Most roads go places; Route 66 just is.
It’s a community. The first mile through downtown Chicago is as much your destination as the last mile to Santa Monica pier.
Route 66 is not about concrete and tarmac, it’s about people - their hopes and dreams, their battles won and lost.
If you just want to get to California, take the Interstate Freeways; if you want to get to the heart of the American century, take Route 66.
My Route 66 odyssey began as yours will with the drive into Chicago, to the junction of Lakeshore Drive and Jackson Boulevard. The prospect of plunging into central Chicago's notorious traffic appeared daunting. I prepared for a nightmarish Mad Max scenario of mechanised anarchy and was slightly disappointed with the benign, hassle-free reality. The rush-hour traffic can be slow-moving, but at least it does keep moving unlike its counterparts in British cities. The freeway system is easy to follow and once you've exited onto the inner city roads of "The Loop", you'll find them wide, logically planned and free-flowing. There are some differences in the rules of the road that will be fully explained in the Road Book, but Chicago holds no horrors to compare with those that confront the first-time motorist in any large British or European city.
Before I got there, I regarded Chicago as a necessary evil - the awkward place where fate had decreed that Route 66 should start - but the first few hours in the Windy City changed all that. I was captivated, enthralled, charmed. Immerse yourself in the glory of Chicago's architecture and allow it to draw you deeper into the soul of this unique metropolis. Wonderful "skyscrapers" of the 'thirties and 'forties speak of a heritage of confidence and civic pride which continues to produce new landmarks in every generation.
Get the best views from the top of the Sears Tower. The queuing system puts you on a human conveyor belt from the moment you enter, and there's no escape either from the $8 charge or from the twenty-minute video, but the outlook from the "Skydeck" makes it all worthwhile. Put the Navy Pier and the Michigan Avenue shops on your must-see list, and choose more from Chicago's dazzling array of world-class galleries and museums. You could even spend a whole day exploring the amazing heritage of public sculptures and fountains. There's the inspiring, the fascinating, the amusing and the plain bizarre. One irresistible live show comes courtesy of the fountain outside the Children's Museum by Navy Pier. This has jets that erupt randomly in all directions soaking the kids who dart about squealing in glee, trying to guess where the next spray will come from. I was also lucky to find the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in residence at the Symphony Center in October, and even luckier to pick up a late-return ticket on the door. The only thing that wasn't so lucky was the price of $85! Americans take their arts seriously. They expect the best and are prepared to pay for it.
We think of 66 as the road west, but for the first few hundred miles it actually heads more south than west. Once you've negotiated the long-term road works that held me up in Adams and Ogden Avenues, you'll love the first day's run out of Chicago. The city's dramatic skyline recedes in the mirror as you roll through suburbs that were distinct settlements when 66 was created in 1926. There are lots of kitsch landmarks that scream to be photographed, and in every case I found safe and convenient pull-ins. Don't count on making too many miles in any hour; it's very much a stop-go affair as you pose by the art-déco Berwyn town marker, the Route 66 Raceway in Joliet or the Rocketman at the Launching Pad Café in Wilmington. Get your timing right and you can lunch on the famous fried chicken at White Fence Farm. Get your timing wrong and you'll be arrested for loitering outside the Blues Brothers' country seat, Statesville Prison!
One thing you'll learn on this opening section is to be on the lookout for STOP signs in the most unlikely places. They're often half-hidden in foliage and lack accompanying road-markings. You're bowling merrily along an apparently open road enjoying the ambience and sinking into cruise mode, when suddenly you catch a glimpse of a faded red octagon nailed casually to a post. But make no mistake, the locals know it's there and they obey it as they would the voice of Doom. What's more, the guy on the other road knows it's there and he places touchingly absolute faith in the notion that you will stop for him no matter what your approach speed. It's all part of learning to live on the real road away from the Interstate.
Odell Station - Odell, IL (from www.national66.com)
A couple of great old gas stations in Dwight and Odell will give you a taste for these essential remnants of the way we used to drive. Right here on day one you'll start your quest for photographs and souvenirs of the hundreds of disused stations you'll find along the Mother Road. You'll soon start to recognise the different periods of gas-station design and to pick out the old stations that have been put to new uses. The delivery of bulk fuel to the travelling motorist at the roadside originated on 66 and it has seen every phase of the concept's development. The trouble today is that all the oil companies and States have their own ideas of how a self-serve gas pump should work. I filled my Chevrolet Malibu 26 times in the course of the recce run and confronted 26 different combinations of buttons, levers, nozzles and payment systems. You need patience and persistence, but, hey!, at just over $1 per gallon (about 15 pence per litre) who cares?
Count the ways that money has been siphoned from the pockets of 66-ers. With thousands of cars and trucks driving past every day, there was always a buck to be made along America's Main Street. One favourite ruse was to build up anticipation with bill-boards to lure the traveller towards your cash-register in easy but irresistible stages. The owners of Meramac Caverns in Missouri started to whet the appetite hundreds of miles in advance, with regular updates on how far to go. If there were kids in the car, a frenzy of anticipation would build until only a visit to the Caverns would prevent open rebellion in the back seat. You'll have the option of visiting Meramac Caverns later in the trip, but right on Day One you'll see one of the legendary barn-side signs near Cayuga, more than 260 miles from ground zero. The story goes that the owners of the Caverns toured the newly-opened 66 in the 'twenties looking for barns close to the road. They then offered farmers a free paint job if they could put a Meramac sign on the side facing the traffic. A deal with no losers! The farmer got his barn painted for nothing and the Meramac Caverns got a free "billboard" - and a lasting place in the mythology of the Route.
Normal, Illinois. Now, there's a name of romance and mystery. Together with its siamese-twin city, Bloomington, it hosts 66's great annual Corvette gathering and this is where we'll make our first overnight stop. Local contacts are working to put on quite a welcome for us, and you'll find amazing enthusiasm and affection for the Mother Road here. And just wait till you see the great hotel we've found for you, furnished with $10,000,000-worth of antiques. It's fun, and it's real!
