Motels are expensive. That’s why I camp. On my little excursion, I plan on staying in only five motels (out of 45 nights). Three of them are just random cheap motels – no campgrounds around. But the other two are amazing.

First, in Tucumcari, New Mexico, a town famous for its old motels and neon, there’s the Blue Swallow Motel.

I stayed there two years ago and can’t wait to stay there again. Here’s what I wrote oh so long ago…

Tucumcari tonight! Tucumcari used to boast 2000 motel rooms. I’m not sure how many there are now, but that doesn’t matter because we found the best freaking motel with the best freaking room and the best freaking owners EVER.

Welcome to the Blue Swallow Motel. A beautifully restored motel from the 40’s now run by Bill and Terri. Red bearded Bill, clad in bib overalls greeted us, checked us in and showed us a “suite.” And sweet it was. It has a stove.. a PINK stove!, two bedrooms, a 1940’s style bathroom and so much nostalgia you’ll go crazy. Bill offered us so much assistance and help and fun that I can’t even begin to describe it. Actually, it’s a lot like staying in a B&B. He took care of us.

Every evening he also takes pictures of in front of the sign of everyone who stays at the motel. He prints them out at night and then gives you a 5×7 of them the next day. For free. What a guy!

Boo went for a run to Tucumcari Mountain while Nikki and I got our picture taken in front of the sign. She and I were on the computer, reading some comments left by you guys (thanks!) when we looked our the window to our right to see Bill walking towards us. He held up his camera with a big smile as if to say “It’s time!” He was excited. You can really tell he loves this place. They bought it in February, I think. New owners totally in love with each other and their motel. I could live here.

May this year they’ll adopt me and Ruby.

The second motel is a few days after Tucumcari. At one time it was a small chain of motels, but since then, only three remain. Two are on Route 66. I’ll be staying in the one in Holbrook, Arizona.

It’s the Wigwam Motel!

I stayed in it in 2004 and 2006 and will stay again in 2008. Every two years! I wish I would have written more about it in 2004. The owner of the Wigman (he’s the original founder’s son) and I had a wonderful conversation about the government. He’s one of those republican/libertarian/anarchist/militia type who are always a blast to chew the fat with.

But no, for some reason, I’ve never really written much about the place. In both ‘04 and ‘06 I hardly mention that I stayed there at all. Weird, huh?

But Holbrook was the place where I got a free plate of fries from Denny’s.

We drive the 20 sleepy miles to Holbrook to our castle for the night, The Wigwam Motel! I love this place. Hungry, we hit Denny’s where our waiter, Jep, took a liking to a certain journal keeper (blogger?) and I didn’t get charged for my fries or my Sprite. Oh yeah! I still got it!

Go me. Maybe Jep will still be there! Oh I hope!

Anyway, those are the two motels I was just itchin’ to tell you about. Are you happy that I did?

Sure you are.

Will I be the first scooterist to ride Route 66 from start to end? Not exactly, no.

I was recently asked this and I’ve wondered it myself. I knew that two fellows attempted it 7 or 8 years ago. One failed and the other, I thought, didn’t finish.

After a bit of research, I was kind of right.

First off, I’m not the one who coined the term “Scoot 66.” I did, however, think it up on my own, only to find out later that I wasn’t the first to think it up. I’m not sure who the first was, but Mike Frankovich used it in 1999 and 2000 when he and some friends did Route 66 on vintage scooters.

The trip that I had heard about was their 2000 trip. This was their second trip, but I hadn’t heard of (or remembered) their first one in 1999.

The 2000 trip started in May and lasted 10 days. Mike on a Vespa T5, Pete on a Vespa Rally and Don on what’s possibly a Rally or Sprint or something (hard to tell from the small pictures). There also seemed to be a truck following them. They rode Route 66 with very little incident until they reached Needles, California. The temperature hit 115. Mike’s T5 seized on the interstate. Scary situation.

At that point, Pete took US95 north to Vegas, while Mike and Don loaded their scooters on the truck, finishing Route 66 on four wheels instead of two.

So technically (and very sadly) no one made it. Of course, that doesn’t take away from their fun and memories, which is the whole point of even attempting this. It’s not really to finish it, though it would be nice. It’s to try it.

Anyway, the trip that I was thinking of was their 2000 trip. I somehow forgot their 1999 trip.

The 1999 trip only involved two scooterists. Mike Frankovich and Joe Kokesh. Mike documents his 1999 trip a lot better than is 2000 trip (which is mostly pictures).

75 miles out of Chicago (meaning 75 miles from the start of the trip), Mike’s clutch went. He threw his scooter (Vespa P200) onto Joe’s truck (driven by a friend named Mustang Mike) and rode to St. Louis. Joe, however, rode the whole way. The clutch had to be rebuilt again in Missouri, but no truck was involved. Joe fixed it in 45 minutes along the side of the road.

The trip continued without any problems until Amboy, California where Mike’s sparkplug worked itself loose and he holed his piston. Joe rode to find a truck, but no luck there. Mike’s father saved the day by driving from LA to Amboy and loading both scooters on a truck and taking it to Victorville, a distance of about 115 miles.

Mike finished the Route, leaving from Victorville on his Vespa Rally. Joe finished on his Vespa P series.

So, did either of them really finish it? Well yeah. Both loaded their scooters on a truck for 115 miles, sure. But they rode the whole thing, basically.

