JOURNAL SUMMER SERIES
‘No results found’: Tracing Route 66’s forgotten path through Santa Fe
Portions of the original 1926-1937 alignment remain a mystery in 2026
Gas? Check. Water? Check. Roadmap?
Not exactly.
I was beginning my exploration of Route 66’s original alignment through Santa Fe, driving along the plains northwest of Santa Rosa, when I realized I wasn’t entirely sure what separated this trip from others I’d taken down New Mexico’s interstates.
It didn’t help that in advance of my journey, many of the experts and even the maps themselves didn’t agree or omitted where some of the remaining sections of the true Route 66 now lie.
Some writings referred to these lost stretches of dirt, gravel, concrete and macadam as if they were dig sites under some ancient Egyptian plateau.
“These abandoned portions, some of which have been turned back to county road departments, others which are no longer maintained, appear as surface archeological sites,” reads a 1992 report prepared for the New Mexico Historic Preservation Division.
Those cartographic mysteries seemed particularly prevalent on the road’s original bell-shaped alignment once known as the Santa Fe Loop — my leg in a series that’s sent Journal staff searching for remnants of the Mother Road all across the state this summer.
This much I knew: From 1926 to 1937, the famous cross-country route took a circuitous path 100 miles northwest from Santa Rosa through the City Different before turning again southward along Cerrillos Road, toward Albuquerque.
Then, in the fall of 1937, Route 66 was flattened into a nearly straight shot through Albuquerque that Interstate 40 now tracks.
But in many places, the old route gets tangled, like when I turned west onto I-25 into the roseate mesa lands between Romeroville and Santa Fe.
I sought answers and refreshment at an old adobe gas station in Sands, where locals and travelers have pulled over for cold beer, snacks and a game of eight ball since the 1970s.
“I still remember part of the old highway being there,” said Alex Perea, who worked at El Alto Bar, as I learned this watering hole was named, when he was in high school.
Eventually, Perea took over the family business along a road that still brings in customers for Frito Pie Fridays.
“My mother was a school bus driver and my dad was a government employee in Santa Fe, so we were on the road pretty often,” he continued. “This was the 48th liquor store in the state. I can still remember when they used to crank the gas into glass containers.”
A wood stove stood in the corner dating back to 1919, when Perea’s grandmother bought it from Sears, seven years before Route 66 connected Chicago to the Santa Monica Pier.
Save for a few sun-worn relics melting into the roadside and an official marker at the corner of East Water Street and Old Santa Fe Trail, I found little of the Route 66 signage more abundantly visible along the later realignment through Albuquerque.
That’s partly because, here in the north, Route 66 remains overshadowed by the older paths it followed: the Camino Real, Santa Fe Trail and Old Pecos Trail.
“Even if they’re just ruts in the dirt carrying horses, people and animals and carts — carretas — these were the lifeblood of empire,” said State Historian Rob Martinez, who lives in Albuquerque. “These trails didn’t just bring people, they brought new ideas, technologies, democracy. These all shape our history.”
The story behind Route 66’s increasingly obscure connection to Santa Fe is a mix of political fact and legend strange even for the rough-and-tumble early days of the Land of Enchantment.
After losing his reelection campaign to Republican challenger Richard Dillon in 1926, the story goes that Gov. Arthur T. Hannett marked the new alignment with a pen and ruler, bypassing the City Different.
But his goal wasn’t so much to exclude Santa Fe. Some historians say his true aim was to limit access to Dillon’s successful sheep-shearing and meat-processing business in Encino, ensuring his political opponent would receive a thumb in the eye from beyond the political grave.
A highway department loyal to Hannett complied, racing to lay a new east-west route that would render a formerly essential artery passing through Encino on the way to Albuquerque all but obsolete before Dillon took office in 1927.
The route would be officially redesignated by 1937 in a scheme known variously as the “Santa Fe Cutoff” or “Hannett’s Joke.” It was also a clear exercise in efficiency, accelerating Albuquerque’s growth as the state’s largest city.
Despite its relatively brief role on Route 66, the City Different is celebrating the Mother Road’s centennial at the New Mexico History Museum, Museum of Indian Arts & Culture, and Museum of Art this year.
