Tucumcari Tonight
I had first heard of Tucumcari in 1989. The movie Rain Man was on TV and Tom Cruise — even high school boys back then had a thing for him — making a phone call in the movie, said the words, “I’m in Tucumcari.” For whatever odd reason, that line stuck in my head.
As a teenager growing up in India before the economic reforms, I knew of New York, LA, DC, Chicago, Boston — but Tucumcari? What was this place? Where was it? Google Maps would only come a couple of decades later. So I laid open the world atlas (yes, those things) and tried to locate this funny-sounding place, but to no avail. I’m pretty sure I didn’t even know where to actually look. Anyhow, I concluded with a fair degree of credence that this was a made-up place for the movie. Until decades later, when I had moved to the United States and read about it. My prior assumptions were proven wrong. Tucumcari was real — and still hanging on.
A few months ago, I finally drove through Tucumcari and even spent a night there. There isn’t much to “do” in the conventional sense, but it is worth every bit of a stop if you’re driving along I-40 through New Mexico. Once, Route 66 was America’s great artery — the mother road that carried dreamers, soldiers, families, and truckers westward. Tucumcari was one of its brightest jewels, famous for its slogan “Tucumcari Tonight!” that beckoned travelers to stop for neon-lit motels, hearty diner meals, and a bed that didn’t rattle on wheels. The town once boasted nearly 2,000 motel rooms, each with its own glowing sign — giant arrows, cowboy silhouettes, desert sunsets rendered in buzzing neon. Classic cars used to line the streets, chrome catching the desert light as travelers filled booths at roadside diners or leaned against gas pumps swapping stories.
Today, much of that heyday is gone, Route 66 reduced to a nostalgic detour rather than a lifeline. But in Tucumcari, echoes remain. A few motels still flicker alive at dusk — the Blue Swallow, Motel Safari, Roadrunner Lodge — lovingly restored to keep the romance of the road alive. Their neon signs still hum, painting the asphalt in pinks and blues, a reminder of a time when the American dream was measured in miles, not likes. Standing there at night, watching the glow against the desert sky, it’s not hard to imagine the roar of engines, the shuffle of boots, and the feeling that this small town was once a giant on the road to somewhere.