Also, let me clarify something here. Riding Route 66 on a modern Vespa GTS with fuel injection is no big deal when compared to riding Route 66 on vintage 2 stroke Vespas. I have little doubt that my GTS can make it. I trust it as much as I’d trust a new car. But riding vintage Vespas 2,500 miles in 10 days, that’s just ballsy. Mike, Joe, Don and Pete were true explorers and true scooterists. I’m just some guy who is riding a brand new modern scooter.

There is a huge difference.

So since I don’t have the option of a truck, if I finish Route 66, I will (to the best of my knowledge) be the first guy on a scooter to ride 66 from the very start to the very finish. But that doesn’t begin to hold a candle to attempting it on vintage two-strokes. Not even close.

I will, however, be attempting it alone. No support, no partners, etc. And since I’m on a modern scooter, I won’t be worrying about altitude, cables breaking, seizure and all the other idiosyncrasies a vintage scoot has. That will definitely make the ride more relaxing and easier.

What I’m doing is kind of a big thing. But it’s nothing compared to the Scoot 66s of 1999 and 2000. Take a visit to their webpage about it.

Lovely, no?

We arrived in Chicago in effing record time. Our departure was at 430am. I slept from about midnight to 330am. Goodsleeperic.

The drive itself was rather uneventful, as would be any drive through Western Pennsylvania, Ohio and Indiana. It was I-80 all the way! God, this was so exciting.

I did fall asleep at the wheel once. I love it when I do that. It kept me awake though. Until about right now. I’m in a hotel room in Joliet, Il. Where is Joliet, you ask? It’s a bit south of Chicago. The Blues Brothers had some affiliation with Joliet prison, if I remember correctly.

So basically, since I’ll be doing Route 66 in a few weeks, I’ll spare you the play-by-play. Instead, I offer you the pictures I took today. Hey, that rhymes! I should SO be a poet!

Here are the pics from today!

And here are those from Smartz.

We did 66 from Joliet, IL to St. Louis. Fun, but we got finished with it a bit earlier than I thought we would. So we checked out the Arch and a couple of sculpture parks. Fun! Like yesterday, here are some pics.

Right here.

And here are the photos by Smartz.

Today was a really strange travel day for me. First, it was a blast. I love being out on 66 and I’m so glad that I got to see quite a bit today.

But the strange thing was, though I was seeing a LOT of what I’ve seen before, *how* I got there was totally different. The thing is, I can’t understand why.

Route 66 has a couple different alignments, sure, but even in places where there was only one alignment, I felt like I had never been there before. Honestly, I think I must have skipped quite a bit, at least in Missouri, on the first time through.

At any rate, a really cool thing about today is where we left Route 66. Originally, the plan was to drive to Lebanon, MO… or, if we were lucky, Springfield, MO. But by the time we got to Springfield, it wasn’t all that late. Also, Becky doesn’t have to be in Memphis till 3pm on Monday. So we could do some of the traveling to Memphis tomorrow. Right? Right!

And all that adds up to having more time on Route 66. I know I was grateful for that.

We made it all the way through Missouri. Into Kansas. Did all 12 miles of Kansas. And then made our way through a pretty good chunk of northern Oklahoma! To Afton!

We then said our goodbyes to Route 66 (the last thing I did was take a picture of the last section of road that we were on. There was a train in it. Aww.

After that, for the next couple of hours, we winded our way out of Okahoma and into Arkansas. Tonight we are holed up in a nice motel outside Harrison, AR. Great room.

See the pictures. I’m pretty happy with them.

And here are Sarah’s.

First, let me say that this is going to be a long post. I saw a lot today.

Ok, so, like I said this morning, I didn’t have very far to go. Only 150 miles or so, right? Right. RIIIIGHT. If anyone can stretch “only” 150 miles out over 12 hours, it’s me. And I really did.

I was hoping to sleep in a bit, but woke up at 6am. I milled about the hotel room and finally applied Cat Crap to my face field. Cat Crap is an anti-fogger. No idea why they call it that, but it works.

My first mission evolved last night. I was looking at a map of Joliet and came across Mound Street. I figured that since it’s called Mound Street, there must be a mound. Probably an Indian burial mound. And after a bit of research, I found out that I was wrong on both counts.

There was a mound, but it’s not there anymore. I was shocked. Why would they remove a mound? Simple – because they needed some stuff that the mound was sitting on. It was turned into a quarry. But, according to the info that’s available, the mound was a naturally occurring mound. That’s right. In this very very flat river basin, there was this big lump with a flat top. Just… naturally and stuff.

Naturally occurring. Sure. I wonder if the quarrying company provided that info.

Anyway, while there was no mound, there was supposedly a historical marker. I rode around Mound Street, but saw no marker. Thanks! The pic I have is a stock pic.

And moving on…
There’s a stretch of 66 that has been sort of forgotten, even though it was 66 from the late 30’s till it was replace by I-55. The route through Joliet became Alt 66, though it’s much more well known today.

After a quick bite to eat at Panera Bread, I headed up Route 30 to Plainfield. I arrived during a town-crisis. All of the traffic lights had lost their power. The cops were no where to be seen. They left us to work it out for ourselves. And we pretty well did. I followed Lincoln Highway as it converged for a block with Route 66. My two favorite roads together at last!

I think it was just the traffic lights that were out. If all the town’s power was out, I would have seen neighbors outside talking to each other. People only speak when there’s a natural disaster of some kind.