It's a pretty run south out of Normal-Bloomington, even though Funk's Grove had run out of its famous maple syrup when I was there! Next stop, the Dixie Truckers Home in McLean, is one of Route 66's icons. For decades from 1932, John Geske and his family served honest all-American road food to truckers and travellers, only closing for one day in 1965 when the original building burned down. In the true spirit of the Route 66 community, temporary arrangements were cobbled together so that their legendary pie was being dispensed again within 24 hours. My own experience of the Dixie in October was mixed. The founders have franchised the business, so you now find Dixies in several locations across the country. Perhaps as a result, the place has become bigger and brasher, the food now with a suggestion of mass-production. The corridor housing the "Route 66 Hall of Fame" remains an absolute must-see, but I found friendlier and more pleasant places to eat than the "improved" Dixie. It is, I fear, evidence of what Tom Teague has called "the blanding of America". Long may the insidious tide of uniformity be held back by the dreamers and campaigners along Old 66.
The antidote to the cleaned-up Dixie? Atlanta! Six miles from McLean and seldom covered in the guides, but what a gem. The nice clock tower and library sometimes crack a mention, but the ramshackle City Hall and old commercial area are far more interesting. You could do a U-turn with a Kenworth eighteen-wheeler in Vine Street and there's one car an hour, but it's One Way - Why? One feels the eerie stillness and wonders what stories lie behind Atlanta's sad, slumbering façades.
Springfield, Illinois, is the hometown of Abraham Lincoln and I'm recommending that you spend an hour or two here. If you follow the old, old alignment of original 66 through town, you'll pass right by some of the most important sights. As early as the 'thirties, 66 was re-routed to by-pass the centre of town and this "new" section is an easier road to follow, but whichever way you go, park up for a while and visit the shady historic quarter surrounding Lincoln's home. The boardwalks, clap-board houses and unsealed roads take you back to a more gracious age.
Springfield places the dedicated Mother Roader on the horns of a dilemma. From here to our next over-night stop near Carlinville there are two valid Route 66s. The post-thirties road-bed is a great stretch of straight old concrete and a delight to drive, but the earlier ducking-and-diving 1926 route is crammed with interest. I would honestly have to recommend that you firstly zip down the later alignment, where you'll find, amongst many other unmissable things, Our Lady of the Highways and her prayer signs inspired by the immortal Burma-Shave advertising boards. Then, dash back up the Interstate the thirty-odd miles to just south of Springfield and do the older route. This will take you through some remote little towns, and it includes sections of original red-brick paving and narrow 'twenties concrete where the ghost of many a T-model Ford lingers to live again the feeling of that first sealed surface beneath its battered chassis. It's also the only way you're going to see Carlinville itself. This was one of the real surprises of my trip. It was an important and wealthy town in the nineteenth century, and having been by-passed by "new" Route 66 in 1939, it has preserved the splendour of its old heart. The wonderful town square comes upon you without warning, and I was so startled by this thing of beauty in the middle of nowhere that I shot straight through it on my first trajectory and had to turn back. The fortress of a jail suggests a troubled past, overlooked as it is by the most imposing and grandiose Courthouse you're likely to see anywhere outside a capital city. Another charming spot, Sugar Creek covered bridge, can be reached from either of the two alignments and is a rewarding side-step. Even doing the double journey between Springfield and Carlinville, you'll find this 200-mile day a gentle cruise - as long as you don't linger too long over its myriad wonders. I know you're going to find it hard to tear yourself away from some of them, but it's worth checking into your overnight accommodation just outside Carlinville by early evening, because there's more to come! Litchfield is a few minutes away. It lies on tomorrow's route, so you'll see the sights then, but this is a Route 66 culinary Mecca and should be visited at dinner time. Nick Adam runs the Ariston, one of the best of the few surviving one-site authentic Route 66 diners. I engineered three visits during the recce run, drawn back by an irresistible combination of good food, friendly service, great atmosphere and Nick's store-house of Route 66 stories. He's seen it all since the family moved the business to its present site in 1935 and has many a tale to tell any willing listener. In 1996, he even had a swarm of Trabants through on their way to California, so if they can do it. . . Litchfield is also home to the Route 66 Café, just up the old road from the Ariston. This is a smaller and more basic establishment, but again full of atmosphere and totally unspoilt. I'd strongly recommend it as a breakfast stop, if you feel able to give the hotel's breakfast a miss. When I went there, I was the only non-local in the place and got a friendly welcome as well as an excellent traditional American breakfast. |
There's no finality about 66. Like an old friend, it continues to change and develop into its maturity. The traveller on the Mother Road has to be adaptable, enjoying what's there, and not getting up-tight about what's gone or inaccessible. The last bit of the run down to St Louis on the old alignments is easy, and crowded with "photo opportunities", but in October I had to miss the Route 66 Information Center in Staunton (closed for the season) and the Yanda Log Cabins (road under construction). That's the way it goes sometimes, so be prepared for last minute changes in the details of our run.
Chain of Rocks Bridge (from www.national66.com)
One of the true treasures of Route 66 is the Chain of Rocks Bridge built in 1927 to take the original road across the mighty Mississippi. We're working on providing you with a once-in-a-lifetime treat at this point in the run. To go into print now might jeopardise our negotiations, so all we can say is, "Watch this space." On my October run, the whole area leading along Chain of Rocks Road to the Bridge was an horrendous moonscape of major roadworks. Even after I'd hazarded life and limb to fight my way through the ranks of earth-devouring monsters, I still had to face a twenty-minute wait for an escort before teetering perilously across the approach road's collapsing canal bridge. By August '99, restoration of this bridge should have been completed. The Chain of Rocks Bridge is a wonderful sight. It closed to traffic many years ago and languished in limbo until the local authorities were finally persuaded by campaigners to restore it as part of an extensive Mississippi Valley walking trail. Its crazy mid-river bend always made it one of the Route's more interesting obstacles. Nervous drivers had nightmares about the sudden plunge to oblivion that would be the result of any slight misjudgement of distances! The story goes that wealthy Illinois became fed up waiting for poorer Missouri to get on with the construction of their new mutual link and started building from their side of the river before the Missouri engineers had completed their geological survey. When the originally designated landing-point on the Missouri side proved unstable, a new exit was chosen further downstream and the Missouri builders took aim from this site straight out to the end of the already half-completed bridge. Hence the dramatic, picturesque, but dangerous bend.
