I like going out for lunch to a homey cafe in the desert. A little trip
down the Mother Road, Route 66, always puts me in a bright and sunny mood and
in the mood for sunnyside-up eggs, hash browns, biscuits and gravy. Probably
all loaded with cholesterol.
But since I am not eating this type of food every day, I figure I am safe
once in a while.
I had a nasty car accident in 2002 — I call it “The big car-go-crash-boom,” (trying
to make light of a serious situation.)
Two and a half weeks in the hospital, a
month in a nursing home (I was the youngest one there), three months in a wheel
chair, a couple of months with a walker and then crutches. Life was a challenge.
A
friend called me one day while I was recuperating and wanted to know if I would
like to go to lunch — anywhere I wanted.
I said, “Ludlow.” His
reply was, “You want to go to Ludlow
for lunch?” Yes, I did. Cabin fever was making me downright cranky and
Ludlow is one of my favorite desert haunts — even if it is 50 miles away
in the middle of nowhere.
All-righty then, Ludlow it was. We loaded the crutches
into the car and headed east on Interstate 40 out of Barstow, Calif.
Barstow is
about halfway between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, Nev. Most people only stop in
B-Town to get gas and food and then hop back on the freeway to go on their merry
ways.
But here, in the middle of the Mojave Desert, is where I call home.
HISTORY
Ludlow is one of those little towns that refuse to die.
It started as a water stop for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad in 1883
and when ore was found in the nearby hills, Ludlow became a happening-kind of
place. There were no wells in those olden days so water had to be brought in
from Newberry Springs — about 27 miles to the west. The major portion of
the town was built along the railroad tracks where many shacks are still located.
When Route 66 was established in 1926, the townspeople of Ludlow moved Main
Street north to line up with the road.
Even after I-40 came through and Route
66 was decommissioned, Ludlow held on by providing gas and food for travelers
on the interstate. With the popularity of the movie, “Bagdad Cafe,” Route
66 in the Mojave became a must-see for tourists — homegrown and foreign-born.
EXPLORING
Did I mention the trains? I do love the trains. Ever few minutes a long
freight rumbles through, sometimes so quietly coming down the western approach
to town, they can hardly be heard until they are very close.
The old mercantile store is the victim of time and earthquakes, as are many
of the other structures. Vandals seem to take delight in grabbing and destroying
what they can.
Ludlow is one of those places that is just plain fun, photographically
speaking. While the trains are always rushing through to destinations mysterious
and unknown, the surrounding desert beckons with a siren song of dusty creosote
and decaying buildings. Old mining camps dot the far away and unnamed graves
can be found along the railroad route — probably old-time track or rail
workers, their identities lost in the sand.
Dirt roads and gullies wrinkle the
land, always saying, “Let’s see
what’s over there?”
This almost-ghost town
is the last stop for gas and gastronomic delights heading east until Fenner — another
58 miles down the freeway. It
is also the perfect place to get off the interstate and take an adventuresome
detour down Route 66 — which is far enough from the freeway to get the
sense of what it must have been like for early wanderers.
Truckers and tired tourists can stay at the very reasonably-priced Ludlow
Motel, a clean and tidy little lodging next to the cafe. The motel also makes
a good home-base for people who are exploring vast areas of the desert, driving
66, chasing trains or rockhounding. Spring can bring floral joy in the way of
short-lived wildflowers. Fields of yellow blooms can carpet the rolling hills
surrounding the town, beckoning photographers and nature lovers. Each spring
is different and the bloom is dependent on the amount of winter rain and weather.
This year looks as if it is going to be a good one for desert flowers.
FOOD
Back at the cafe, food is as American-diner as it comes.
But once I heard a couple exclaim they could have a French
dinner at the cafe: French dip, French toast and French fries.
The food is tasty, not floating in a puddle of yellow grease like many mom-and-pop
diners. Hash browns are crispy, eggs are cooked just as I like them, and the
cream gravy is almost as good as my grandma’s. Soups and pies are
homemade and at $2.65 for a generous slice of pie, a bargain. I usually buy a
couple of extras for friends or just “for later.”
The
entire town and its businesses are owned and operated by the Knoll family and
most of the town is signed off-limits but it is still possible to appreciate
the haunting, decayed buildings without trespassing.
If you go, take your appetite
with you, try the daily specials or an old fave like ham and eggs. The ham slice
is huge! You won’t be disappointed and
be sure to tell Charlie, the weekend waiter, “Lara sent me.”
