Xtra News Community 2
August 19, 2017, 12:46:53 pm
Welcome, Guest. Please login or register.

Login with username, password and session length
News: Welcome to Xtra News Community 2 please also join our XNC2-BACKUP-GROUP.
 
  Home Help Arcade Gallery Links BITEBACK! XNC2-BACKUP-GROUP Staff List Login Register  

Can we beat Roger to 1000


Pages: 1 ... 18 19 20 21 22 [23]   Go Down
  Print  
Author Topic: Can we beat Roger to 1000  (Read 4740 times)
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #550 on: December 13, 2015, 12:45:49 pm »



Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #551 on: February 08, 2016, 01:40:23 am »



Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #552 on: February 11, 2016, 07:34:14 pm »


Seatbelt
Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Alicat
Guest
« Reply #553 on: February 12, 2016, 04:58:14 pm »

Kiwi would have got a giggle out of this one ....

Report Spam   Logged
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #554 on: May 02, 2016, 10:35:42 pm »


THE AGE OF REDISCOVERY?
(click on the picture to read the news story)
Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #555 on: September 06, 2016, 03:52:56 pm »


PALINDROME






(click on the photograph to open the picture gallery)
Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #556 on: September 19, 2016, 03:28:20 pm »


from The Washington Post....

STILL FINDING KICKS ON ROUTE 66

On the 90th birthday of the iconic Chicago-to-L.A. highway,
a 21st-century remix of the eponymous tune.


By ANDREA SACHS | Thursday, September 08, 2016

In the heyday of Route 66, it was not uncommon for businesses to go a little over the top to lure customers. The Art Deco Historic U-Drop Inn and Tower Service Station in Shamrock, Texas, is still a big draw. — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.
In the heyday of Route 66, it was not uncommon for businesses to go a little over the top to lure customers.
The Art Deco Historic U-Drop Inn and Tower Service Station in Shamrock, Texas, is still a big draw.
 — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.


I FINISHED the 2,448-mile drive before I had even started it.

“End” read the Route 66 sign on Jackson Boulevard in downtown Chicago.

I circled the block — a second attempt. Gobs of tourists, double-parked cars, dogs on retractable leashes and kids glued to their gadgets streamed in and out of view. Amid the chaos, I searched for a plain brown square, an arrow pointing west.

“Begin” read the Route 66 sign on Adams Street.

I bounced in my car seat and did as I was told: I began.

A lot has changed since the government approved the construction of Route 66 in 1926, the legendary highway that formed a daisy chain of communities from Chicago to Los Angeles. Back in the early days, filling stations were novelties, and gas cost 16 cents a gallon. Neon signs lit up motor courts, advertising “refrigerated air” as a luxury. And McDonald's served barbecue — slow-cooked.

Over the decades, the highway has attracted American Dreamers of various circumstances and exigencies. In the first half of the 20th century, they piled their families into jalopies to escape the Dust Bowl or to find work during the Great Depression. During World War II, soldiers followed the road in the name of service and duty. In the mid-century, liberated motorists embraced the car culture, and later the counterculture. More recently, nostalgia-seekers have boarded Route 66 to travel back in time.

This year marks two significant anniversaries: The Mother Road turns 90 and Bobby Troup's anthem, “(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66”, which Nat King Cole recorded, adds a 70th candle to its cake.




What do you get a road that once had everything? A card and a cupcake seemed uninspired. Instead, I opted for a grander gesture: I packed up my birthday wishes and spent two weeks in July driving the route from Illinois to California. In addition, I wrote a remix of Troup's song, updating the locations in the original with towns that are more than just rhyming devices. The new destinations better represent, and honor, the Main Street of America. Because unless I needed a frozen burrito from a Shell station, I could forget Winona.

I thought I was prepared, but the road quickly dispelled my delusions.

From pre-trip research, I knew that Route 66 was not a straight line; it wriggles and curves like spiral pasta. Highway planners had realigned the road several times between 1926 and 1985, the year it was decommissioned and replaced with five interstates across eight states. Approximately 80 percent of the original road still exists, but signage is spotty. Because of its patchwork condition, I would have to flit between old and new segments, some smooth, others choppy. In addition, distances would take twice as long to cover. Or, in my case, multiply by four: For instance, it took me five hours to travel the 70 miles from Oklahoma City to the Cherokee Trading Post in Geary. The trouble started when I missed a right turn and ended up on the interstate headed eastbound, toward the morning's starting point. When I finally arrived at the Western store, I beelined for the shoe department and released my frustrations by stomping around in cowboy boots.