There are more permutations of Route 66 through St Louis than you can point your Mustang at. We'll give you a couple of options and leave the choice to you. Basically, you can skirt the downtown area completely, as official 66 has since the 'forties, or you can plunge down through Granite City and Venice on the east side before crossing the Mississippi on the McKinley Bridge and passing through the heart of St Louis. All the guides say not to go anywhere near the deprived areas of East St Louis, but your intrepid scout was determined to leave no pothole untested, so on a bright October afternoon, with a full gas tank, doors locked and windows up, I set out to test the viability of the downtown route. All I can say is that I saw nothing untoward beyond a few boarded-up warehouses and lots of clapped-out cars. McKinley Bridge itself is declining into genteel dereliction and needs to be tackled slowly. Even the toll barrier was broken; everyone seemed to be hurling their few cents into the receptacle, but there was really no point as the lights stayed red and the boom-gate stayed up. The areas bordering State Route 3 on the Illinois side have been cleared and cleaned up, so I really don't think there's a problem with this much more colourful routing.
We'll sleep to the west of the city, from where an evening run downtown is an attractive option - calling of course at Ted Drewe's Frozen Custard Stand on the way. It's easy to drive and park in central St Louis, and a walk around the wonderful Gateway Arch (with its superb Museum of Westward Expansion) and along the banks of the Mississippi is a must. The friendly folk at the excellent St Louis Transport Museum are also keen to welcome our group, and when you see the railway and motoring icons they've rescued, you'll be very glad we've led you to their suburban oasis.
There's a bit of ducking and diving to do west of St Louis. The old road basically parallels I-44, but it comes and goes. I had two guide books and an annotated map to follow, but each said something different and indelicate words were said from time to time! Your Road Book, will of course iron out all the lumps as you make your seamless westward progress. The Meramac Caverns at last come up on this stretch having been heralded for hundreds of miles by their famous barn signs. The run in to the Caverns is through very attractive country and the whole experience is a classic of opportunistic roadside tourism. Did outlaws really stash their loot here? Who cares! It makes a great story. And on the way back to old 66, check out the Jesse James and Antique Toy Museums in Stanton. There's no end of these living testaments to free enterprise along the Route!
A little further on, after Cuba's famous Wagon Wheel Motel, you'll find Route 66 Motors and General Store ("Investment Motor Cars at Hobby Prices"). This was closed when I came past, but it should be open for you. The stock of spare parts looks like a job lot from Dodgy Brothers Inc, but amongst the assorted paraphernalia there are bound to be real treasures. Some of the cars lurking around the site looked extremely interesting, so stop by and talk turkey.
Just where the Big Prairie country ends and you strike into the Ozarks is Rolla. The most interesting thing about the town is its name. Apparently, its founding father, a railroad engineer, wanted to name it after his birthplace, Raleigh. In his deep Southern drawl, he told his survey clerk to write this name on the map, but as he pronounced it "Rawl-ai", and the clerk had a limited grasp of linguistics, the spelling became fixed for ever as Rolla. Impress the natives by pronouncing it correctly as "Rawl-a". Talking of names to conjure with, there's also the Memoryville (!) Auto Museum to visit in Rolla. As for the town itself, it's a chaos of jumbled neon and exuberant, unplanned commercialism - charming and horrifying in equal measure. Each fast-food joint and tyre shop competes with its neighbours in a visual screaming match. Like generations of motorists, you will have to run the gauntlet of these feverish attempts to lasso your wallet.
One of 66's earliest sections of dual carriageway runs through "Hooker Cut", once one of the Route's engineering marvels. All those multiple lanes of traffic-ready concrete now glide peacefully through their man-made canyon, well clear of the new Interstate's distant thunder. It's a wonderful piece of ghost-road and so beautiful in the warm October sunshine that I just had to go back for a second run at it. It gets even better as you swing into the Devil's Elbow loop of the old single-track; a twisting, scenic plunge through dark woods and across the Big Piney River on a decrepit iron bridge. You wonder why this pretty stretch struck such fear into Mother Roaders, until you try to imagine what it must have been like in the dark or on a foggy day with the relentless crush of roaring traffic that once surged through this inadequate gap. Utterly terrifying!
From Rolla all the way to Lebanon, watch for the giant "Walnut Bowl" billboards. They do wear down your resistance, and I almost jeopardised my schedule by going to see these wonderful exemplars of the wood-turner's craft. How many of you will get through Lebanon without acquiring a walnut keepsake?
The last sections of Route 66 in Missouri duck and dive through Carthage and Joplin. It's a bit tricky, but you sure see the other side of America. You pass from dusty dereliction to leafy suburbia in a few turns of a Corvette's wheel. The beautiful, the ugly and the bizarre distract the eye in equal measure along this tortuous path.
So, past the "66 Speedway" and on into Kansas. You're only going to be in Kansas for an hour or so, so make the most of its "thirteen miles of smiles". Galena is like a ghost town in parts, but you can't miss its wonderfully shambolic Museum in an old railroad station building right on the corner of Main Street. It's one of those Aladdin's Cave sorts of places; if you go in with a partner you're forever calling out to one another, "Hey! Come over here. Look what I've found!" Magic.
