?” Surely they don’t see each other often, 705 miles apart. But I told him Ramona was getting a new car this week, and Rob was happy for her.
At the Blue Swallow Motel the bed is covered with a white chenille quilt, decorated with big New Mexico flowers. I can’t wait to lie down in that bed and sleep the night away.
(Deuteronomy 4, Psalm 147, John 6, Matthew 5)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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