“Route 66 time is different than other times,” Jerry McClanahan, a cartographer and artist, told me at his gallery in Chandler, Oklahoma. “If it's quick, you're not doing Route 66.”

To handle the extreme elements — fractured pavement, triple-digit temperatures, souvenir shops — I rented an SUV. My navigators, McClanahan's EZ66 Guide for Travelers and Candacy Taylor's Moon Route 66 Road Trip. occupied the passenger seat. The back was a commissary stocked with bottles of water; jam and bread that toasted in the midday heat; and fruit that eventually liquefied. The wayback became the landfill.


I SET OUT, confident, though my balloon deflated when a barrier blocked my exit from Chicago. I followed a detour and was about to break the emergency glass (Google Maps) when I noticed roadside assistance ahead: a Route 66 shield guiding my way.

Beyond the city outskirts, I could relax enough to swivel my head and watch the sideshow of attractions. I passed splashy Route 66 murals, diners dating from the Truman era and the Blues Brothers perched on the roof of an ice cream joint by the Joliet Correctional Center (movie trivia moment). I snapped photos of oversize statues (Giant Abe Lincoln, Pink Elephant), dead celebrities (Elvis, Marilyn) and restored gas stations (1932 Standard Station, Ambler's Texaco). I used up all of my camera memory by late afternoon and deleted photos of my family to make room for Route 66.

By the time I reached Towanda, in central Illinois, my legs were tingly. Pressing on the accelerator does not count as steps. I ditched the car for a heritage trail built by Fred Walk, a local teacher, and his students in 1999, called “Historic Route 66 — A Geographic Journey”. It opens with a map of the route on an abandoned section of the 1954 alignment. I touched my toe on the red dot that marked my location, not far from the blue drip of Lake Michigan.

I had so far to go, including 60 miles of backtracking to Pontiac, Illinois.


Museum docent Jim Jones stands beside a mural decorating the Route 66 Hall of Fame & Museum in Pontiac, Illinois. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
Museum docent Jim Jones stands beside a mural decorating the Route 66 Hall of Fame & Museum in Pontiac, Illinois.
 — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


BECAUSE OF my bungled beginning in Chicago and pokey progress on the first day, I arrived in Pontiac well after business hours. I drove westward and picked up a late dinner at a Target in Bloomington, which I ate in my room at a faux chateaux. The following morning, I pulled a U-turn.

One of the world's largest Route 66 shields festoons an entire brick wall of the Route 66 Association Hall of Fame & Museum, part of the Pontiac Museum Complex. For perspective, Jim Jones, a docent, stood next to the mural; he looked like a lowercase i. Inside the cultural center, Jim offered a personal tour of the collection. I followed him to a rack of enlarged black-and-white photos. He flicked through the images and stopped at a picture of two apple-cheeked boys dressed in coveralls.

“I was 7 years old and pumping gas,” he said of the 1940 photo of himself and his brother. “Odell [his hometown] had 13 gas stations and 951 people. Dad made a good living.”

One hot summer, workers showed up to pave a strip of Route 66 outside his family’s business. His father sent him out to sell soda for five cents and told his son that he could keep two cents per sale. “I made a bloody fortune,” he said.

In 1947, the Jones quintet crammed into a two-door sedan and drove the entire route, camping along the way. Three years ago, Jim repeated the trip in a red Miata, staying in hotels. I asked him how the road had changed over 66 years.

“It's more of a history-oriented highway today,” he said. “People drive it for the nostalgia.”

He also noticed a burst of new attractions as well as the loss of roadside oddities from his youth.

“You could see where the head had been sewn on,” he said wistfully of the two-headed calf that has vanished from Route 66.


Eccentric artist Larry Baggett, represented by the foreground statue, built the Trail of Tears Memorial in Jerome, Missouri, to help the Cherokee spirits on their journey. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
Eccentric artist Larry Baggett, represented by the foreground statue, built the Trail of Tears Memorial in Jerome,
Missouri, to help the Cherokee spirits on their journey. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


MY FRIEND in Springfield, Missouri, knew me — and Route 66 — better than I did. I had told him that I just had two stops to see that afternoon and to expect me by 7 p.m. I drove back and forth looking for a pair of Trail of Tears sites. I eventually found them and then proceeded to lose myself in the heart-wrenching past of the exiled Native Americans. I readjusted our meeting time and pulled into my motel after 9 p.m.

