July 22, 2001—Day 17, Las Vegas, Nevada-Los Angeles, California-San Luis Obispo, California

July 22, 2001.

July 22, 2001.

 

There was very little sleep in Las Vegas. Even when Kyle and I we’re asleep we could hear the electrical bings and whizzes of the slot machines. It’s almost as if they created a psychic echo that permeated everyone’s minds within a thirty-mile radius. We left just before the clock turned 6:00 a.m. Kyle was behind the wheel, and since we weren’t on Route 66, I didn’t care how we got to L.A., as long as we got there. Taking Interstate 15, I slept until the stop-and-start of the van in Pasadena traffic woke me up.

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July 19, 2001—Day 14, Route 66-Holbrook, Arizona-Flagstaff, Arizona-Las Vegas, Nevada

July 19, 2001.

July 19, 2001.

 

Since we were so close, Kyle and I both decided we had to see the Grand Canyon. We wren’t giving up on Route 66, but this was a side trip that we had to do. After, we headed back to Flagstaff, Arizona, to pick up 66. We pulled off in Kingman, Arizona, to grab some dinner at Denny’s, not wanting to spend any more time looking around for a place that already seemed to have nothing but chain restaurants. It was here, under the high ceilings of Denny’s, peopled by truck drivers and motorists, where we did head off The Mother Road to see what the big deal was about Vegas.

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July 18, 2001—Day 14, Route 66-Albuquerque, New Mexico-Holbrook, Arizona

July 18, 2001.

July 18, 2001.

 

Most of our driving was on the service roads paralleling Interstate 40. Kyle and I knew where we were landing today—Holbrook, Arizona, home to the Wigwam Motel, one of only 7 Wigwam Villages in the United States. Holbrook’s teepees are known as #6.  We made a few turn-offs into Indian souvenir stands, but I was more in a hurry to get to the motel than spend our time on the road, and Kyle just wanted to get the hell off the road.

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July 17, 2001—Day 13, Route 66-Albuquerque, New Mexico

July 17, 2001

July 17, 2001

 

When you suffer from anxiety, and don’t know it, your panic attacks can come at any time, and when when the root of that anxiety is depression, parts of the lonely Mother Road do little to comfort you.

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July 16, 2001—Day 12, Route 66-Amarillo, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico

July 16, 2001.

July 16, 2001.

 

Our distance today was pre-planned—287 miles from Amarillo, Texas, to Albuquerque, New Mexico.  This part of the trip started a fire under both Kyle and I to get to the west coast as quick as possible. Albuquerque’s fire also burned me.

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July 14, 2001—Day 10, Route 66-Stroud, Oklahoma, to Weatherford, Oklahoma

July 14, 2001.

July 14, 2001.

 

Oklahoma was infusing itself into me. The air, the scent of clay-filled dirt and pecans ready to be picked, circulated in my lungs and warmth of the people everywhere we went was welcoming. Even though the sky was overcast, I was still feeling the rays of yesterday’s sun. Our first pull-over was into the driveway of one of 66’s most famous icons—the Blue Whale of Catoosa, Oklahoma.

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July 13, 2001—Day 9, Route 66-Sullivan, Missouri to Stroud, OK

July 13, 2001

July 13, 2001

 

For some reason, I awoke feeling renewed. It was almost as if my misery, anxiety, and sense of loss were relieved by sleep. Then again, I felt like it wasn’t just sleep—something was rejuvenated, rebooted, and the sun was our guide for the day. We took too much highway in Missouri and ended up taking too few side trips.

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July 12, 2001—Day 8, Route 66-Lincoln, Illinois to Sullivan, Missouri

July 11, 2014.

July 11, 2014.

 

The entire day was overcast and Kyle and I were in one of our hurries—a hurry to the west so we could feel some accomplishment. But in our haste we missed a lot on the Mother Road, forsaking the parts of the original byway and the access roads for the highway.  Also, we woke up so early to make our getaway from The Redwood Motel, by the time we got to Litchfield, Missouri, nothing was open. We were then molested by a pair if Illinois finest. Kyle and I continued on to cross the state border into St. Louis, where we visited the Gateway Arch together, and then separated to take in the city. I was feeling so beat—rain had let loose, the area around the Arch was all commercial and boring, and the Mississippi River smelled like a jock’s sweaty, dirty feel being set on fire. Kyle and I met back up around lunch and took in O.T. Hodge Chile Parlour. It was O.K., if you  like Hormel chili. I was done—I had to leave.

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The Ebb and Flow of Dixie Trucker’s Home

When I stopped at the Dixie’s Trucker’s Home in 2011, I wrote the following:

Dixie Truckers Home, a gas station and diner where drivers of all sorts found a cup of coffee strong enough to punch you in the face and food like momma made, was started in 1928 by J.P. Walters and his son-in-law John Geske. In 1967, John’s daughter C.J. and her husband Chuck Beeler took over the place. As C.J. recalled in the Illinois Times, “Dixie was not really much when it started. My dad and grandfather bought this old mechanic’s garage right on 66. Only used about a quarter of the space, and there wasn’t really a restaurant then–just six counter stools for people to sit while they got something to eat…. The very early years were the Depression years, from ’29 to ’33. I don’t really remember much about those times, except I know beggars would come to the back door of the kitchen to get something to eat. Hobos got off the train that went close by, and they knew they could always get something. My mother would never turn them away.”

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