This alignment was neat, but hardly fun. North of town is where all the cops were. They directed traffic around the strip malls. There were tons of strip malls. Miles of them, in fact. And with all the cops preoccupied with directing traffic, this was the golden opportunity for a small riot. You can’t have too big a riot because then the National Guard would be called in. Just a small one. And some looting. I’m rather disappointed in the people of Plainfield for not taking advantage of such a golden opportunity. Shame!

I had to go through Joliet again to get back to the alignment that I was following. There was one last thing I wanted to see there. I’ve been through Joliet three times (a bunch of times if you count last night) and have yet to see the Rialto Theater. Other people in the car with me have seen it. But I have not. Until today.

And all there is to say about it is wow.

But enough of the busy Chicago area. I wanted to get out onto what to me is the real Route 66. Give me an open stretch of road, already!

I had to wait a bit for that, but the four lane south of Joliet is pretty desolate after a bit. Just wide open spaces with signs urging developers to buy them up.

And finally, just north of Elwood, is the Chicago Road. It was probably a really early road into Chicago. It later became 66, but probably didn’t last long until it was bypassed by the four lane. But that didn’t matter. It was my first stretch of really Route 66! Just me alone on a forgotten two lane. I stopped to take it all in. A kid on a four wheeler flew by me and waved. This was great.

Elwood is a small town of little consequence. They all are, really. And even though they’re close to the interstate, nobody really visits. Elwood had a small fire last night. It burned down a tavern. A few townsfolk were still milling about. Again, people talk to each other during disasters. It’s finally something we have in common.

The Rittenhouse Guide¹ doesn’t even mention Elwood by name. Just “Gas Station. Another Gas Station with a cafe and a few cabins.”

Having passed the Abraham Lincoln National Cemetery a few times, I thought it only right that I stop. This isn’t where he’s buried. That’s Springfield. But this is where many Illinois vets from WW2 and Vietnam (and probably others, I didn’t see others though) are buried. I rode around the cemetery, trying to avoid being swept up in a couple passing funerals.

As I didn’t have any pressing business here, I putted on to what many consider the “first” Route 66 icon², The Gemini Giant of Willington, IL! This is my third time visiting him and it never gets old.

Remember how I said that the Plainfield alignment was replaced by I-55 and took itself away from what we now consider Historic 66? Here is where it joins up. In Braidwood. Rittenhouse describes it as having piles of coal slag on either side of the road. Certainly they weren’t a big as Shamokin’s pile, but it’s surprising that the piles are gone. Unlike Shamokin’s.

The Joliet alignment and Plainfield alignment don’t really meet up. Joliet’s, called Alt 66 is on the east side of the tracks while Plainfield’s is on the west. It’s a pretty nifty thing to see, I think. Hard to photograph though.

Dwight, the next town, is “quiet and peaceful.” Not much is in it or around it for miles. It, like most of the towns around here, is divided by the railroad. Amtrak still has service to almost all these places, Dwight included. There is a car dealership called Rub Ford³ which still has brand new 2004 Mustangs. Want one?

Odell and Pontiac provided some great photo opportunities. But going through my pictures, one town looks just like the others. It’s only through maps and some almost educated guessing that I can label one picture as being from Odell and another from Pontiac – or any of twenty or more such towns.

One thing that does separate Pontiac from any other Route 66 is its “swinging bridges.” I spied the sign and zoomed off in search of untold treasures. And to my delight, there were three suspension bridges just for walking. I’m not really sure of the story of these things, but it’s pretty cool.

The towns were getting farther apart now. Chicago was far behind me. Rittenhouse mentions Ocoya, but there doesn’t seem to be anything there now. The towns were also getting smaller and the signs of clinging to life were obvious. Here, the life is Route 66. Either embrace it and stand a small chance of survival or… well, there is no “or.”

Sometimes the towns don’t need to provide the entertainment. Between Pontiac and Lexington I found five train cars on their side. They were almost neatly arranged, their wheels in a pile next to a county road. It was hard to figure out what happened here, but I assumed a derailment. This may have been mid-clean up. (Edit: some research and yes, it was a derailment. Look.)

Just a few miles farther, Lexington turned their old alignment into a “Memory Lane” of old billboards for businesses in Lexington that were no more.Towanda did much the same. It’s nice in a sort of sad way. but that is how Route 66 can be.

Out of nowhere arises the twin cities of Normal and Bloomington. They’re basically one town and not very interesting as far as Route 66 goes. I took not one picture there. It did, however, rain like crazy in Normal. I was soaked. It didn’t rain at all in Bloomington though. And by the time I got through the cities, I was mostly dry.

By this point, I had proved to myself that my thoughts of having too much time were insane. If anything, I didn’t have enough time! More realistically, I got off to a late start, but still. I had to pick up the pace, at least just a little.

This meant buzzing through towns rather than exploring. I guess that is ok.

I entered Shirley⁴ and then Funks Grove, where they make “Sirip.” Rittenhouse describes these several towns, including Mclean and Atlanta, as all having “no tourist facilities,” but having a cafe. Each of them. It must have been nice when every small town had a cafe and a gas station.

Atlanta, long one of my favorite Route 66 in Illinois stops, had to be hurried too. It wasn’t a big deal as I’ve explored it twice before. I took a few pics, including one with Ruby and Paul Bunyon and scurried on.

One thing I will call a sacrifice for time today was the town of Lincoln. This was a great size. Not too small and definitely not too big. But I had to just pass through it. Route 66 doesn’t claim its downtown and neither did I. Next time.

With Springfield, my home for tonight, so close at hand, I found my way through the city with quite a bit of ease. I will see more of it tomorrow.