Clint had already eaten, so I settled for another big-box-store meal. I burned the quinoa tots in the microwave of my Marilyn Monroe suite at the Best Western Route 66 Rail Haven. While the smoke cleared, I squeezed in some much-needed exercise, running two laps around the shuttered pool. The next day, I took the long route through the parking lot to the front desk, where I presented the staff member with the scorched dish and an explanation for the smoky smell in my room. (I didn't want to get fined for smoking.)

My objective for Day 4 was to visit both cities that claimed to be the birthplace of Route 66: Springfield and Tulsa. After Congress passed the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1921, Cyrus Avery of Tulsa and John Woodruff of Springfield proposed an east-west artery to replace the herky-jerky network that cut across two-thirds of the country. The new highway would stitch together state-managed roads with other pre-existing thoroughfares, such as paths used by Native Americans, farmers and livestock. The Joint Board of Interstate Highways assigned a number to their route, but Kentucky objected, declaring “60” as its own. During a fateful meeting in Springfield, Avery and his colleagues pulled another digit out of the velvet bag and waited for the word from Washington.

The Route 66 Springfield Visitor Center displays a copy of a telegram dated April 30th, 1926. (A staffer said that the original resides in the Library of Congress.) In the message, an official from the Bureau of Public Roads states that if California, Arizona, New Mexico and Illinois “accept sixty-six instead of sixty we are inclined to agree to this change.”

And with that line, Route 66 was born.

“We say we were the birthplace because the telegram was sent here,” said Laura Whisler, vice president of marketing at the Springfield Convention & Visitors Bureau.

For its defense, Tulsa trots out Avery. The Father of Route 66 shows up in bronze at the Cyrus Avery Centennial Plaza. The “East Meets West” sculpture depicts Avery in a Model T, with his wife, daughter and skittish cat seated in the back. The family comes hood-to-hoof with a laborer returning from the oil fields in a horse-drawn wagon. The narrative seemed incomplete, so I storyboarded the next scene: The bumpkin abandons his steed and climbs into Avery's car. The quartet zooms off, car-karaoking into a new era of travel.


A sculpture at the Cyrus Avery Plaza in Tulsa depicts the Father of Route 66 in his Ford Model T. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
A sculpture at the Cyrus Avery Plaza in Tulsa depicts the Father of Route 66 in his Ford Model T.
 — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


BY THE TIME I reached Kansas, I was ready for a long nap in a sunflower field. The 600 miles of Route 66 in Illinois and Missouri were fascinating but exhausting. I needed an easy stretch before resuming the challenging course in Oklahoma.

The 13-mile section is pastoral and driver-friendly, with clear signage and no interloping interstate. Galena is the first pocket of civilization across the Missouri border. The former lead- and zinc-mining town is ghostly, with a few human sightings. While walking down Main Street, a 1926 section of Route 66, I bumped into a squad of kids chasing Pokémon characters around the deserted 19th-century buildings.

Outside a boxing club, I spotted a man changing his clothes next to his car. He was pulling on a black T-shirt with Route 66 logos on the front and back, his outfit for the State Line biker bar. The Missouri resident said he was returning from his 24th trip on Route 66.

I wanted to do every alignment of the road,” said Dan O'Berle, a member of his state's Route 66 association. “The bridges were my downfall.” (Many spans are in disrepair.)

Dan spent five years searching for the old road beds and now concentrates on the people. For instance, he said he logged about 45 minutes with the owner of the Dairy King in Commerce, Oklahoma. He left with a new friend in his heart and an ice cream float in his electric cooler.

I parted ways with Dan at the bar, but before heading off, I asked him to share a lesson from his own travels.

“If you;re not running far behind,” he said, “you're screwing up the mission.”

It was 5 o'clock and I had more than 100 miles left to cover. I was triumphantly behind schedule.


The popular half-buried art cars of Cadillac Ranch, in Amarillo, Texas, are angled to mimic the slope of the Great Pyramid of Giza in Egypt. — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.
The popular half-buried art cars of Cadillac Ranch, in Amarillo, Texas, are angled to mimic the slope of the Great Pyramid
of Giza in Egypt. — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.