Dotted around within sight of old 66 in Kansas you'll see piles of mine tailings, known locally as "chat". Mining did such damage to the land around Galena that the area just north of Front Street is called "Hell's Half Acre". This was the site of bloody clashes between the striking United Mine Workers and mine owners in the mid-1930s.
Just after Riverton, you'll want to pause to take photographs of your car crossing Brush Creek on the last remaining "Marsh Rainbow Arch" bridge. There used to be three of these elegant 1920s concrete structures on Kansas's fabulous thirteen 66 miles, and only a vigorous campaign by local enthusiasts saved the last one when it was earmarked for demolition in the early '90s. You hardly notice the existence of the bland modern replacement bridges across Spring River and Willow Creek. How much more satisfying your journey becomes when the crossing of a river is highlighted by a dramatic flourish of steel and stone, concrete and timber. Luckily, there are still a lot of inspiring spans to serve you along the rest of old 66.
Last stop in Kansas is Baxter Springs where on October 6, 1863, a company of Union soldiers was massacred in cold blood by notorious Confederate, William Clarke Quantrill. If you're a student of the Civil War, signs will direct you to the National Cemetery a couple of miles off 66 along US166. The next chat piles are your signal that our brief sojourn in Kansas is almost over and it's on over the Oklahoma state line towards Miami.
As you'll find all along 66, the most unpromising little zilch towns all conceal treasures for the observant Mother Roadie. Miami, Oklahoma, for example, starts off as a fairly dull drive-through, and suddenly there you are in front of an art-déco gem of the first order - the 1919 Coleman Theatre. Route 66 in the eastern part of Oklahoma is still a road that's going places. Although it's been bypassed by the seamlessly efficient Will Rogers Turnpike, it remains the road of choice for local travellers. You'll find that it's called Free Road in places, as a counterblast to the Turnpike's $3 toll. Each of the villages you pass through between Miami and Tulsa has its claim to fame. One of them, Foyil, is the home town of Andy Payne who won the amazing "Bunion Derby" of 1928. This was a coast-to-coast foot race dreamt up by Cy Avery, the Tulsa County Highways Commissioner who was the prime-mover in the creation of Sixty-Six. He was always on the lookout for ways of popularising his new road, and together with promoter C.C. "Cash and Carry" Pyle, he put on the First International Continental Foot Race with a prize of $25,000. For the 2400 miles from Los Angeles to Chicago, it followed 66, the remaining 800 miles to New York taking other routes. Andy Payne's most serious rival until well after Chicago was Englishman Peter Gavuzzi but he retired with an infected tooth leaving Andy to win by eight hours, entering Madison Square, New York, on the eighty-sixth day of the race. That's a marathon and a half every day for three months!
A little further along, you'll arrive in Claremore where the Will Rogers Memorial is a must-see. Rogers is still held up by many as the all-time nicest American, the exponent of the most sensible, down-to-earth philosophy in human history. You'll need to explore his life and teachings for yourself to see if you support his canonisation, but in the meantime you'd be well advised to smile sweetly and nod in appreciation if he comes up in conversation with an American anywhere west of the Appalachians. After all, the whole of "our" fabulous Route 66 was officially named the Will Rogers Highway when the great man died. A common reaction is nausea, but if you're inclined to either suicide or homicide after your dose of homespun wisdom, I'd advise you not to tempt fate by visiting the J.M.Davis Gun Museum just down the road! The town's other legend, Lynn Riggs, hardly gets a look-in with Rogers-mania at fever pitch, but she wrote the book on which the musical Oklahoma! is based - an altogether happier note on which to leave Claremore.
The mis-matched pair of bridges over the Verdigris River will have you out of the car clicking the old shutter again before Tulsa, as will the sign as you cross Spunky Creek, former site of Fort Spunky, I kid you not.
Tulsa has a smart, modern centre and lots of prosperous, leafy suburbs. Feeling the need for a break from the chain restaurants out on the highway, I enjoyed an excellent meal at the Amoré Italian Restaurant in the suburban Lighthouse Shopping Centre. I was glad to have had such a pleasant introduction to Tulsa, as the following morning's run out of the city was frustrating. I tried several times to follow old 66's twists and turns through the west of town. Each time, I followed a different map or guide-book - but always with the same result. I'd get to the "S" bend linking 10th and 12th Streets and then find myself being siphoned onto one freeway slip-road or another. In the end, I found a straight-forward route of my own, crossing 21st Street Bridge and executing a deft left onto Southwest Boulevard. You only miss a half-mile of the "official" route, but the saving of in-car tension is ample compensation. When we come to write the Road Book, we'll have to look again at the options for achieving escape velocity from Tulsa.
I know this isn't supposed to be a bridge-builders' convention, but there are so many picturesque bridges on 66 that I can't help mentioning a few of them. In this case, it's just west of Sapulpa that a quick side-step onto an older alignment will bring you to the steel trusses of Rock Creek Bridge which retains its 1921 red-brick deck paving - a great photo opportunity. All along this section, you'll see bits and pieces of the narrow original concrete beside the present 66. Whenever you cross a creek, look carefully down from the present bridge and you'll see remnants of old pavement heading down the banks to the fords that took traffic through the waterways before the bridges were built. Heavy rain upstream would cut the highway for days at a time in the early days. And there was always a buck to be made by local farmers using their tractors to tow hapless motorists through the swollen creeks.
Old 66 isn't quite so easy to follow through the western half of Oklahoma, but it's all still there and the reward of tracking it down is driving some wonderful time-warp stretches of original roadbed. In Stroud, make sure you stop at "Curious Gifts" for some great 66 memorabilia. It's opposite Stroud's best known 66 feature, the Rock Café. It was (very) closed when I called, but perhaps you'll have more luck in August. Further on, Chandler has the Lincoln Motel, one of the very few fully operational old cabin-style motels. Dating from 1939, it retains the essential atmosphere of a more adventurous age. And for a slightly corny photo stop, position your car in front of the painted door of PJ's store on your way out of town.