I was pretty well decided upon staying at the KOA Kampground. However, I couldn’t find it. The campground that I went to wasn’t KOA and was only for RVs. So I had to find somewhere else that would take my money.

That is where the Peachtree Inn comes into play. And here I am. On a very floral bed typing out my memories of today before I forget them. Denny’s is next door. I admit to indulging in “seasoned fries.” And now is sleep.

Miles traveled today: 239
Miles traveled today: 1192

High temp: 83
Low temp: 63

Here are the pics of today!

Map explaining where I was today.⁵

1. Jack Rittenhouse wrote a guide to Route 66 in 1946. It’s been reprinted and, while it’s no longer anywhere near accurate, it’s great to see what the Road was like way back when. [↩]
2. By “first” I mean geographically the first going East to West. [↩]
3. That sounds pretty perverse to me. [↩]
4. yeah yeah, that’s what she said [↩]
5. Sort of. Cole requested a map like one that I did before, but I tried and couldn’t come up with anything. Here’s a Google Map that sort of has the route. It’s not anywhere near exact, but gives you a rough idea. For a larger overview, there’s the crude map on the main page. [↩]

Ok, I should have camped last night. No excuses. But there was a Denny’s and a Panera Bread within walking distance from my hotel. Anyway, I didn’t.

I also didn’t explore Springfield like I thought I might. I woke up and decided that a nice drive through the country would suit me better. The skies somewhat indicated rain sometime today, so there was a slight hint of urgency in my decision. I was worried about time again.

But I was able to put that all aside and just let whatever happens happen. Alright, not really. I concluded that if it was before 3pm by the time I got to the KOA near Edwardsville, IL, I would head through St. Louis.

And with that in my weird little head, I hung on for the ride.

Leaving Springfield during morning rush hour was no real problem. It’s like it’s not even a city. Fancy that! And after several miles of parking lots and stripmalls, I hung a few rights and lefts and was on the 1926 alignment of Route 66. There are two through this area. It’s said that most folks like the 1930’s alignment. I’ve done that one twice, it is indeed a good thing. On it you’ve got Our Lady of the Highway monument and Mt. Olive with Mother Jone’s gravesite.

Though it’s a fine alignment, my problem with it is that it’s right next to the interstate for the entire time. It’s basically a frontage road and while I’m very glad the Department of Transportation allowed it to remain, I was looking for a more rural flavor.

As I started, heading through Chatham, Auburn and Thayer, I was thinking to myself¹ that the towns south of Springfield are pretty well shot. And it’s true, there’s not much to the three I just mentioned.

Route 66 follows what is now IL 4, though sometimes it wanders off. The coolest example of this is when it wanders off at Snell Road, just south of Chatham. There, for a couple of miles, it is brick. That’s right, brick. Old, red bricks. And it’s not just a straight stretch. Oh no. It curves and rises and falls with the land, just like any concrete alignment of 66 would. But it’s brick. And it totally made my day.

But when I rode in to Virden, my opinion changed a little. The name “Virden” was familiar to me, but I couldn’t figure out why. I chalked it up to the fact that I’ve studied Route 66² for years and probably just remember it from that.

I pulled into a parking space in the town square. I love town squares. Every town should have one. Virden’s was pretty big and there was a park in it. Also, the streets were so huge that they made them parking lots. It was weird, but a good touch.

I ate a breakfast of Clif Bars and water, took a few pics and decided to check out the rather large monument. I could only see the back of it, but it read “Battle of Virden Monument.” I know the Civil War pretty well and couldn’t remember any battles in Illinois. French & Indian War wasn’t this far west. So what gives?

I circled to the front and saw the very amazing relief done in bronze (I think). It depicted the entire Battle of Virden. It all came back to me. The Battle of Virden, 1898 was between the workers (miners, in this case) and the mining company who refused to pay a higher wage. This was one year after the Lattimer Massacre in Pennsylvania. This is why Mother Jones is buried in Mt. Olive – among the poor fellows who gave their lives for workers rights during the Battle of Virden.

I should have asked around to see if I could find the actual site, but I didn’t. Not wanting to take up more time than I already was, I mounted up and rode on down the road.

I was wrong about southern Illinois towns. These places are what makes Route 66 amazing.

Even so, Girard didn’t hold much for my interest. While sticking to Route 66, towards the south side of town, I passed a park that still had all of its old playground equipment. Its old school slide was attached to an old school swingset, next to an old school merry-go-round and near the old monkey bars. No plastic or wood here. Just Made in the USA steel. Sure, you’ll need a tetnis shot if you even touch it, but that’s what being a kid is all about!

Between the towns of Girard and Nilwood Route 66 reverts back to its old concrete. Thank God. I love driving (and now riding) on the old concrete. It’s rutted and broken, but has this 1930’s look of gettin’ somewheres. Perhaps headin’ out California-way. Frontage roads along the interstate, even if they are Route 66, don’t have this feel.

Nilwood. Oh dear Nilwood. There’s not much that can be said for such a place as this. But it won my heart nevertheless. It’s got an old, abandoned two story school built in 1927, a post office, rail road tracks and a very very very creepy blue building that’s sort of sunken into the ground. There are stairs that lead down to a door that a sign claims opens automatically upon payment. There is no explanation offered as to what you are paying for. You are just supposed to know. Also, the “curtains” in one of the windows is a child’s bed sheet with 101 Dalmatians on it. Creepy? Oh I say yes!

However, just south of Nilwood are the famous Route 66 turkey tracks. When the original concrete was being laid, a turkey came out of field, did a little dance and left his happy footprints forever upon our Mother Road.