Arizona's Twin Arrows Trading Post is long gone, but its trademark remains in the Arizona town, having been restored in 2009 by a group of Hopi Indians and Route 66 enthusiasts. — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.
Arizona's Twin Arrows Trading Post is long gone, but its trademark remains in the Arizona town, having been restored in 2009
by a group of Hopi Indians and Route 66 enthusiasts. — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.


The distressed abandoned signage of the former Ranch House Cafe in Tucumcari, New Mexico, is a favorite for photographers. — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.
The distressed abandoned signage of the former Ranch House Cafe in Tucumcari, New Mexico, is a favorite for photographers.
 — Photograph: Michael S. Williamson/The Washington Post.


YIPPEE!

That summed up my feelings for Adrian.

The Texas outpost is the midway point of Route 66. A prominent sign that I nearly kissed stated that Chicago is 1,139 miles to the east and Los Angeles is 1,139 miles to the west. Seeing my progress writ large was a giant morale boost.

I crossed the empty street to the Midpoint Cafe and Gift Shop, grabbed a stool and asked the owner's daughter, Danielle, if the restaurant had a tradition honoring the halfway achievement. She answered, “Eat a piece of ugly pie.” (The homely crust pays homage to the previous proprietor's baking style.) A whiteboard listed the pies of the day, including coconut cream, Elvis cream (peanut butter, chocolate and banana) and whiskey chocolate pecan. In blue marker, the cafe calculated its pie count since April 1st: 478.

Danielle's father, Dennis Purschwitz, joined me at the counter. He plucked some old postcards from the rack to illustrate Adrian's arc from robust railroad town to drive-by flyspeck. During its heyday, it supported a hotel, newspaper, lumberyard, saloon, pool hall, blacksmith and brick factory. Adrian also had five cafes open 24/7; today, the sole surviving restaurant closes at 4 p.m.

It was a thriving little town,” said Dennis, who relocated from Tennessee to run the business. “Now, we have a school and us.”

While we were talking, an older gentleman in a Dallas Cowboys cap entered the cafe.

“Here comes the mayor,” Dennis said.

We moved over to the mayor's table.

“Route 66 was the lifeblood of the town, because of all the traffic,” Finis Brown said. “It still is.” The mayor said Adrian was experiencing a slight upswing. The population, for instance, increased from 159 in 2000 to 166 in 2010. I asked Finis how long he had held office. He set down his BLT and answered, “I don't know. Maybe 12 years? I'll have to ask my secretary.”

He was more certain about his favorite pie flavors: pecan and apple.


Mayor Finis Brown grabs lunch at the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas. He said Route 66's traffic still is the lifeblood of the town (population 166). — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
Mayor Finis Brown grabs lunch at the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, Texas. He said Route 66's traffic still is the lifeblood
of the town (population 166). — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


At Dairy King in Commerce, Oklahoma, the cookies come in a familiar shape. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
At Dairy King in Commerce, Oklahoma, the cookies come in a familiar shape. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.

MY RENTAL CAR was my best friend, even though she was starting to smell like a dorm room during finals week. On those long, lonely stretches, I repeated a mantra: Please don't break down, please don't break down, please don't break down. She never did.

I expanded my social circle in New Mexico. I first noticed the couple at the Continental Divide, the highest point on Route 66. The wife was snapping photos of the mountains while the husband, whose arm was draped in a sling, padded gingerly around the site. The Italians had departed Chicago on a motorcycle, but switched to a four-door sedan after an accident in Missouri.

In Gallup, I had hoped to take a walk along the main strip, a gift to my muscles, which were turning into soft noodles. However, a front desk employee at El Rancho Hotel warned me of the local drunks, several of whom I had met while unpacking the car. I decided to do laundry instead. While cutting through the dining room to the machines (a road-tripper's revelation: shampoo works well as a substitute for detergent), I bumped into the travelers from Bologna again. I joined them at their table, where we discussed the dilapidated state of many communities along Route 66. The question we mused: Are the skeletal remains plaintive or poetic?

The rise of interstates led to the fall of numerous towns dependent on Route 66 for visitors. The new roads skirted the commercial centers, cutting off the income stream. Such towns as Depew, Oklahoma; Glenrio, New Mexico; and Two Guns, Arizona, are totems of loss. Beautiful and sad, like daisies with withering petals.

But some places wouldn't lie down in the coffin.