Don't even think about driving past the famous Round Barn in Arcadia. This has been a beacon to westward travellers since long before route 66 existed. It has been beautifully restored by the local historical society. Its unique status is attested by Butch, its welcoming guardian, who will regale you with stories of the barn past and present. And don't try to pass off some multi-sided relic of your acquaintance as a round barn. Butch is the world's expert on round barns. He's got an exhaustive photographic archive of all known round barns, and as he says, "If it's got corners, it ain't no round barn." There's a lot of local and Route 66 history on show inside the barn, and even a notable display of bricks assembled by - and now kept in memory of - one of the world's greatest brick collectors. Don't miss it! Although Route 66 went right through Oklahoma City in 1926, it is possibly better to bypass the central area on the later I-44 alignment. When I was there in October, the city was commemorating the anniversary of the appalling bomb outrage that destroyed a government building in the heart of the business district. A new memorial park was being inaugurated on the site, and security was tight. Traffic restrictions and deviations made it impossible for me to follow the older route, but this should be an option for you in August. After Oklahoma there's yet another of my favourite steel-truss bridges at Bethany just before you swing onto the pretty run by Lake Overholser. Soon you're swanning through Yukon, the most famous feature of which is the "Yukon's Best Flour" sign on the side of a mill. This won't strike any of my fellow Western Australians as odd, as they will be familiar with the iconic "Dingo Flour" sign on a silo at Leighton Beach. Mankind needs landmarks on life's journey. In a featureless landscape, the eye will light on whatever stands proud - even if it is basically a shed. The whole stretch of the Route in the Bridgeport area is a delight. You're on old Portland roadbed for much of the way, enjoying the rhythm of the tyres over the expansion-joints. Take careful note of the 38-arch "Pony" bridge over the mighty Canadian River. Until this was built in 1933, the road crossed on a 1000-foot suspension bridge that has since been demolished. When you meet Lucille a few miles further on, you'll hear her stories about the old and new bridges and it will help if you can picture the location. A stop at Lucille's station in Hydro is an absolute must. Lucille Hamons has been here pumping gas, helping stranded travellers, providing hospitality and telling stories since 1941. She's a sprightly 83 and, as she will tell you herself, she still gets her kicks on 66. Lucille has seen it all on Route 66 and all genuine Routies are encouraged to pop in for a visit. The motel side of the business closed some years ago and more recently the gas pumps have been disconnected, but at almost any hour you'll find Lucille sitting at her kitchen table behind her stock of snacks, drinks and souvenirs. A hand-written note on the door assures all 66-ers that a big Oklahoma welcome waits inside. Lucille will be working on her latest project, but she's never too busy to make a sale - which to Lucille means making a friend as well. The only break away from Hydro the "Mother of the Mother Road" has had was after her heart attack in 1989. She was back in harness after a few weeks and has been one of the chief catalysts in the rebirth of awareness of Route 66's heritage. The walls of her little store are covered with citations and press reports from all over the world. Since her daughter published Lucille's autobiography and established a website, interest in the Hamons family's many contributions to the myth and reality of Route 66 has mushroomed. Listen to Lucille talk and you will be transported back to a time when folks accepted their duty to help each other, and pitched in with good humour and toleration. In Lucille's stories of strange and hilarious happenings during 66's heyday the hardships are downplayed, but how many of us would get through such a tough life with our spirits in such good shape? Meeting and talking with Lucille is a privilege, a pleasure and an education; say little and listen much. [Update: Sadly, Lucille passed away on 18 August 2000]
Clinton, just half an hour beyond Hydro, is home to a most attractive and modern Route 66 Museum. My experience here was not the happiest as I found it closed both times I passed through Clinton in October, even though I stood forlornly at the door within the published opening hours. It all looked very swish, polished and cared for, so I can only think they must have had a temporary aberration of some sort. We'll try again before August so that you'll know in advance whether or not to take the deviation to it. If Clinton was a disappointment, Elk City was an unexpected delight. Apart from the smell of drains in the hotel I used first (which is right off the approved list!), it proved a fascinating and friendly town. As the "Best Flour" sign is to Yukon, so the 180-foot Parker oil drilling rig is to Elk City. But far more interesting is the historical village that has been built right on old 66 using a mixture of genuine and reproduction turn-of-the-century buildings evoking Elk City's origins as a watering point along the Dodge City Cattle Trail. Part of the complex is a Route 66 Museum arranged as a stroll down the old road and packed with well-chosen exhibits of real quality. One $5 ticket admits you to all the attractions, and I particularly suggest calling at the Farm and Range Museum to see the finest collection of old barbed wire samples in captivity. The last village in Oklahoma is the closest thing I saw on my journey to a real ghost town. Texola (on the Texas/Oklahoma border - get it?) has wide, empty streets, picturesquely decaying buildings and abandoned businesses. There's even the odd bit of designer tumbleweed to add to the authenticity. Do pause for a quiet look around the back streets. There are lots of great photo opportunities, but just be aware that not all of the houses are deserted! It's the Portland concrete original all the way from Texola to McLean. Feel yourself being wafted back to the thirties. The 1936 high-camp art-déco U-Drop-Inn in Shamrock has closed quite recently and is just beginning to show signs of decay. Get your pictures while it's still there in its original extraordinary form. It's bound to be either demolished or interfered with at some point. McLean touts itself as "The Heart of Old Sixty-Six" and has some survivors that will hold your attention as you pass through, but I think I must have missed something in Alanreed as I'd left it before registering that I'd arrived in it. There is the option between Alanreed and Groom of following the infamous unsealed route