I certainly got my kicks... on Route 66
Graeme Croser has a ball as he travels the Mother Road from Chicago to LA
AS I dipped a toe in the Pacific Ocean, my mind reversed along 2,000 miles of hard road from sunkissed Santa Monica to the place where, three weeks earlier, I couldn’t feel my frozen feet.
My journey along the fabled Route 66 started in shivering Chicago, where the biting breeze made for the freshest of starts to the road trip of a lifetime.
The contrast in climates between the Windy City and Los Angeles merely hints at the myriad experiences waiting to be discovered on and around the Mother Road, which this year is celebrating its 90th anniversary.
From watching baseball in St Louis to dangling my legs over the Grand Canyon, through spray-painting cars in Texas to burning my mouth on New Mexican chilli, the drive unleashed a multipronged assault on the senses. By the end I wished there were 2,000 miles more.
Great literature has flowed off the road, from John Steinbeck’s The Grapes Of Wrath to Jack Kerouac’s On The Road.
But the simplest and perhaps most memorable tribute of all lies in the song written by Bobby Troup and most famously rendered by Chuck Berry, urging everyone to get their kicks.
The song took pride of place on the playlists compiled by myself and co-pilot Matt. But before cranking the engine and turning up the volume, we had one of America’s great cities to explore.
Well it winds from Chicago to L.A…
Before heading out on the road we took an elevator ride to the sky. The Willis Tower, formerly the tallest building on the planet, offers a bird’s-eye view of Chicago and a stiff test of the nerves on its two glass-floored viewing platforms.
Yet while Chicago may look mighty pretty from 1,400ft up, we found an equally absorbing view of the lakeside city from below street level.
We took the Architecture Foundation River Cruise, a 90-minute boat ride of facts, anecdotes and stunning sights. Our April start meant the breeze off Lake Michigan and along the Chicago River bit hard but those frozen feet were worth it.
After a couple of days sight-seeing we were ready to hit the road. Despite the temptation, I decided not to fold my beanpole frame into a Mustang Convertible, the romantic roadhog’s car of choice. Instead, we elected to hire an SUV
(www.affordablecarhire.com), giving us the space to take on our epic journey in comfort. A quick photo at the ‘BEGIN’ sign on Adams Street and we were off.
The old route was officially decommissioned in 1985. Though it’s often tricky to stay faithful to the original now, we used a combination of satnav and Jerry McClanahan’s invaluable EZ66 Guide.
The Illinois stretch features two of the iconic Muffler Men, giant fibreglass statues that have transcended their original advertising function to represent the kitschier side of 66.
Springfield, state capital and site of Abraham Lincoln’s tomb, provides something at the other end of the cultural scale. A bronze bust sits outside Abe’s last resting place and it’s customary to rub his nose before heading in for some quiet reflection.
The silence provided a neat counter-
point to the thrilling noise that awaited us across the state line.
Well it goes through St Louis, down through Missouri…
Blues and baseball – St Louis in a nutshell. The 89-year-old Berry still calls the city home and those looking to get their fix of Chuck will find a newly-minted memento in the National Blues Museum, which opened less than a fortnight before our arrival.
Featuring quirky exhibits from a mosaic made of 800 harmonicas to interactive features that allow you to play percussion and write your own blues numbers, it invites you not only to learn but inhabit the music.
Still, there’s nothing to beat the real thing – and a night at BB’s Jazz, Blues and Soups had us grinning and grooving.
Across the road sits Busch Stadium. With the gleaming St Louis Arch providing a stunning backdrop, the chance to see the Cardinals play was too good for this sports writer to pass.
After a photo stop at ‘the world’s largest rocking chair’ in Fanning, we headed south, where Missouri gave way to the road’s third state for all of 11 miles. In a matter of minutes, we were mimicking Dorothy’s ‘We’re not in Kansas any more’ line from The Wizard Of Oz.
Oklahoma City looks oh so pretty
Oklahoma prides itself on being the true keeper of the 66 flame and for good reason, as it boasts more miles of the original road than any other state.
The opportunity to stay off the fast but sanitised highway was one we relished. We continued our musical theme in Tulsa by visiting the Woody Guthrie Centre. Dedicated to one of America’s most influential singersongwriters, it was a treat.
From Tulsa, it’s a mere 90-minute commute to Oklahoma City, where our visit coincided with the 21st anniversary of the bombing that saw 168 killed in a domestic terrorist attack.
Nightfall at the memorial was, by some distance, the most poignant moment of our adventure.
Barely a mile from the Texan state line sits tiny Texola, a self-proclaimed ghost town featuring the homely and aptly named Tumbleweed Grill. Cook, artist and proprietor Masela sat in her rocking chair and told sad tales of the dustbowl era as we ate.
You’ll see Amarillo
Texas is pretty much as you’d expect – bold, brash and a place where everything is writ large. Entering fully into the state spirit, we visited the Big Texan Steak Ranch, a 66 institution and home of the 72oz steak. You get to
eat free if you finish one within an hour. Showing mercy to our stomachs, however, Matt and I watched a hapless Australian couple become the latest to fail the challenge.
Next morning, we worked off our dinners with a spot of open-air artistry. The Cadillac Ranch was conceived as a funky automobile graveyard and we accepted the invitation to spray one of the ten cars upended in Texan mud.
The drive west towards New Mexico was fascinating. We marvelled as the landscape changed to rocky desert. There was also the sense of achievement at reaching the halfway mark, which we celebrated with a fabulous slice of ‘ugly pie’ at the MidPoint Cafe.
And Gallup, New Mexico
For us, Gallup was but a lunch stop en route to Arizona. Santa Fe was our main focus in New Mexico. 66 was routed away in the 1930s but it remains one of the most rewarding stops on the road. Founded in 1610 by the Spanish, the city of holy faith retains a Mediterranean feel intertwined with the influence of the indigenous people. The first Pueblo villages were built 1,000 years, ago making Santa Fe ancient by US standards.
New Mexicans are particularly proud of their cuisine and treat their chilli like the French do their wine. Red or green is the waiter’s question of choice and even the local confectioners feel obliged to spice up their sweets. Santa Fe is also home to the Kakawa Chocolate House, run by Tony Bennett, whose wife Bonnie happens to hail from Glasgow and treated me to a red chilli caramel.
Flagstaff, Arizona don’t forget Winona
Flagstaff boasts its own Muffler Man, a lumberjack who towers over students at the University of North Arizona. It is also home to the Crown Railroad Cafe where I ate a huge breakfast to set me up for a peek at arguably the most remarkable land feature on the planet.
The Grand Canyon is a comfortable 90-minute drive north. The most popular way to see it is to head for the South Rim. We grabbed two bikes (http://bikegrandcanyon.com) and pedalled off to catch the sunset at Mohave Point. I could have sat on that cliff edge for a week.
Would you get hip to this kindly tip and take that California trip
And so to the end in the Golden State. Route 66 cuts through Hollywood, but to reach Santa Monica before nightfall, we decided to skip the rush-hour traffic and take our chances on the highway, saving Sunset Boulevard for the next day.
After congratulating ourselves under the End of the Trail sign, it was on to the beach for some contented reflection on what we had achieved – and a well-earned soak for our tired feet.