Our journey began the next morning at seven a.m. and took us through the verdant hills of Southern Colorado and long stretches of New Mexico.
Long, straight, and flat: roads made for big Cadillacs.
By mid afternoon we’d reached Amarillo. Tooling down Route 66 we came upon what must be the saddest site of all of motordom: The Cadillac Ranch.
Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Texas.
Ten vintage Cadillacs lay buried in a field just eight miles outside of Amarillo. Their exposed fins lure many thousands of visitors, many of whom seem compelled to decorate the Cadillacs. Graffiti covers each car in more than an inch of paint, which probably has saved these beasts from rusting into one great oxidized heap.
When dinosaurs roamed the earth.
A good half-inch of paint covers each car.
From the Cadillac Ranch, we went to The Big Texan, home of the 72 ounce free steak (which is actually a pot roast in disguise.)
The Big Texan Steak Ranch sign in Amarillo, Texas.
Again, more dead critters festooned the walls and this time our wait staff was a bit more theatrically garbed in boots, dungarees, checked shirts, garter belts, and cowboy hats. We were treated to big howdies all around.
The 72-ounce steak challenge at the Big Texan.
Our server, Ralph, explained the 72-ounce-steak challenge.
The “stage” where challengers must eat the 72-ounce steak.
To eat for free one must finish the 72-ounce steak, a shrimp cocktail, a baked potato and a house salad within one hour. Contestants cannot go to the restroom, stretch, push back from the table or share their meal with any one else. If you are unable to finish, you owe the Big Texan $75 for your four-pound lunch.
My regular 12-ounce steak at the Big Texan.
You’d think a big fat fellow with four chins and three stomachs would win this thing. Nope. The winners are skinny little guys. “They sneak up on you,” Ralph said.
The donor-cow for the 72-ounce steak.
“I had one of them little guys order not one, but two pieces of cake after he won the contest. Our cakes aren’t small! Our manager said if he could eat them, he could have them for free. He did.” said Ralph.
Another Cadillac in West Texas.
Ralph asked the guy if he practiced for the even. “No, not really.” said the skinny guy, “I just had three hamburgers for lunch.”
One should pay attention to the signs in Texas.
After waddling back out to the Cadillac, we motored on through the afternoon, clicking hundreds of miles through Northern Texas. Some complain that this part of Texas is boring.
Cruising through West Texas on FM roads. No, that’s not the radio dial.
I think that’s bunk. How can you be bored in West Texas? I’m too busy looking at crops, critters, and cows.
Still running after all these years.
Now purist car collectors should avert their eyes right now. I’ve mentioned the people who don’t drive their cars. Obviously I don’t fall into that camp. I am also not one of those people who vacuum the bottom of my feet before I get in one of my collector cars. Sure, I keep them pristine (when I’m not on the road), but I also like to drive a Cadillac attgi (that’s “A.T.G.G.I.” or as the good |Gord intended): with a cigar.
Jailbreak from the Big Texan.
A cigar in a Cadillac? As natural as bourbon and branch, shrimp and grits, sugar and ice tea. Cruising through West Texas calls for a cigar: a big, fat Cuban cigar, preferably a Monte Cristo, which, surprise, I just happened to have in the commodious glove box.
Cigars and Cadillacs–life at its best.
Kim and I puffed along in the memory of the Cadillac’s original owner, “Heavy” Jones (a big cigar fan, judging by the nicotine tinge of the headliner).
Puffing through West Texas.
I even used the cigar lighter to get the Monte Cristo going, which worked beautifully. Naturally, Kim had her own cigar lighter as well. The Caddy has four of them–because, after all, it would be simply rude to pass a hot lighter in 1958.