Williams, Arizona, was the final town to be bypassed by the interstate. Bobby Troup himself performed at the ribbon-cutting of Interstate 40 and really the wake of Williams. The last working stoplight on the stretch between Chicago and Los Angeles hangs from the ceiling of the visitors' center.

“On October 13th, 1984, they dedicated Interstate 40,” said Jan Bardwell, a public information specialist at the center. “About 15 minutes later, the town just died.”

Five years later, it stirred back to life.

Jan attributed Williams's comeback, in part, to the revival of the Grand Canyon Railway. After nearly 20 years of dormancy, the railway, which opened around 1901, resumed daily service to the national park in 1989. But she also credited the town for its willingness to recast itself within the double picture frame of Route 66 and the Wild West. Each night, for instance, the Cataract Creek Gang dramatizes a shootout on the street. (Jan previously played the floozy.) Shops sell handmade leather boots and saddles, plus Route 66 souvenirs. Between Route 66 and the railroad tracks, a zip line transports passengers in a flying classic car that reaches speeds of up to 30 mph.

I boarded and leaned back into the seat, grateful to be a passenger, if only for a few fleeting minutes.


The appropriately tailfinned Route 66 Zipline flies through the air in the town of Williams, Arizona. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
The appropriately tailfinned Route 66 Zipline flies through the air in the town of Williams, Arizona.
 — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


BY ARIZONA, I was a Route 66 convert. On the inevitable interstate portions, I tuned out my surroundings and set my brain on autopilot. Trucks roared by at 80 mph. I couldn't wait to return to Route 66 and switch my consciousness back on.

One of most liberating drives was the 159 miles of uninterrupted road in western Arizona, from the Crookton Overpass exit to Topock, the last stop before California. I braked only for wild ferrets and Angel Delgadillo.

Angel's reputation preceded him by more than 1,700 miles. I first heard about him in Illinois and from Route 66 enthusiasts in every state onward. When your nickname is “the Godfather of Route 66,” you amass a vast fan base.

I met him inside his barbershop, which occupies the front half of his family's souvenir store in Seligman, Arizona. He wore a Route 66-themed Hawaiian shirt, a baseball cap decorated with pins and a grin that never dimmed.

The 89-year-old grew up with his Mexican parents and eight siblings in a house on Route 66. In the evenings, the children would “shadow dance” in the oncoming car headlights, the shapes shimmying against the white exterior of their home. They would also try to guess the motorists' directions and their lot in life.

“The people in the cars looked so old and down and out,” he said of the Dust Bowl migrants passing through Seligman. “We would say, ‘Oh, here comes a poor Okie. He only has one mattress. Here come rich Okies. They have two mattresses’.”

After the Pearl Harbor attack, the appearance of the travelers changed, as did their reason for being on the road. The country had mobilized legions of servicemen, who used Route 66 to report for duty.

“The boys in uniform would make better time hitching on Route 66 than taking the bus to the base or if they were going on leave,” he recalled.

The date that still makes him shudder is September 22nd, 1978 — the unveiling of the interstate. Traffic that had once averaged 9,000 cars per day petered out.

“They forgot us for 10 long years,” he said. “They turned off the lights on Main Street.”

In February 1987, Angel organized a meeting seeking historic designation for the 89 miles of pavement from Seligman to Kingman. The group, which became the Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona, urged lawmakers to post historic signs, which would help protect, preserve and promote the road. That November, Angel's perseverance paid off, and his victory inspired other communities to embrace the cause as well.

“Seligman has the distinction of being the little town where Route 66 got its historic rebirth,” he said. “We helped save a little bit of America.”

As the dinner hour approached, Angel rose from the barber chair, shook my hand warmly and hopped on his bike. I returned to my car and embarked on the section of Route 66 touched by Angel.


Angel Delgadillo, 89, nicknamed the Godfather of Route 66, takes a seat at his barbershop in Seligman, Arizona. The group he organized helped spark the historic-designation movement for the Mother Road. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
Angel Delgadillo, 89, nicknamed the Godfather of Route 66, takes a seat at his barbershop in Seligman, Arizona.
The group he organized helped spark the historic-designation movement for the Mother Road.
 — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


At the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona, guests can sleep in one of 15 teepees. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
At the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona, guests can sleep in one of 15 teepees.
 — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


ROUTE 66 has a “Choose Your Own Adventure” ending: You can pick one of three conclusions, or the trio.