For years they went unmarked, but now they are highlighted in a white square with Route 66 shields surrounding them. Who dares say that the 1926 alignment through Illinois isn’t worth it?!

Carlinville was a blur, but I believe I was just hear a few weeks ago with Sarah and Becky. We were looking for the Sears houses. While there are many of them, I again didn’t find the whole section devoted to them. Maybe next time. There will be a next time.

The next town down the line is Gillespi. I was dizzy with excitement! Gillespi is nice enough. No town square that I saw, but a nice enough downtown. By nice I don’t mean thriving, really. But… aesthetically pleasing.

I believe it is Gillespi that has converted what appears to be an old firehouse into a movie theater. It’s strange to see such a change. Normally, towns convert old theaters into other things (or just tear them down), but Gillespi has converted something into a movie theater. And it still plays movies! This week they’re showing Drillbit Taylor. Soon they will be showing the new Narnia movie.

The stretch between Gillespie and Hamel includes Benld. Again, I can’t remember which town had what. I wish that I could figure out a way to keep track of such things. I did see a train between Benld and Hamil. And Hamil’s got a pretty nifty rails-to-trails along Route 66.

From Hamil, it’s a descent into the Mississippi River Valley. It was merely 12 noon and so I figured that I would could take in the Chain of Rocks Bridge and make it through St. Louis today!

Route 66 between Edwardsville and Mitchell is weird and straight and seems to go on forever. It crosses a few highways, twists around some rail road yard and then dead ends at the Chain of Rocks Bridge. There are old motels and a drive in theater along the way to keep you company.

The Chain of Rocks Bridge got a new parking lot since I was last there in 2006. The other parking lot smelled like vomit. Seriously. It was horrible. I like the new one and now it’s not all vomit-scented.

The bridge itself was pretty well unchanged from before. I had a nice mid-day stroll across the Mississippi and probably took too many pictures of it. I should take breaks like this everyday.

The bridge is only open to foot traffic now, and it claims to be the longest foot bridge in the universe (or maybe just America). So from there, to get to the newly reopened McKinley Bridge, I had to backtrack a bit (worth it), head south a bit and then I effortlessly crossed into Missouri.

I took an old alignment through St. Louis, keeping the mood of the day in the 1920’s. St. Louis is a nice town. Again, aesthetically. I rode through the city and took MO 100, Manchester Road, out of town, stopping at a Panera Bread for a snack and some internets.

My destination was the KOA on the west end of town, right along Old Route 66 (though a newer alignment than the one I was currently on).

That is where I am now. At the KOA. Tonight is laundry night and I think it might rain. Tomorrow I’ll have pics of my tent site and of the campground. I think you can sleep in a caboose. I was going to ask, but … well, I have no idea why I didn’t. I should have.

I’m camping. I’m next to Route 66. And in the time I’ve been writing this, five freight trains have passed by. I’m in a good place.

That’s all for now. Time to fold some clothes.

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 164
Miles total: 1356

I’m not doing the temps anymore, sorry.

1. That means talking to myself, ok? [↩]
2. Though if there were some sort of exam, I’d fail it. [↩]

Ok. Today was/is pretty nasty. I got as far as Rolla, Missouri and had to call it quits. I’ve never ridden in rain this heavy. They’re saying that some places got 5″ of rain. That is ridiculous.

But let’s begin where I left off this morning. At Panera.

The skies looked a bit threatening and there seemed to be some storms on the horizon. According to the weather, maybe a storm around 1pm. No problem. I’ll ride through it and live to tell the tale.

And for awhile, it was a really nice ride. I checked out the town of Eureka. Not much there. It looked like they took a lot of pride in it and it was nice, but nothing for me, really. But the ride to the next town, Pacific, was nice.

Where they cut away parts of the mountain to make the road, there are caves. That sentence was weirdly worded. Sorry. But there are caves, nonetheless. It was pretty cool.

Rittenburg¹ said that there was a historical marker here describing that the Confederates came to this point. The marker is now gone. I wonder what happened to it.

He also mentions there being an overlook with stairs going up to it. I’m betting that’s where the caves are. This area will now be a strip mall, ok?

I passed Gray Summit, where Old, old 66 and Old New 66 meet. I was on Old New 66, by the way. My original directions had me going the Old Old 66 alignment, so I was a bit out of sorts. Also, for some odd reason, Historic 66 isn’t marked. There were no signs.

I finally figured it out, taking a picture of a funky old motel sign while doing it. Off in the distance I could see the clouds getting thicker. But the weather guy said no rain till 4ish. It was about 11.

The stretch of 66 between Gray Summit and St. Clair has some lovely curves. There’s a section of it that slides away from the interstate. A few old motels and a dead gas station or two make the ride a bit more memorable than not.

Which is nice, because not too much farther down the road, Route 66 becomes nothing more than a boring frontage road. The interstate is mere feet from it.

In St. Clair, I stopped at R & R Ace Hardware to get an extension cord for camping tonight. The weather guy said that there wouldn’t be too much in the way of rain over night. No problem. I’m ok with rain over night. Just not when I’m trying to set up the tent. Give me 10 minutes and then you can rain all you please. Till morning, when I need 10 more minutes to strike the tent.

Just west of Stanton, around 11:30, the skies took to looking mighty nasty. Several rather large bolts of lightening stretched from black clouds to the ground. You could literally see the rain falling from them.

