Decades after its official demise in 1985, Route 66 remains in fragments, with the rest either paved over and renamed or reclaimed by nature. Nearly 100 years after its official opening in 1926, my buddy Scott and I heeded Yogi’s proclamation that it ain’t over and took a Route 66 motorcycle ride on what was left of America’s Main Street from Chicago, Illinois, to Santa Monica, California.
Interstate travel has its limits. Limited access. Limited visual variety. Limited signage. Limited opportunities for impromptu exploration. Interstates exist to give motorists the fastest path between endpoints. While that was also Route 66’s original purpose, nowadays the Mother Road favors journey over destination. Like clicking through TV channels, this road offers visual variety with every eye blink. With famous roadside attractions and scenery that varies from city streets to open desert to mountain twisties, the Mother Road provides plentiful moto-nourishment. Despite its official nonexistence and decades of neglect, this national organism hangs on, morphing and reinventing and refusing to succumb with all its heart. I like that.
Each section of this Route 66 motorcycle ride has a distinct personality. Through its eastern states, it is what you probably expect Route 66 to be: excellent signage, world-famous landmarks, kitschy attractions. Great stuff. Farther west, roadside attractions became fewer, maybe a restored gas station here and there and a few Burma-Shave signs. What we often encountered was some recently opened business staking an as-yet unearned claim to membership in this highway’s fraternity. Perhaps they’re not as genuine as, say, Wigwam Village Motel #6 in Holbrook, Arizona, but these newcomers to the Route 66 mystique help keep this national artery pulsing.
Riding Route 66 was both poignant and somber. Poignant was riding that little stretch of bricked road in Auburn, Illinois, and strolling onto the Brush Creek Marsh Rainbow Arch Bridge between Riverton and Baxter Springs, Kansas, as well as myriad other attempts to preserve last century’s then-super highway’s personality. Somber was seeing entire main streets boarded up or rusted vehicle hulks strewn around abandoned gas stations or literally reaching one of the many ends of the original road. Pausing to imagine each of these deteriorating places as little oases that catered to weary travelers in their heyday felt like paying last respects to the demise of a dream.
There are still plenty of stop-worthy places along the road’s nearly 2,500 miles. Like Bone Daddy’s in Seligman, Arizona. Resembling a 1930s bordello, it was fronted by odd displays, old cars, and a man playing guitar and singing on the front stoop (at 9:30 on a Monday morning, mind you). Between songs, he manned a broom.
Some roads were fun, some boring, some badly in need of re-paving, some just plain crumbling into nonexistence. And then there was the Sitgreaves Pass portion of Route 66 over the Black Mountains in Arizona, described by DangerousRoads.org as “built like a bobsled run, with crazy switchbacks and steep drop-offs plunging thousands of feet down.” It was both fun and terrifying in a way no roller coaster could ever match.
The real treat along the entire trip was the locals. Every one of the people we met was pleasant, friendly, and more than happy to answer what were surely the same questions they’re asked by tourists every day. The county worker who stopped his mower and offered to take our picture. The bartender who finger-drew an imaginary map on the bar top for us. The waitress at the Windy Cow Cafe in Texas right out of Central Casting. The appreciative parents snapping a photo of their beaming little boy atop Scott’s motorcycle. Perhaps friendliest of all were the burros wandering the main drag of Oatman, Arizona.
This Route 66 motorcycle ride was a smorgasbord of scenery, riding challenges, culinary adventures, and wonderful conversations with genuinely nice people, the kind you just don’t encounter when bombing down the interstate to the next stopover. Sure, every form of travel has a destination, but we ride for the journey. On Route 66, it’s a journey back to the days of yore.
Read More about Route 66:
America’s Mother Road: Chicago to L.A. on Route 66
Get Your Kickstarts on Route 66
Flagstaff to Barstow on Historic Route 66
Route 66 Motorcycle Ride in Oklahoma
Arizona Route 66 Motorcycle Ride
See all of Rider’s touring stories here.
Ed Kolano has been riding motorcycles since his early teens when he kludged a lawnmower engine to a bicycle frame using U-bolts and wood. These days he enjoys long-distance riding adventures, challenging roads, and impromptu conversations, managing to find the humor in all of it. A former Marine and semi-retired test pilot, he lives in the Pacific Northwest.
