ROUTE 66 RAMBLE, PART 8 In the American consciousness, California occupies a fabled throne: lodestone of the Golden West, goal of the beleaguered Dust Bowl Okies, fantasy of film and fortune, home of the high life.
The part of this vast state you’ll experience along the remnants of Route 66 provides fleeting glimpses of all this and more. Yet between the glittering glimpses lie miles of baking desert and miles of multilane concrete, neither of which is avoidable on the journey to Nirvana. Perhaps there are better times to make that journey than the hottest July on record.
Still, the blue Pacific waters beckon, and even the desert has its fascinations.
Among those, the stretch of the Mother Road known as the National Old Trails Highway west of Needles proved challenging in some ways, soothing in others. With no reservation and no particular destination other than the inevitable End of the Trail, we were in the perfect situation to observe this 130 miles of old blacktop: unhurried, plenty of gas in the tank purchased at Arizona prices, and a superbly functioning air conditioning system.
The road veers south of I-40 on a trajectory that follows an old railroad route between the Mohave National Preserve on the north and the Sheephole Valley and Cleghorn Lakes Wilderness areas to the south. In reverse order we cruise past former train stops: Essex, Danby, Chambless. We’ve passed no vehicles coming from the west; and only one other from the east, a red convertible that quickly overtook our pace and disappeared over the hazy late-afternoon horizon. At our leisurely speed it’s easy to spot the humanmade intrusions into the landscape: a monument to Route 66; an group of low-slung, abandoned buildings; a pair of concrete Chinese lions standing watch in the distance.
At the ghost town of Amboy, pop. zero according to a recent feature in the Los Angeles Times, the futuristic angles of the Roy’s Café sign are even more unmissable. The ultimate monument to the traffic-siphoning effect of I-40, the former wayside store, service station, and motel complex shuttered in 1972.
Southern California businessman Albert Okura, “The Chicken Man with a 50 Year Plan” that included moving the corporate headquarters of his Juan Pollo restaurant chain into the original McDonald’s building in San Bernardino, bought Amboy in 2005. The whole town. He restored gas service and a snack bar, amenities that continue to serve travelers today under the operation of his son, Kyle. The senior Okura saw revitalization of the town as his destiny; his son carries on that legacy today.
But as in so many places along the Route, we’ve arrived too late to benefit from local commerce. We enjoy our photo session alone, two kids in the amusement park after the gates have been locked.
Overnighting in Victorville gives us a chance to cleanse away the desert dust in a lovely swimming pool once the evening temps have dropped into the 90s. We repack in anticipation of the homeward journey that will commence in a couple of days. We refresh our maps, preparing to follow the thread of original 66 routing amid the tangle of Los Angeles freeways. This turned out to be not as hard as we’d feared over the past 2,400 miles; it would simply take some patience with traffic, and the willingness to backtrack and reconnect when a turn had been missed.
Once over the San Gabriel mountains and into San Bernardino, I found the drive reminiscent of watching an old home movie, with what used to be distinct, individual towns rolling by in fluid sequence.
Once over the San Gabriel mountains and into San Bernardino, I found the drive reminiscent of watching an old home movie, with what used to be distinct, individual towns rolling by in fluid sequence: Rancho Cucamonga, Pasadena, Glendale. Before long we reached place-names that were even more etched in media’s memory: Sunset Boulevard, Hollywood Hills, Santa Monica Boulevard. We paused our extended film reel only to detour for stills (to Dodgers Stadium, for instance, or the Hollywood sign, or the Capitol Records building).
In this way we surely missed some of the most legendary Route 66 roadside attractions we’d been learning about via podcast; but oddly gained a more seamless appreciation for the road itself. Not its younger, slicked-back, saucier self ever in search of the next adventure, but its more seasoned, laid-back, twenty-first-century persona, angles and edges smoothed over, ripe with experience, welcoming the traveler with every modern convenience. As city melts into city, from Beverly Hills to Century City to Santa Monica, the road becomes a mirror of our 2024 experience: more homogenized, branded, packaged.
So many of the logos visible along this storied road are the same we’ve seen back home—and many originated here or are based here. Netflix, Tesla, Blockbuster, McDonald’s. This phenomenon itself is part of the story of America. To find the outliers, the unconventional, the “authentic” we so seek may take some work. And maybe it’s not exactly “original” we’re looking for after all; it’s hard to get more inventive than the McDonald brothers, or Elon Musk. It’s the spark of something individual and imaginative, perhaps, that still stands out in only one place.
Read enough of the roadies’ blogs, and you’ll be reminded that Route 66 reached its western terminus at the intersection of Lincoln and Olympic in Santa Monica. In the early-evening crowds we cruise by that landmark in a blink of an eye.
But at the Santa Monica Pier, long a magnet for fishing, fun and film scouts, it’s far easier to park your car, stretch your legs, and indulge your appetite. For date night or family outing, the pier is a mini-amusement park complete with Ferris wheel and carnival vendors, sit-down restaurants and hot-dog stands,
Route 66 roadie Dan Rice of Los Angeles recognized the perfect opportunity back in 2009, when Mother Road tourism was beginning to take off again. “How could there be nothing to mark the end of the most famous road in the world?” he writes on his website, 66toCali.com.
So he made one. That year he created an “End of the Trail” marker and installed it on the pier alongside his souvenir shop specializing in made-in-the-USA T-shirts. A legend was born. The legend was cultivated with 66toCali’s Certificate of Completion, which visitors can also obtain at the shop.
On that final evening of our journey, shop manager Ian Bowen welcomed us Texans and happily signed our certificates. We stood in line behind crowds waiting to pony up for those T-shirts, hoodies, mugs, and magnets, too. Money changed hands, food was consumed, selfies were taken. People had a great time, the surf rolled beneath us as the sun set over the Pacific on a pleasant evening of leisure and love for some, commerce and creativity for others.
Now, if that isn’t American ingenuity, what is?
Driving back to our lodgings for the night, a concrete teepee in Rialto where third-generation Asian immigrants still run the family business, we heartily agree.
We settle into our folding camp chairs in the parking lot to watch the moon rise over the palms. The gentlest of breezes masks the occasional sounds along the road outside our motel door: engines revving, conversations among pedestrians, a police siren, a barking dog. The surface of the blue pool ripples.
A beverage from the cooler is our toast to the Mother Road.
Long may she flourish, as she approaches her milestone birthday.
Tomorrow, we’ll start making our plans to celebrate it.
ROUTE 66 PHOTO ALBUM, CALIFORNIA, NEEDLES TO VICTORVILLE
ROUTE 66 PHOTO ALBUM, CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES AND SUBURBS
ROUTE 66 PHOTO ALBUM, CALIFORNIA, END OF THE TRAIL, SANTA MONICA