It wasn’t anywhere near 4pm. Did the storm come early? Did it expand? I had no way of telling. So I pulled over, quickly through on my rain gear and rode into what I knew was going to be a pretty big storm. However, I thought, storms out here are quick. They last a few minutes, maybe a half hour and they’re gone, replaced by sunshine like you’ve never seen before!

That’s not exactly how it happened today. About two miles later, I was in a heavy down pour. My face shield fogged up (or perhaps it was my glasses), but it didn’t matter anyway because the rain was so hard, I couldn’t see.

I couldn’t really pull over anywhere because both sides of the road were basically rivers. I slowed down and kept on going.

The rain gear certainly helps. Without it, I would be soaked head to toe within minutes (within seconds in this rain). But it’s not very tight around the wrists. I’m not really sure what to do about that, but the sleeves of my jacket and my shirt were dripping wet almost immediately.

By the time I reached Cuba, around noon, the rain has slowed to just a steady deluge. There was no wind, thank god. But riding in a driving rain is tiring. I figured that it couldn’t last long. This was a wave. Once it passes, we’ll have some sun and sure, maybe it will rain again, but that’s ok.

Cuba has a ton of great murals. I wanted to take pictures of all of them, but the rain was making my camera suddenly shut off. I’m not surprised and it does seem to be working fine now, but I had to keep taking it out and it was getting rained upon. I did take a picture of every Civil War mural in Cuba, though.

[As I'm writing this, my camera is now turning itself on and off as if having a mind of its own. This is not a good sign.]

Of course, just after Cuba, rain or no rain, I had to stop and take Ruby’s picture under the largest rocking chair in the universe. The people at the store next to it were looking at me in a bit of disbelief. The rain was pretty heavy at this point. My helmet isn’t totally waterproof, but it does ok. And now my boots were proving just how not waterproof they are. I’m not sure what to do about that.

Route 66 takes a break from being the interstate’s kid sister in St. James, taking you through the town itself. Or rather, it would if there wasn’t a lot of construction. So back to the frontage road for me.

Here, the rain began to fall harder than any rain I’ve ever ridden through before.

Just before the town of Rolla, I stopped in a Love’s Truck Stop. They had a Subway and it would be nice to wait out the storm there.

I walk through the doors and the follow at the counter, in a thick southern accent, asks where I was coming from. “St. Louis,” was my reply. He tells me that the worst is over and that it should be ok soon, if I’m heading west.

Perfect. Just what I wanted to hear. I head for the bathroom, take off the rain gear and found a weird cologne vending machine. It was creepy. I dried off a bit and then ordered a veggie sub at Subway. I figured that by the time I was done with this, it would all be ok and I’d be on my way to Lebanon, roughly 60 or 70 miles west of here.

Well after eating the sub, things were a bit different than I had hoped. I walked to the window and it was somehow raining even harder than it was before. I wasn’t sure that such a thing was possible, but trust me – a VERY hard rain.

A waited about an hour. Nothing. And the Weather Channel on one of the display TVs in the truck stop said that it was going to rain basically forever.

It was about 3:30 and the rain, while far from stopping, wasn’t nearly as driving. I threw on the rain gear and managed to pull together the last bits of desire to ride another 60 miles and mounted up.

About a mile down the road, and roughly a mile to the town of Rolla, the rain picked up, my face shield fogged over, as did my glasses. I threw open the face shield in a pointless attempt to see anything.

It helped a bit, I could see. But all I could see was that the road was taking a weird uphill bend and that a good section of the road was buckling.

The shoulder was gone. There was a wash, filled with about a six inches of rushing water. I leaned a bit, out of the curve, to escape it, but leaning out of a banked curve in a monsoon with fogged over face shield and rain-blinded glasses isn’t as easy as you might think.

And a second later, Ruby and I were bouncing along the “cliff” of the road which quickly disintegrated into a rather large and muddy ditch.

Somehow I managed to keep the rubber side down, so we were both safe. However, we were both also sinking. I revved the engine and the real wheel just spun in the thick Missouri clay.

I was lucky, in a way. If I would have entered the ditch a bit earlier, I would have stuck the front wheel in the much larger gully and flown over the handle bars. Lucky me.

Now what?

The adrenalin was pumping, so I figured that I better take advantage of it. I grabbed the rear of the bike, but nothing. I could move the front wheel, but that didn’t help anything.

A few cars passed, the drivers craning their necks to see the scooterist clearly in a distressed state.

I tried to move the rear again. Nothing.

Thankfully, a family in a pick up truck stopped and their 14 year old boy and I were able to move the rear wheel just enough that I could get some traction on the wet stones. I’d rev the engine and she’d move an inch or so. We did this for about five minutes until I was up and on both wheels.

I thanked them over and over (as one should), took a few pictures and figured that this kind of thing was bound to happen. I reapplied the Cat Crap de-fogger stuff to my face shield and glasses (not a fun task in a heavy rain). But it helped.

It got us into Rolla, but while I wasn’t fogging up, the rain drops were sticking like snot to the front of the shield. I was blind again. If I lifted the shield, my glasses would be covered, if I let it down, I couldn’t really see.

In utter frustration, I pulled over in front of the Rustic Motel. I thought about it for about five seconds and registered at the office.

And that is where I am now. Room 120, if anyone cares to visit.

Today was crap. Pure, utter crap. I saw basically nothing. Rode only about 100 miles and am still 60 (ugh, maybe more) away from Lebanon – my goal for the night. Missing out on my daily goal is no big deal, but I really just wasn’t ready for this much rain.