through the Jericho Gap, but a quick investigation persuaded me that this is best avoided unless you have a lot of time and a high-clearance vehicle. You know you've reached Groom when you see the leaning water tower. This "landmark" is yet another of those created artificially to give a focal point to a fairly ordinary little plains town. But don't imagine that this sort of thing is always the product of an earlier, charmingly naïve age. At the other end of town you'll find "The Largest Cross in the Western Hemisphere" sitting out there all bright and new beside the Interstate. Amarillo celebrates its place in Route 66 lore with some of the clearest Historic 66 direction signs in the business. If you're feeling especially brave - or stupid? - you could take the 72-ounce challenge at the Big Texan Steakhouse. Finish this four-and-a-half-pound slab of prime Texan bullock within the hour and it's yours free. What an incentive! There's an honour board of presumably deceased winners. Photographic evidence suggests that the chef serves his speciality more injured than cooked. It looked to me as if a good vet could have it on its feet again in no time. There is a normal carnivorous menu that looks excellent in an excessive Texan sort of way. The vast cattle feed-lots around Wildorado remind you that this really is the West of the Westerns. Route 66 remained a dirt road on this section longer than any other and many businesses had to move twice - first when the concrete bypassed the dirt, then again when I-40 bypassed US66. Many failed to survive the transplants, of course, and as you pass through the last few Texan villages from Vega to Glenrio, you'll see plenty of closed and collapsing reminders of how destiny toys with human dreams. Appreciate the picturesque backdrops provided by these atmospheric ruins, but spare a thought for those who believed that they'd found their Eldorado serving the tide of travellers along the Mother Road. Crossing into New Mexico, I popped on and off the Interstate, sometimes on purpose. The old road basically parallels I-40, but with variations! By now you will be familiar with the "Tucumcari Tonite" billboards that have counted you down towards this fabled destination from way back in Missouri. Now you're almost there. Originally called Six-Shooter Siding, Tucumcari is a product of the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Rail Road, although it's main claim to fame since 66 came through has been the number of its motels. It has a really switched-on Chamber of Commerce and has managed better than most to survive the coming of the Interstate. I stayed in the legendary Blue Swallow Motel, whose stunning neon sign is one of the ultimate icons of the Route. Since its famous owner, Lillian Redman, died a few years back, the Blue Swallow has been through a rough patch but it's now in friendly hands once more and being (slowly) restored. It's a genuine "Motor Court", each unit having a garage attached, and at night you'll see that there's a neon swallow over each garage door. Staying here is a great antidote to the blandness of the chain motels, as long as 'thirties plumbing is your bag. The Blue Swallow is only the start of Tucumcari's charms. Along the main drag you'll find dozens of evocative old business premises, including a couple of original '50s drive-in restaurants. The downtown area by the railroad tracks also repays exploration. The station is in a sort of Spanish mission style and the Big Dipper store on the main cross-roads defies description! For a good meal at any time of day try Del's in Tucumcari Boulevard, and on your way out of town, stop by the Convention Centre for a great photo of your car by the "Giant 66" with Tucumcari mountain in the background.
It's not for nothing that New Mexico is called "The Land of Enchantment", as you will discover heading out across its majestic desert landscapes. Through the ghost town of Montoya and on past Cuervo, the magic of your surroundings will lift the spirits. After Cuervo, I went bush for a real Mother Roading adventure. The original concrete is just passable for a wild loop into Santa Rosa. It's only 6.6 miles but very dodgy, very tricky and only to be undertaken with extreme care. The high grass in the centre of the road brushes on the exhaust system all the way causing burning smells that are a bit of a worry, but the real danger comes from a washaway about 1.5 miles in. This can be skirted by going off to the left, but the results of not seeing it in time do not bear thinking about. There's another ditch to cross with circumspection, and the roughest cattle grid in the territory, so why bother? Well, fantastic scenery, abundant birdlife, the nostalgia of the abandoned road, a feeling of achievement, and the tremendous vistas that open before you when you reach Highway 156 into Santa Rosa. It is an option for the adventurous, but ground clearance is critical. My Chevrolet Malibu (approx. Vectra class) only just cleared some of the rough patches. You need to travel in company, drive very slowly, be suspicious of all shadows (some of them are in fact holes), and crawl over the cattle grid at the end. If you get into Santa Rosa in time for a coffee or meal stop, you'll find a warm welcome and real New Mexican food at Joseph's, one of 66's great survivals. I-40 is built right over the top of original 66 for the next section, but if my experience is anything to go by, you'll be pulling off several times to take in the attractions. Clines Corners at Exit 218, for example, has been inveigling innocent passers-by to spend money in its incredible cave of tat since the 1930s. The descent to Albuquerque through the Tijeras Canyon provides as grand an entrance to a town as you're likely to find. And what a town! I loved Albuquerque the first time I visited it several years ago, and every time I go back I find more to enjoy. Founded by the Spanish in 1706, it is one of the oldest European settlements west of the Atlantic fringe, and it has kept something of value from each phase of its chequered history since. The Old Town is an absolute must-see. Clustered around the Church of San Felipe de Neri on the shady central plaza is a charming knot of Spanish colonial streets crowded with shops and cafés. Just a mile away is the present business district, established in the 1890s alongside the newly-arrived railroad. Make sure you look into the wonderfully restored Kimo Theater on Central Avenue. Its Hi-Ho Rococo style (sometimes called Pueblo-Déco) draws from both Indian and European influences. An evening in Albuquerque offers the visitor a head-spinning range of options. There's every kind of cuisine at every kind of price in the hundreds of restaurants, but for me it has to be the Mexican/New Mexican fare on offer in several excellent establishments downtown.
