When Cold Cuts Into Travel Plans

We did not plan to start the new year in the coldest place in America. We just happened to be driving into Gallup, N.M., sometime after 10 p.m. on Dec. 31.

Beaming through the dark to the south--where the town is strung along old Route 66--was a large sign: “El Rancho Hotel--Charm of Yesterday--Convenience of Tomorrow.”

Admittedly, that told us nothing about today, but I was curious enough to want to leave the interstate and cross the railroad tracks.

Between the warmth of the car and the lobby was a frigid chunk of New Mexico. I pulled up my coat collar and ran.

“It’s probably about zero out there,” said a fellow at the desk.

The two-story lobby of the El Rancho is older than I am, and just as prone to nostalgia. It is a Southwest stage set of log furniture and Navajo rugs, a walk-in stone hearth and light fixtures made of wagon wheels. It reminded me, in a small way, of the rough-hewn, yesteryear mood of El Tovar at the Grand Canyon.

El Rancho’s claim to fame is its early-day connection to Hollywood. Autographed photos of movie stars line the walls of the mezzanine balcony--actors such as Ronald Reagan and Wallace Beery, who bunked here while filming “The Bad Man” for MGM in 1940.

The celebrity guest roll includes Robert Mitchum, Gene Tierney, William Holden, Errol Flynn, William Bendix, Humphrey Bogart, Betty Hutton, Lucille Ball, Spencer Tracy, Rosalind Russell, Alan Ladd, Paulette Goddard and Jackie Cooper.

The rugged terrain around Gallup provided scenery for “Streets of Laredo,” “Rocky Mountain,” “Sundown,” “Quantrelle’s Raiders” and “Desert Song.” The clear skies meant good filming weather. The proximity of the Navajo reservation meant a steady source of Indian extras.

In those days the El Rancho claimed to be “the No. 1 resort between St. Louis and Barstow.” I don’t know what was in Barstow.

El Rancho was built by R. E. Griffith, whose brother was the film director D. W. Griffith. The rambling ranch house thrived for decades on its movie business, then languished when more sophisticated film crews sought out other sites.

In 1988 the place was bought at a bankruptcy auction by Armand Ortega, who had first visited the hotel as a teen-ager in 1941. He restored the lodge, which is in the National Register of Historic Places, and added an art gallery and Indian jewelry shop off the lobby.

When we checked in on that blustery New Year’s Eve there were only two other guests in the lobby. Neither seemed to be a star.

Despite the holiday, the 49er Saloon was padlocked. It was, they reminded me at the desk, a Sunday night.

“If you want a beer on Sunday, you have to drive to Arizona,” a woman said.

Considering the hour, the temperature and the fact that we had spent the day driving across Arizona, we declined. In any case, we were traveling with a bottle of California wine. We were handed a key and directed to turn left beyond the split-log stairs and the mounted elk.

The funky old rooms of the El Rancho are named for movie stars. Ours was the Jane Wyman, a small room with a window looking out toward a wishing well. It was next door to the Ronald Reagan Presidential Suite.

We turned on the heat and settled in. I opened a packet of dates from the Coachella Valley and brought glasses from the bathroom for our wine. At 11:22 p.m. I heard the wail of a passing Santa Fe train and remembered the joy of traveling west with my grandmother on the Super Chief.

We welcomed the 1990s with a dazzling performance of “Carmina Burana” conducted by Seiji Ozawa in Berlin.

Thanks to public television, there is now more than Western entertainment on a Sunday night in Gallup.