Luckily, most of my bags are waterproofish. Though this amount of rain makes even waterproof things rethink such claims. My camera seems to be dead. There are three or four Chinese places in town and I REALLY want tofu, but It’s still pouring and all my gear is drying out.

Today can rot in hell.

Here are my pics.

Miles traveled: 101
Miles total: 1457

Map of where I was. “B” is where I crashed.

And here was the weather today.

1. Remember him? The guy who wrote the first guide book to Route 66 back in the mid-40’s. [↩]

After yesterday’s completely absurd nastiness, pretty much anything would be better. And I’m not sure if today seemed so good because yesterday seemed so bad or that maybe today was just that good.

Honestly, today rocked!

If I could go back and live today over again and again, I totally would.

What happened today that made it so cool? Well I’ll tell you. Today started off with a bit of rain and Panera. I figured it would clear up and, unlike my previous attempts at meteorology, I was not wrong.

Most everything that was wet was now dry and that heavy mist in the air was even gone. I was definitely ready for a great ride from Rolla, MO to Springfield, MO.

I rolled out of Rolla, after a quick stop at scaled down, but nevertheless accurate Stonehenge. It was carved with high-speed water jets! I somehow managed to miss this the first time with (with Nikki, Danni and Derek), but saw it with Sarah and Becky. And now I saw it again. Wonderful.

Sixty-six follows my arch nemesis, I-44, for a tad, but then juts south in what made for a great morning ride. I am pretty sure that I was on this stretch a few weeks ago, but I didn’t remember it at all. Well, I did, but only from when I was on it in 2006. I think it’s got everything to do with greenery. A few weeks ago, everything was still brown. But now, it’s all green, just like it was in June of 2006.

Each time you do 66, you notice new things. And each time you notice something new, you think, “maybe I’ve never been here before.” But then you see something familiar that proves you were. A lot of folks, heck, even I, have questioned why I’d want to keep coming back to Route 66. This place is always changing. And the changes come quickly. You’ll see.

Heading into Doolittle, I saw a turtle trying to cross the road. This is the same spot where we saw a turtle last time. Last time, she helped him cross. This time, I did.

A little farther up, I saw another. And another. I saw a few dead ones too.

Now, listen here, my turtle friends. Whatever you think is so great on the other side of the road isn’t. Where you came from is gone, where you thought you were going to weren’t never there.¹ So please, dear ones, please stay put. By the numbers of your dead, one can see that you are no good at crossing roads.

After a few turtles, it was time to revisit John’s Modern Cabins. Nothing has changed since I was here a few weeks ago, but much has changed from a couple of years ago. A couple years ago, the interstate went between Old 66 and cabins. You had to do a weird little shuffle with your car. It was lame and annoying. But now you can simply cross the old interstate like it weren’t never there.

But the cabins are great. It’s a shame that in five to ten years they’ll all be collapsed. Maybe even sooner. Seriously, if you really want to see these, get out and see them.

Farther down the road, which dead ends, is Arlington. In 1946, Arlington had a population of 40. If there are 10 now, I’d be surprised. When Rittenhouse² mentions it in his book, he says the “main street was cut off by a new highway.” I’m not exactly sure which new highway. It was what later became I-44, but is it where I-44 is now?

At any rate, Route 66 used to cross a river here. It doesn’t anymore. It used to cross from Arlington to near Jerome. That crossing is gone.

And that means that you have to backtrack and grab the interstate for four miles. Did I really want to join my arch-nemesis for four whole miles? No. It’s not a whole lot of fun. But I bit the bullet and white-knuckled it from exit 176 to exit 172.

Exit 172 is the exit for Jerome. There are signs on the interstate to get off here and hang a left. But first, let’s hang a right. A right will follow Old 66 back towards Jerome. I don’t think that 66 ever went into Jerome. I could be wrong, but I don’t see how it did. It crossed the river from Arlington and skirted some houses near the southern end of Jerome. I’m not exactly sure where it crossed.

But from there it passes a few abandoned tourist cabins and the Trail of Tears monument. We were here just a few weeks ago. One big change is that there is now a white metal gate closing off the whole thing to everyone and basically making it look horrible. It complete destroys the mood and aesthetics of the monument. What crap. Hopefully it’s just a temporary thing.

From the Jerome area, westward, the road takes you away from the interstate a bit. It’s actually not that far away, but you really can’t see it from 66. That’s a nice thing. The whole day was a lot like this. Even when you were close to the interstate, it was just a nice ride.

And up next was one of my favorite sections of 66. Hooker’s Cut. And within Hooker’s Cut lies Devil’s Elbow. Devil’s Elbow isn’t named after a section of road, but rather a bend in the river. The Hooker’s Cut section is a very pristine four lane. I’m not sure if any other four lane sections of 66 are in this good of shape. It even has the weird curbs on either side of the road. The lanes are amazingly small and I can’t imagine what it would have been like to be riding this close to 18 wheelers.

All, and I mean ALL, of the roads and streets around Devil’s Elbow begin with the letter “T.” You’ve got (starting in the east as you enter the four lane alignment) Telos, Totem, Trail of Tears, Trout (which might be Old 66), Trophy (which might also), Telcom, Teller, Teasley, Teardrop Road (which is Old 66 to Devil’s Elbow), Temporal, Timber, Tidal, Train, Township, Teacut, Teahouse, Teapot, Tank, Teacher, Teak, Treasure, Torrent, Tapestry, Target, Tacoma, Trinity Circle, Tabernacle, Trumpet, Tyler, Tablet, Tabor, Tulsa, Triple, Texas, Turbine, Taylor, Torpedo, Toledo, Transit, Taffy, Tally, Temple, Thunder… ok, there are a lot more too.