Restored Kimo Theatre from http://www.cabq.gov/kimo/ The route out of Albuquerque is another that I ran twice, once on the post-1937 alignment and once on the original 1926-37 Los Lunas trajectory. The latter wins on most counts, although it would be a pity to miss the views over Albuquerque from the top of Nine Mile Hill. Perhaps there's a case as at Springfield, Illinois, for sneaking a look at one before doing the other. The daily mileage target is certainly low enough for the keenites to dash off and satisfy their curiosity. There's the bonus of some super old 66 businesses to see on the climb up Nine Mile Hill, too. The old alignment crosses the Rio Grande and cuts left for a long run down Isleta Boulevard. Much of this is through rather sleazy ethnic slums; colourful, but keep the doors locked. Things pick up dramatically after Los Lunas and the thirty miles from there back to I-40 are truly beautiful. The road itself is a joy to drive, but it's the scenery that will take your breath away. I did this section in the early morning, the rising sun lighting up the grass and painting the desert hills the richest burgundy. There are several stretches of old Portland roadbed alongside the existing surface between Los Lunas and Correo. Some can be driven with care, but don't stray too far from the highway and always be prepared to turn back if things become too hairy. You're just getting your breath back after rejoining the I-40 at Correo when yet another treat beckons at Exit 117. The Mesita loop is wonderful. The old road sweeps and curves through a landscape of mesas and cottonwoods. It's as pretty as a picture and I bet I'm not the first traveller to go back and do part of it again for the sheer joy of it. To cap off a brilliant hour, a mighty Southern Pacific 4-header, sirens wailing, thundered majestically through the very gap I'd chosen for a key-note photograph. Stirring stuff. Each of the succeeding villages holds treasure for the true Roadie. As Tom Snyder has observed, this section is "like driving into an old View-Master scene." After enjoying Laguna, Budville and McCartys, it was a little disappointing to find Grants cut off by a barrage of signs reading "Road Closed - Bridge Out". I thought I'd strayed onto the set of "The Dukes of Hazard" and half expected an orange Dodge coupé to come flying through, smashing the barriers to match-wood. It didn't happen, so I proceeded tamely on my way to Thoreau (elevation 7200 feet). Up to this point on your journey, all the rivers you've crossed have flowed south or east towards the Gulf of Mexico. At Exit 47, you can photograph your car at the Continental Divide after passing which all of the rivers will be flowing westwards to the Pacific. Here there used to be a range of tourist-trapping attractions and some of the guide books still tell you to cruise in and wander amongst the remains. However, the signs I saw left little doubt as to the violent end awaiting any trespasser amongst these sad monuments to unfettered free enterprise.
And so to Gallup, the "Gateway to Indian Country". You will already have passed by - or perhaps even stopped at - various Indian pottery, rug and jewellery trading posts. From Gallup onwards through Arizona, they're everywhere. As in life, there's good and bad, so be careful when negotiating for that genuine hand-made artefact. Take local advice about the more reputable outlets. Gallup was originally just another railroad siding, founded in 1881 when the Santa Fe Railroad came through. In the 'twenties, however, the movies came to town. The genre of the Western was taking off in a big way, and where were most Westerns shot? In the deserts of New Mexico, of course. Brilliant light, fantastic scenery, fine weather most of the year, cheap Indian and Mexican "extras" - perfect. But where could the stars stay out here in the wilds? Voilà, the El Rancho Hotel. "The charm of yesterday and the convenience of tomorrow." The dark, Spanish-inspired lobby is festooned with hundreds of signed photographs of everyone you've ever heard of who made a movie between the 1920s and the 1980s. Each room is named in honour of a star who stayed here. I'm afraid I got room 305, the Sydney Greenstreet room. Who he? The El Rancho is a rare find indeed - friendly, clean, comfortable, different and authentic. I can also vouch for the excellence of the bar and restaurant. Whoever Sydney Greenstreet was, he had a great view over the railway line from the veranda outside his room. Awesome trains of more than 100 giant wagons rumble by just across the street. With as many as four locos pulling and two pushing, they have the braking performance of the QE2 and so must sound a continuous warning of bells and whistles as they bisect the town, the lead locomotive having left the eastern suburbs while the tail is still in the western approaches. You'll know you're in Arizona when the Teepee Trading Post looms into sight, its 60-foot concrete wigwam an irresistible draw for lovers of kitsch. By the time you get to Indian City a few miles up the track, you begin to wonder if there's anything more to Arizona than trading posts. There sure is! And from Exit 311 on I-40 we'll take you slightly off the main 66 through-route for what I found to be one of the unexpected highlights of the journey. Back on a miserable, wet October Sunday, I pulled in to visit the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert National Park Visitors' Centre, intending to collect some information and press on. But once I saw what I might be missing, I paid my $10 entrance and embarked on the full run through the park. Almost at once, I came to the first of a series of spectacular view-points over the many-hued sands and rocks of the Painted Desert. Even under a leaden sky in the pouring rain, this was a tremendous show. Crossing over to the south of I-40/US66, the Petrified Forest begins to reveal itself. This isn't just some isolated prehistoric tree stump sticking out of the sand; there are thousands of substantial remains of this mighty jungle, many in picturesque settings among the desert's valleys and dry watercourses. It is amazing that there is so much left when you see how these precious reminders of remote time have been mined for trinkets and souvenirs over the centuries of human occupation. The National Park road leads you right through to State Highway 180 on which you turn north to rejoin 66 at Holbrook. You lose little and gain a huge bonus by following this minor deviation form the Mother Road, and it's only 25 miles back from Holbrook to Exit 311 if you're a perfectionist and want to make sure you've driven every inch of 66! Holbrook was once the headquarters of Whiting Brothers, several of whose derelict gas stations and motels you will see along the Route. This town seems to contain at least one example of every kind of manmade attraction that made 66 great. There are concrete dinosaurs, a Western museum, a wild-west jailhouse, and one of only two remaining patented wigwam motels. There were once several of these wonderful creations along the route. What sort of flinty-hearted parent of the '50s could resist the pleas from the back seat to sleep in a wigwam? With a car parking space outside each unit and the accepted minimal amenities inside, these fun motels survived until rising expectations of comfort and convenience left them so far behind that not even their unique kid-appeal could save them. Geronimo, with its enormous piece of petrified log, will entertain you for at least five minutes before the urge to move on takes hold. Note the responsible (!) use of precious petrified wood in the memorial at the entrance to Joseph City, and cruise right through. Just a few turns of an Edsel's wheels down the road you'll find the great IT of Route 66. Yes, here IT is! At last, the Jackrabbit Trading Post. The signs drawing you to this prime Mother Road institution are now sadly depleted. They once spread right along the Route, sometimes whole billboards, sometimes no more than a hint in the form of a jackrabbit peeping over the top of someone else's advertising. It was closed when I was there in October, but the Giant Jackrabbit is still there for the kids to climb on, and the most famous sign of all (the "Here it is" sign) leaps out of the desert background in vibrant yellow just as it always did. I was assured that the business is still going strong and should be open when you call in August. As the official motto says, "If you haven't stopped at the Jackrabbit, you haven't been in the Southwest".