“It’s really about the sort of romance of the American road trip,” said Museum of Art Director of Curatorial Affairs Alexandra Terry, describing an exhibit curated by Katherine Ware. “It focuses on that post-war Americana westward travel and vibrant roadside culture of large fiberglass animals and neon signs and amusement parks, the glitz and glamour of the open road.”
As I passed through Santa Fe the night of July 17, K.J. Lewis of Portland, Oregon, and Orion Ramirez of Ann Arbor, Michigan, were sitting under the neon sign that’s gleamed over El Rey Court on Cerrillos Road since 1936.
They had arrived with a larger party of former Peace Corps volunteers, who worked together in Namibia from 1998 to 2000.
For Lewis and Ramirez, Route 66 lives more in the pop culture references it spawned than in the remnants of roadway that can still be traveled today.
“I remember reading ‘The Grapes of Wrath,’ about the Joad family,” Ramirez said, speaking between sips of beer on a bench in El Rey’s lush courtyard. “Then there’s that song, where you ‘Get Your Kicks.’”
Lewis said that if Route 66 conjures a single word, it’s this: “Freedom.”
“That’s what it means to people,” she added. “When you drive this road, your heart is gonna soar.”
The next morning at The Pantry, a diner founded a block north of El Rey in 1948, Francis Chavez was sitting over a newspaper and plate of chile and beans. He comes here for a meal at least twice a week from his home on Cochiti Pueblo.
“When my dad was a teenager in 1930, they used to come by wagon from Cochiti,” he said. “That was their main mode of travel back then.”
He said his family knew the road better by its older name: El Camino Real, which the Spanish crown established in the late 16th century. Its full name was El Camino Real de Tierra Adentro, “The Royal Road of the Interior Land.”
Chavez also remembers when the road developed its more modern identity as a one-time section of Route 66.
“The old Santa Fe, there used to be many more restaurants, motels and hotels along Cerrillos,” he said. “I’ve grown up here since 1954. I’ve seen a lot of change.”
The old alignment still directs travelers past many of Santa Fe’s best-known destinations: San Miguel Chapel, Loretto Chapel, La Fonda on the Plaza and the Five & Dime General Store — sites that bear little affinity to the otherwise kitschy Americana for which Route 66 is known.
Leaving the plaza, the route initially took motorists south along Agua Fria Street before reaching La Bajada Hill, a series of precipitous switchbacks leading to Cochiti Pueblo.
“Model Ts at the time had to drive up those switchbacks backwards because of how those cars worked,” said Melissa Beasley-Lee, president of the New Mexico Route 66 Association. “If you start looking it up, it’s a rabbit hole.”
So seemed much of the research I completed for this project, but not the trip itself.
By the time I pulled out of Santa Fe, I realized what I’m sure many Route 66 road trippers had learned before me: Driving the Mother Road today is more of a journey into the historical imagination of what once was than following a clear course on a map.
That was despite my best efforts to sort out the sections where I lost my way.
I reviewed hand-drawn maps, 1930s issues of New Mexico Highway Journal (now New Mexico Magazine) and consulted the State Archives Center, conveniently located on Cerrillos Road.
Occasionally, I admit to seeking answers from Google Maps, only to be met by a message that ultimately seemed apt: “No results found.”
John Miller is the Journal’s northern New Mexico correspondent. He can be reached at jmiller@abqjournal.com.
Journal staffers are driving all 535 miles of Route 66 in New Mexico this summer as the state celebrates the legendary highway’s 100th anniversary. Join us as we travel west from Texas to Arizona, exploring the stories, landmarks and hidden gems that make New Mexico’s stretch of Route 66 unlike any other. Other stories in the series are below.
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‘Road days’: As Route 66 hits its centennial, this Santa Fe road tripper is having his moment
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'Charm of yesterday. Convenience of tomorrow'
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A cocktail of history and legend at El Rancho Hotel
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In Grants, an old miner taught me about the home I thought I knew
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Route 66 surprise: Junkyard brewery connects travelers
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Faces of the Mother Road: While many of the places around Route 66 have faded, some characters remain
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Soaring Museum in Moriarty shows off gliders through time
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New Mexico is on the road again
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Clines Corners remains a favorite stop on Route 66
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‘Gateway to Route 66 in the Southwest’: Travelers come to Tucumcari for nostalgic trip down famous highway
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Glenrio family descendant excited about helping resurrect NM-Texas border town