2,417 Miles: Chicago to Santa Monica in a Rented Minivan
Twelve days, one minivan, two kids who did not ask for any of this. Route 66, Chicago to Santa Monica, start to finish.
Minivan rental: $1,140 for twelve days, plus a $312 one-way drop fee for turning it in at Santa Monica instead of Chicago. Odometer read 2,417 miles the last time I parked it, on Ocean Avenue, four blocks from the pier. Four Rodriguezes, one cooler, and a Google Maps voice that kept suggesting I-40 instead, as if the last ninety years of American road-tripping had never happened. Sarah's rule: no phones between attractions. Lucas's rule: unlimited snacks. Only one of those rules survived past Illinois.
Days 1–3: Illinois to Oklahoma
Day 1, 9:14 AM, 71°F: photo at the Begin Route 66 sign on Adams Street, four of us squinting before the light even changed. Sarah budgeted ninety minutes to clear the city. We did it in forty. By Wilmington, 11:40 AM, we found the 28-foot Gemini Giant standing guard outside the old Launching Pad Drive-In, spaceman helmet, rocket at parade rest. Emma took one photo, said 'okay, cool, next,' and was back in the van in under four minutes. Lucas wanted to know why an astronaut guarded a hot dog stand that closed years ago. Nobody had an answer.
The Corn Dog Incident
Cozy Dog Drive In, Springfield, 2:20 PM, $34.50 for the four of us: self-declared birthplace of the corn dog, open since 1946. Lucas, still rebuilding trust in food-on-a-stick after the Epcot taco standoff last year, inspected his corn dog for four full minutes before eating it. Verdict, delivered through a full mouth: 'This one's not a trap.' Sarah wrote it on a napkin. We still have the napkin, folded in the glovebox next to the gas receipts.
Days 4–6: Texas Panhandle to New Mexico
Somewhere past the Texas line, still 900-some miles to go.
Day 5, Adrian, TX, 1:05 PM, 96°F: the exact midpoint of Route 66, 1,139 miles behind us, 1,139 to go, marked by a hand-painted sign and a gift shop selling bottled water for $3.75. Lucas stood on the line like it might do something. It did not do anything. Emma asked if we could 'just be done now, technically.' We bought the water and got back on the road, because technically was not going to cut it with Sarah.
Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo, 3:30 PM, 99°F: ten Cadillacs planted nose-down in a wheat field, repainted by whoever showed up that week. Spray paint runs $8 a can at the stand across the access road; we bought six and still ran short. Emma, who had sworn she was too old for 'graffiti-ing old cars,' emptied an entire can of hot pink onto a fender in under ninety seconds. That night, the Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari, $89 a room, neon lit at 8:40 PM, individual garages parked in front of each door like it was still 1955. Lucas fell asleep before his pool towel dried.
This is the only good idea you've had all trip.
— Emma, 13
Days 7–9: Arizona
Day 8, Petrified Forest National Park, 10:15 AM, $25 a vehicle: the only national park Route 66 actually passes through, on the old alignment still inside the boundary. Emma read every interpretive sign out loud in a sarcastic voice until she found actual 200-million-year-old petrified logs, and the sarcasm stopped without comment. That evening, the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, $71 a room: fifteen concrete teepees around a gravel lot, vintage cars parked between them. Lucas refused to believe we were 'allowed to sleep in a teepee' until he was standing inside one.
Days 10–12: Mojave to Santa Monica
Day 11, Roy's Motel & Café, Amboy, CA, 1:50 PM, 108°F: gas runs close to $6.50 a gallon out here, and in the middle of the Mojave you pay it without complaint. The vintage sign is bigger than the actual town. We refilled, ate crackers under the service canopy, and kept moving. Day 12, Santa Monica Pier, 5:50 PM, 74°F: the End of the Trail sign at the foot of the pier, 2,417 miles after Adams Street. Lucas asked if we could drive it again next summer, 'but the good way this time.' Nobody asked what the good way was. Emma took the last photo without being asked twice.
Things That Broke
Van cupholder, cracked under the weight of the shot-glass collection, somewhere past Tulsa.
Phone charger cable, chewed by Lucas out of anxiety, replaced for $12 at a Tucumcari gas station.
Sarah's sunglasses, sat on twice, both times by Lucas.
Cooler latch, gone for good around Amarillo.
One pair of flip-flops, left at the Wigwam Motel, never recovered.
Damage Report
