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But now, cruising along Santa Monica Boulevard, through tree-lined Beverly Hills and West Los Angeles, I managed to forget all about my near-death experience with the maniac on the Pasadena Freeway. I was approaching the last few miles of Route 66. Ahead of me I could see the warm glow of a Pacific sunset. And then, suddenly, I was there, pulling up beside the Will Rogers Highway marker in Palisades Park at the junction of Santa Monica Boulevard and Ocean Boulevard. Only a vast beach and then the Pacific now lay in front of me.

Leaning on a barrier above the beach, gazing out at the ocean, I thought back over the trip. It felt very peculiar to have come to the end. It had been a long, long way from that little signpost on Adams Street in Chicago. Officially, it was 2,278 miles, but I had ridden at least a thousand miles more than that because of all the wrong turnings, the enforced detours and the visits to interesting destinations off the beaten track. I’d covered a lot of ground, and now the sun was sinking into the ocean. It couldn’t have ended better.

Route 66 means many things to many people. Everyone who travels along it experiences it in their own unique way. For the dust bowl Okies, it was a road of escape and hope. For the beatniks, it was a road of self-discovery. For many millions, it was a road of new beginnings. For countless others, it was a road of romantic adventure.

I still wasn’t quite sure what it was for me. It was too soon to assess such a long and varied journey. I needed time to take it all in, sift through my memories and work out just what Route 66 was really all about. But I already knew for sure that it had been quite different from the Route 66 I’d had in my head before starting my journey in Chicago. Some parts of it had been wonderfully alive; others had been alarmingly close to death; a few had already gone for ever.

Thinking back over the many miles I’d covered, the constantly shifting landscape had certainly made a deep impression. The deserts, the prairies, the hills and the canyons were all unforgettable. But it was the people I’d met along the way who I would carry in my heart for ever: Mervin the Amish carpenter, Elmer and his bottle trees, Angel the barber, Roxann in the ghost town of Glenrio, and defiant Preston in Bronzeville.

Somebody once said that Route 66 was not for everybody; that it wasn’t for people in a hurry. But I think it’s for anyone and everyone. It can be whatever you want it to be. On it, you’ll find whatever you’re seeking and plenty more. It’s about America’s past, its present and probably its future. Above all, Route 66 just is. And it always will be.

There was a spirit and a feeling unique to the Mother Road. To understand it and to feel it, you need to drive it or ride it. So, if you’re thinking of travelling from Chicago to LA – more than two thousand miles all the way – take mine and Bobby Troup’s advice:

If any Joe tells you to go some other way,

Say, ‘Nix!’ Get your kicks on Route 66.

Appendix Mileages from Chicago to Santa Monica

Exactly how long is Route 66? A simple question with a complicated answer.

Anyone who travels Route 66 will at times encounter several remnants of the road between any two points on the map. In some places, travellers are faced with the choice of following the path of the original 1926 Route 66, or a mid-1930s alignment of the road, or one of two or more post-war routes.

Sometimes, such as between Santa Rosa and Albuquerque in New Mexico, one path is more than 90 miles longer than another. Consequently, there is no definitive length for Route 66. Some people say it is nearly 2,700 miles. Others claim it is 2,448 miles. The Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona states the length as 2,278 miles and that’s the distance that has been used throughout this book.

Illinois

Chicago 0

Springfield 200

Missouri

St Louise Green 296

Rolla 402

Springfield 511

Joplin 583

Oklahoma

Miami 605

Tulsa 691

Oklahoma City 800

Clinton 885

Elk City 910

Sayre 926

Texas

Shamrock 961