We're in Albuquerque now. A billboard reads "We Appreciate Our Drivers."
Is there anything in Albuquerque that isn't made of pink adobe clay? Even the bus shelters are. It must be a building code here.
Jon promptly takes us to Albuquerque's bad side, where some of the buildings don't look like they'd wash away in the rain. The bars on the window are a nice touch, though.
...
Finally Jon gets us to two music stores. One is Charley's Records, which is also an ice cream parlor. It appears that Charlie (alternate spelling Charley) runs Albuquerque. [We also found Charlie's Steakhouse and Charlie's Sport Shop, plus other Charlie/Charley businesses I can't recall at this time]. We didn't find anything very cool here.
We stop at Taco Bell and find out that the prices here are higher. In fact, nothing seems quite right in Albuquerque. We drive through the city, blasting Peter Frampton and Prince songs on the radio. We agree that Jon should cover "When Doves Cry."
We exited Route 66. We're now taking the I-25 up to Denver.