The road originally terminated on Broadway and Seventh Street in downtown Los Angeles. At about 8 p.m., I drove down Broadway, bumped into a detour (points for symmetry) and, a few streets later, arrived at the intersection.

I parked in a valet spot and excitedly jumped up and down on the sidewalk. The staff outside Clifton's watched with a mixture of curiosity and caution. I explained that I had just completed 2,448 miles of Route 66 and asked if they had noticed a historic marker that I could high-five. The owner, Andrew Meieran, pointed to a stoplight across the street. I stood on my toes to read the small blue sign, “Original terminus of Route 66 (1927-1939).”

Pardon me, but shouldn't it say 1936, the year Route 66 was realigned?

Andrew invited me inside the storied cafeteria, one of seven establishments founded by Clifford Clinton in the 1930s. The businessman was known for his charitable spirit; he fed any customer who entered his doors, even if the diner was broke. Andrew continued the tradition, offering me a drink to toast my odyssey. The bartender whipped up a new cocktail the color of rosy optimism. I drank the entire glass of American Dream.

The next day, I completed the drive again, twice in Santa Monica, California. At Lincoln and Olympic boulevards, I peered through streaming traffic in search of a posting. I asked a mail carrier for help. Neither of us found evidence of the past road. I saw a giant tuxedoed penguin atop a dental clinic and took that as a sign.


The End of the Trail sign marks the western terminus of Route 66 in California, on the Santa Monica Pier. — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.
The End of the Trail sign marks the western terminus of Route 66 in California, on the Santa Monica Pier.
 — Photograph: Andrea Sachs/The Washington Post.


On the Santa Monica Pier, the final, final stop, I approached Ian Bowen, who was tending a Route 66 kiosk. He shook my hand and said, “Congratulations.” Several minutes later, a couple from North Dakota received the same reception. I signed his guestbook, writing my name below entries from Belgium, Mexico, France, Geneva and Iowa. I asked Ian if the pier was a legitimate segment.

“Not technically,” he said, “but it was part of the journey.”

I waited in line to take a picture of the “End of the Trail” sign. If I had Angel's fire, I would petition the city to rope off a VIP lane for visitors who have actually completed the route. Instead, I waited my turn and chatted with the Dakotans.

The couple had to start their drive back home that day, and I had to return the rental car. But we quickly compared experiences.

“We took a wrong turn in Chicago,” Darlene said.

“I did, too!” I exclaimed.

Then we rejoiced in the knowledge that we had done Route 66 right.


• Andrea Sachs (not the one who wears Prada) has been writing for Travel at The Washington Post since 2000. She travels near (Ellicott City, Jersey Shore)
and far (Burma, Namibia, Russia), and finds adventure no matter the mileage. She is all packed for the Moon or North Korea, whichever opens first.


__________________________________________________________________________

More on Route 66:

 • A how-to guide to driving all of Route 66

 • Route 66 road trip: A real-life remix of where to ‘get your kicks’

 • PHOTOGRAPH GALLERY: Images from a photographer's Route 66 quest


http://www.washingtonpost.com/sf/style/wp/2016/09/08/2016/09/08/still-kicks-to-be-found-on-route-66
Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #557 on: September 22, 2016, 12:53:14 am »



Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #558 on: September 26, 2016, 12:36:11 pm »


DUCK!
(click on the picture to read the news story)
Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 
Caprox
Member
*
Posts: 159


« Reply #559 on: July 04, 2017, 03:57:21 am »

Another one towards the 1000 .....................
Report Spam   Logged
aDjUsToR
Member
*
Posts: 144


« Reply #560 on: August 08, 2017, 01:36:33 pm »

Here's another one 😁
Report Spam   Logged
Kiwithrottlejockey
Admin Staff
XNC2 GOD
*
Posts: 27029


Having fun in the hills!


« Reply #561 on: August 08, 2017, 04:02:07 pm »


CLICK HERE
Report Spam   Logged

If you aren't living life on the edge, you're taking up too much space! 

Pages: 1 ... 18 19 20 21 22 [23]   Go Up
  Print  
 
Jump to:  

Powered by EzPortal
Open XNC2 Smileys
Bookmark this site! | Upgrade This Forum
SMF For Free - Create your own Forum

Buy traffic for your forum/website
traffic-masters
Powered by SMF | SMF © 2016, Simple Machines
Page created in 0.187 seconds with 12 queries.