I had always dreamed of driving Route 66 - the legendary highway that once connected Chicago to the Pacific Ocean. So one summer morning, I packed my car, grabbed my camera, and set off from downtown Chicago, where the road begins near the Art Institute. The city buzzed with energy, but I was chasing something quieter, something nostalgic.
As I rolled through Illinois, I reached
, where I wandered through the Route 66 Hall of Fame and Museum. The walls were filled with vintage signs and stories from travelers who had come before me.
Crossing into Missouri, I stopped in
to walk across the Chain of Rocks Bridge, a historic crossing over the Mississippi River with a curious bend in the middle. In
, I admired the vibrant outdoor murals that turned the town into an open-air gallery celebrating Route 66's legacy. Further west,
welcomed me with the Route 66 Car Museum, where classic automobiles lined the floor like a tribute to the golden age of road travel.
The road dipped briefly into Kansas, and in
, I visited Cars on the Route, a restored Kan-O-Tex service station that inspired characters in Pixar's "Cars" (2006). The town felt like a living postcard.
Oklahoma offered a long, scenic stretch. In
, I explored the Blue Dome District, where a gas station-turned-nightlife hub stood as a beacon of quirky architecture. In
, I couldn't resist stopping at POP's Soda Ranch, with its towering soda bottle out front and hundreds of colorful bottles inside.
Texas greeted me with wide skies and bold roadside art. In
, I joined other travelers at Cadillac Ranch, spray-painting one of the half-buried Cadillacs in the dusty field. In
, I reached the geographic midpoint of Route 66, marked by the Midpoint Café, where I paused for pie and reflection.
New Mexico brought desert hues and retro charm. In
, I stayed at the Blue Swallow Motel, its neon sign glowing like a beacon in the night. In
, I wandered through Old Town, where adobe buildings and artisan shops offered a blend of Native American and Spanish heritage.
Arizona's landscape shifted dramatically. In
, I slept in a concrete teepee at the Wigwam Motel, a kitschy but unforgettable experience. In
, I stood on the famous corner made immortal by a classic rock song, next to a statue and mural that marked the spot. Further west,
felt like a time capsule. I visited Angel Delgadillo's Barber Shop, where the man himself helped spark the Route 66 revival movement. His shop was filled with memorabilia and stories.
Finally, I crossed into California. In
, I explored the Route 66 Mother Road Museum, housed in a historic train depot. And then, after days of driving, I arrived at the Santa Monica Pier, where the ocean stretched endlessly before me and a small sign marked the end of Route 66.
Standing there, I felt a mix of joy and nostalgia. Route 66 wasn't just a road-it was a journey through time, through landscapes and stories that shaped America. And I had traveled every mile.