Winslow, Arizona is where, according to the Eagles song, a guy should "stand on a corner to wait for a girl (my lord) in a flatbed Ford". Never known to miss a marketing opportunity, the good merchants of Winslow have made sure that the exact corner is well marked with photo-friendly signs, and that "Corner" merchandise is to be had in abundance in every emporium in town. The Old Trails Museum in the centre of town is held to be especially interesting, and staffed by the most knowledgeable and friendly people. When I called in October, it was closed and there was much evidence of painting and decorating in progress. It should be back in business by the time you're snapping away at the corner. It's hard to make rapid progress along this section of the Route. Every couple of miles there's something you just have to stop and see. After Winslow, you've got Meteor City with the remains of its famous observation tower. This was built by an enterprising developer in the '20s right on the boundary of the Meteor Crater National Park, on the closest point to this natural phenomenon for which he could get planning permission. Apparently, the view from the top gave little more than a telescope-aided glimpse, but it was enough to make the tower and its accompanying museum of 5000 meteorite fragments a popular attraction for several decades. There's a lot of private land around here now and you have to watch your step if you decide to go exploring, but the road out to the crater itself is well marked and this is an extremely worthwhile side-trip. Next comes Two Guns, named after a sad set-upon half-Apache recluse, "Two-Gun" Miller, who may or may not have killed one of his neighbours. (No doubt all you Monty Python fans will wonder if he was related to Arthur "Two Sheds" Jackson.) In its heyday, Two Guns was the site of Route 66's most famous zoo. You can still pick out the various cages and enclosures that were once home to an esoteric collection of hapless animals. What with its assorted ruins, piles of junk and dubious founding father, this is a sad place indeed. The bridge over Canyon Diablo will lift the spirits with its great view down the chasm - until you reflect that this was once the most lawless and violent patch of territory on the whole transcontinental trail. Well into 66's history, the owners of the Toonerville gas station at Exit 219 were murdered during a robbery. Last stop before the climb towards Flagstaff is Twin Arrows. The truckstop near the two giant arrows seems to be about the only thing still working here, but the real Roadie will enjoy the air of a place that's struggling on past its best. We're still working out how best to handle Flagstaff and Williams on "Route 66 in 99". There's just so much to see and do around here that we'll need to plan on spending two or three days in the area. My arrival in Flagstaff in October was under ink-black skies with heavy rain, strong winds and plunging temperatures. This proved to be the overture to the blizzard which engulfed the town the following morning. A weather-related pile-up on I-40 caused the only significant traffic jam I experienced in the recce run's 6000+ miles. Sitting at over 7000 feet amongst the San Francisco Mountains, Flagstaff has a micro-climate all its own. Its fresh air, cool temperatures and rugged scenery make it a mecca for retirees from all over Arizona and beyond. Flagstaff is an interesting destination in its own right, but it is also the gateway to the stupendous grandeur of the Grand Canyon and the spectacular scenery of Sedona and Sunset Crater. With further essential side-trips, and a wealth of great 66 sites, I found this a hard town to leave. And Williams is just as bad. It's here that Paul and Sandi Taylor run the greatest little Route 66 visitor centre of all, and edit the glossy Route 66 Magazine. They should have their new annex open for us in August, and they'll turn on a welcome to remember. Paul and Sandi are mines of information on all aspects of 66 and are always willing to share their incredible knowledge with fellow Mother Road enthusiasts. Williams is also the depot for the restored Grand Canyon Railroad. It's steam-hauled throughout the summer months and is the best possible way for lovers of old-time transport to get up to the South Rim. It's no disadvantage going by train, as you're not allowed to drive between the viewpoints in your own car anyway. There's a highly efficient system of shuttle-buses running continuously along the rim, with stops at every major vista. Whether you get to the Canyon by road or rail, this is the way you'll get around once you're there. We're also looking into helicopter charter rates, and there are overnight camping treks to the floor for the more intrepid. If you've been to the Canyon before and want something different, or if you can squeeze in an additional side-trip, I know you'll be completely bowled over by the fantastic scenery around Sedona, just south of Flagstaff. By the time of "66 in 99", we will have reduced these overwhelming choices to a sensible set of options for you, but whichever way you play it you'll leave plenty to do next time!
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There's a wonderfully atmospheric stretch of original concrete roadbed along what's now called Hibbard Road. All the guidebooks recommend this as a tremendous way of winding back the calendar between Joseph City and Winslow, but the news from my visit isn't good. The problem stems from the fact that when I-40 was completed and US66 decommissioned, the Arizona authorities sold the land over which the old road ran. Half way along the Hibbard Road section the landowner has comprehensively sabotaged a perfectly good bridge. There's one ditch, two Armco barriers and a multi-ton pile of dirt at each end. The Fifth Armored Division couldn't get across this baby! As frustrating as it is, I strongly recommend doing a there-and-back run as far as the bridge. It's only 4½ miles in each direction and it takes you off in total solitude through some spectacular rock formations. The road markings just survive, contributing to the deliciously melancholy feel of the place.
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