Dateline: Amarillo, Texas.
We are staying HERE.
Why, you ask? Well, c'mon -- we're traveling up the legendary Route 66 (see: either Manhattan Transfer, the Rolling Stones or, in a pinch, Depeche Mode) because, frankly, if you're going from any random destination up north down to LA, you gotta take the highway that's the best, y'know? And if you're DOING Route 66, you can't -- CAN'T -- just stay in Clean Friendly Motor Lodge and/or Smarmy Hotel. You have to find the cheesiest, stupidest tourist trap motels imaginable. And, frankly, having been to numerous Indian/Cowboy/whatever themed motor lodges in my life, the Big Texan is one of the stupidest.
- Our room is "charming" and by "charming" I mean really kinda shitty but with Western crap all over it.
- The restaurant (pictured) is awesome. The steaks are enormous, the drinks are great, the waitresses are cute and say "y'all" a lot, a strolling country band of 80-year-old men play love songs at the table for you, and we watched an Italian man try to consume A FOUR AND A HALF POUND STEAK. The size of a human head. And I mean a BIG human head, not, like, Verne Troyer's head, okay?
- There is a dog area for your dog to play, but they spell it "Dawg."
- There is BOTH a giant boot AND a giant cowboy present on premises.
To sum up, we turn to Trixi: "This room is cute, but it kinda smells like old poo." We're smoking it up, though, to conceal it (YOU CAN SMOKE YOU CAN SMOKE YOU CAN SMOKE).
Tomorrow: New Mexico and Arizona, home of dessicated, run down tourist traps and some of the gorgeous scenery I've ever peeped in m'life.
(Car fans: It's a yellow Cooper Mini!)