get your kicks on interstate 87.
Saturday, when driving through the town of Lake George, John and I fell in love with the quirky little touristy places. For example, the Seven Dwarfs Motel, which was made up of little cottages, and Gooney Golf, which was a completely over-the-top miniature golf course--including a huge, orange, glowing-eyes dinosaur.
My favorite of the tourist stuff was a motel called Surfside on the Lake. It had a huge, old-fashioned sign a la the 1950's. It was exactly the kind of tacky-chic that I adore. Like Tucumcari, NM, right in the middle of the Adirondacks.
Which only proves further (in my head, if no where else) two things: 1) Route 66 was truly the heart of America...or more accurately, the "aorta," if you will...and 2) Americans are ready and willing to leave what culture they can muster completely behind because we're in too much of a hurry. I really think Surfside only exists because it's by a location, rather than on the way there.
I really wanna go to New Mexico now.
My favorite of the tourist stuff was a motel called Surfside on the Lake. It had a huge, old-fashioned sign a la the 1950's. It was exactly the kind of tacky-chic that I adore. Like Tucumcari, NM, right in the middle of the Adirondacks.
Which only proves further (in my head, if no where else) two things: 1) Route 66 was truly the heart of America...or more accurately, the "aorta," if you will...and 2) Americans are ready and willing to leave what culture they can muster completely behind because we're in too much of a hurry. I really think Surfside only exists because it's by a location, rather than on the way there.
I really wanna go to New Mexico now.
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