Day 4: Colorado and Kansas

Editor’s note: Given limited travel opportunities these days, I decided each Thursday to post travel stories I’d written prior to starting this blog. The following is from a cross-country trip I made along the length of US 50 in the spring of 2018. I hope you might vicariously enjoy this trip while we’re all hunkering down at home. Because this is a longer trip (a week and a half), I’m going to post each of the daily entries over each of the next 10 days.

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OK, now as you know, I spent last night at my friend Detlef’s house about 2 hours north of US 50. He and I spent this morning four wheeling up an old RR right-of-way in the mountains outside of Boulder. The views were breathtaking. Here’s Detlef taking a photo of me taking a photo of him.

We returned home for lunch, where Detlef’s daughter Anna let me handle her pet boa constrictor:

Anyway, we had a great visit. Much fun to catch up after all those years. Special shout-out to Detlef’s lovely wife Nancy for her hospitality, and to his mom who is now living with them and who I enjoyed seeing again after about 40 years. OK, now back to the US 50 blog…

Day 4

I left Detlef’s house about 2 pm, and headed back down to reconnect with US 50 near Pueblo, CO, where I had started my detour yesterday. After getting out of Pueblo’s metro area, 50 returns to the straight, quiet, empty road that I’ve gotten used to. The landscape in this part of Colorado is mainly farms, cattle ranches, and scrub brush, periodically punctuated with small towns that feel like they once were reasonably prosperous, but which for years have been declining. Somehow they’re hanging on. Here are a few glimpses:

First up is the town of Fowler (pop: 517). I’m told the town was originally named Oxford, in honor of an ox that was killed on the railroad tracks. (I am not making this up.) The new name honors Orson Fowler, who was a phrenologist. It was the 1920s, after all. Anyway, I was struck by the faded stateliness of the Fowler bank.

Next, in the town of Canon City (pop: 16,000), the State Armory is boarded up. Canon City is of course a wonderful name for the city hosting an armory. But in 1975, the name was officially changed to Cañon City. Most signage still retains the original spelling.

Originally constructed in 1922, the armory still an imposing building. I phoned the number on a nearby sign that offered “information about this building.” There was no answer.

Below is an old school that also sits right on US 50. It’s evidently closed, like many other historic structures along this stretch of 50 in eastern Colorado.

A number of buildings in these old towns still sport lettering that must date back almost a century.

I’m struck by some of the colorful names along the way. This creek supposedly is the source of the town’s water supply…

Shortly before leaving eastern Colorado, I came across this used car lot. All the cars are from the 1940s through the 1960s. There must be over 100 old cars, all with asking prices around $1,500 or $2,000. Which seems like a lot for a car with flat tires, cracked windshields, and in some cases, no hood.

Just before I left Colorado behind and entered Kansas, I stopped for dinner at a restaurant called Porky’s Parlor. It’s a family-run place, with a drive-through for to-go orders. I was evidently the only person who decided to “dine in.”

The menu on the wall must list 3 dozen options, including burgers, sandwiches, tacos, chili, and various other items. I asked the owner’s daughter, who was running the cash register, what she’d recommend. She told me that “everyone” gets the “pig burger.” Which makes one wonder why they have 35 other items on their menu. I dutifully took her advice, and was not disappointed.

Before getting back on the road, I made a trip to the restroom. There are two bathrooms (presumably for men and women, being that this is Binary Gender country.) Yet rather than having proper labels, the doors each had a picture of a pig. I am guessing that one was a boy pig and one was a girl pig, but there was really no way of distinguishing their gender. I chose the pig that seemed to have a more masculine face, but when I entered the room, it was clear from the, um, infrastructure that I’d guessed wrong. I quickly exited, and noted that the girl behind the counter was smirking. I think the androgenous pigs are part of a little joke they play on tourists.

It was now twilight, and 50 was feeling like America’s Loneliest Road. I was practically the only person driving it. There’s something very Zen about this. I find it comforting. The only distraction was the impossibly short telephone poles alongside the road. Seriously—I could have touched the wires if I didn’t want to get fried.

Looking back towards the west, the sun was setting. It was time to pull off the road for the day. I am literally the only person staying at the Hometown Inn in Lakin, KS.