Anyone know why? My theory is that it’s Devil’s Elbow. The “T” is the letter that looks like a cross. Could I be onto something here?

The “town” of St. Robert is next, but it’s not much of a town. It’s not even mentioned in Rittenhouses’s book. My guess is that it grew up out of the interstate. And it’s pretty much all just interstate type businesses. And porn.

St. Roberts has a whole row of porn for you! There are signs that advertise Exotic Dancers who start at 11am! Boobs and Brunch, what a great idea!

There’s also the obligatory anti-pornography sign on the other side of the road. It’s got a sad little girl on it and says that pornography pollutes your “body, mind, soul.” Now, a logical argument could be proposed for the mind and soul parts. If you argued that, you’d at least have a leg upon which to stand. But I’m not sure how pornography pollutes the body. Unless you eat it, I guess. But then, I’m pretty sure that eating porn is of little consequence at that point.

So could someone tell me how porn pollutes the body? Please?

Aside from that, I wasn’t impressed with St. Robert. And one clunky crossing of I-44 later, I was in Waynesville. I wasn’t so impressed with Waynesville either. It’s got a pretty cool frog rock. and the downtown looks nice. But it’s just not doing it for me. I don’t think it ever found its place. It never decided on interstate or Old 66. Many towns are like that. They focused on 66 and build a whole town around it, but then the interstate came on just the other side of them and they had to move everything or die. Some never really committed to either. That seems to be where Waynesville stands.

While riding 66, it’s easy to get over such things. The next thirty miles are possibly the best thirty miles in Missouri. From Waynesville to Lebanon you hardly see the interstate and it’s a beautiful country ride.

There wasn’t all the quirky and kitschy things that you automatically connect with Route 66, but sometimes it’s not about that. Sometimes it’s just about how this perfect stretch of road so smoothly follows the land. How it rises and falls, turns with the hills and even when it’s mere yards from the interstate, retains its serenity. It doesn’t blast through mountains or cut through the land’s swells and ridges. Here is Route 66 of old. Before the curio shops and tourist traps. You are now on one of the most beautiful sections of the Ozarks.

And with a brief run through Lebanon, with its famous Munger Moss Motel, this beautiful ride wasn’t nearly at an end.

I was supposed to stay in the Munger Moss last night, but due to the rain, had to not. I’ll eventually get to stay in this Route 66 icon.

I paused to change the directions taped to the headset of my Vespa. A bike rider with a full pack rode past me and waved. I took his picture and was really happy that someone waved at me and smiled.

Just like the thirty miles going into Lebanon, the thirty miles after Lebanon define Old 66 for me. Without these two stretches, the day wouldn’t have been what it was.

Interestingly enough, through the town of Sampson, Route 66 used to be a trail called Wire Road. It was a trail used by the military in the 1800’s. Parts of it later became Route 66. Wire Road also went through Wilson’s Creek Battlefield, a stop on today’s travels. You can read more about Wire Road here.

I should have left Route 66 to explore of the towns along this stretch. But the ride was so lovely and peaceful, I didn’t want to have to deal with traffic. Besides, I would soon be entering Springfield.

Springfield doesn’t seem like a sprawling city. It keeps to itself and doesn’t stretch out its suburbs to the surrounding towns. At least that’s how it feels to me.

I took the city route through town and wish I could spend more time here. If there has to be a regret about today, it is that I couldn’t have spent more time in Springfield. There is a lot to see and a lot to photograph.

If I could have kept to my schedule, I would have had more time here. I would have had more time at Wilson’s Creek Battlefield, as well. But even with the hour that I devoted to it, I was thrilled with it.

The battlefield is like none I’ve ever been on. There are no monument that I saw. There is one looping road that hits maybe 10 stops and explains it fairly well.

Basically, the Union caught the Confederates off guard and tried to surprise them by splitting their already out-numbered forces in half and attacking from two sides at once. But the rebs weren’t having any of that and by the end of the day handed the blue-clad (or in the case of the 1st Iowa, their gray-clad) boys their hinders.

There’s more to it, of course, and if you’d like you can read about it here. It’s actually really fascinating. It’s early war and it started with Missouri claiming “armed neutrality.” Fun!

It was a great battlefield and I wish I could have spent more time there as well. But that’s any battlefield, so I really wouldn’t write that off as a bad thing.

But the sun was dipping lower and I needed to get to my campsite. It was about 10 miles away from Wilson’s Creek (which itself is just outside Springfield). And here I am.

The sounds of the city can be plainly heard in a curtain of white noise that is all at once deafening and easy to ignore. The occasional small commercial airliner passes low overhead from the Springfield-Branson National Airport nearby. So far, two BNSF freight trains have passed next to the camp. This is the same KOA campground where we stayed in 2006.

Then, I mentioned two or three trains passing while I typed out my blog entry for that day. In fact, I think I’m even in the exact same campsite as we were in 2006. I wonder if I’ll be here again in 2010. Maybe sooner.

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 177
Miles total: 1634

Here’s a rough map of my travels today. It’s not complete, Google was being wonky.

1. “What are you talking about? Where you came from is gone, where you thought you were going to weren’t never there, and where you are ain’t no good unless you can can get away from it…” – Wise Blood [↩]
2. Remember, the fellow who wrote the first guide book to Route 66 in 1946 [↩]