This summer, I drove from my home in Brooklyn, New York, to Los Angeles and back again. It's just something I've always wanted to do. It was a special trip for me, not just because I got to see the whole country and spend time with some of my favorite people, but because the idea of driving a Ford Mustang clear across the USA has been on my mind ever since I was a little kid.


I posted these articles originally in installments on my website, http://puppyknuckles.com/. Now that it's done, I thought it would be fun to cram the whole trip in to one ridiculously huge Kinja post, but it looks like Kinja is going to have a meltdown if I paste in more than the first half. I apologize if any of this seems self-indulgent; it was one of the best 30 days I've ever had and I wanted to document it and share. Here goes, from the beginning:

Part Zero: The Prologue

Back in the 1980s in Boise, Idaho, I had three posters on my bedroom wall that I can clearly remember. The first one was the ubiquitous pre-pubescent male car poster: the Lamborghini Countach. A red one, in profile, with the scissor doors wide open. Truly a demonstration of my rare, refined taste, I thought, especially at my age, which I could still represent by holding up enough fingers. Then I also had a movie poster for a completely forgettable film called License To Drive starring both Corey Feldman and Corey Haim. (The late '80s were peak Corey.) And finally, there was this poster, which 30 years later is framed and hanging in my kitchen:


When I look at the Mustang Does It! poster, I see what you see, which is an awkward, weird, and if we're honest, bad-looking poster, but I also see the tangible beginning of my life long love affair with the Ford Mustang. Somehow the Mustang bug bit me early. I had the Hot Wheels, the models, that poster, and it must have hit a fever pitch around 1987 when my high school aged brother Jason brought home a 1968 Mustang Coupe.

That's me and Jason (sporting a period correct pair of deck shoes and sweet mullet) washing the '68 in the driveway. Look at the super weird way I'm putting my hand on the door. What the hell am I doing? Do I think the car is a Jeopardy buzzer? Also, just to illustrate what a car nerd I was even as a child: I am wearing a sweatshirt with my very own bad drawing of a Countach on it.

Jason's '68 was a 289 V8 car with a dual exhaust (I think it had glass packs) and a three speed on the floor. I remember feeling like a huge bad ass when I got to join him and his friends cruising around Boise on a Saturday night. After Jason went to college, my dad would fire up the Mustang from time to time and say things like "hold on to your butts" and lay some rubber to entertain me and my friends.


As the years went by I grew up and never forgot about my dream of owning my own Mustang. I would rent them at every opportunity, trying to get a vicarious taste of what it would be like to own it, and still dreaming of the ultimate Mustang road trip. In 2012, after years of owning some real New York City beaters, I traded in and bought the first new car I ever owned, a 2012 Mustang GT. Here's me with the car about 20 minutes after purchasing it in Brewster, New York:


It's got a 400+ horsepower V8, a 6-speed manual transmission, and a 3.73 rear end, so it's definitely got the balls to tackle any challenge the USA has to offer, but it also has a premium interior with leather, Bluetooth, and a pretty darn good stereo and will make for a nice highway companion also.


It's hard to own a Mustang and not mod it a little bit. Now my car has some upgrades like SVT Brembo brakes, a Steeda fiberglass vented hood, Eibach springs, brake ducts, and some 19″ staggered Forgestar CF5 wheels. I might even throw on the BOSS 302 side exhaust just for maximum eargasms around the country. The second I bought this car, I knew it sealed the deal on the cross country trip. Now's the time. I'll be chronicling the trip here on puppyknuckles.com starting in late July. I can't wait. Stay tuned!



Part One: Into The Land Of Lincoln


It has begun. The drive from the east coast (Brooklyn, to be exact) to the west coast (California, then up to the top of Idaho) and back again, in this here Mustang, is well underway. Much beef jerky will be chewed and many coffees will be slurped in the pursuit of a great American road trip. As I type this, I'm already a few days past the initial part of the journey depicted here, but it has been a challenge to drive, eat, shoot photos, maybe sleep, and then have any brain power left to post… WAHH!! I'm a baby. Let's do this!


Not sure how much brainpower I had to begin with, because I decided it would make tons of sense to start the trip – a straight, solo blast directly to Chicago, from Brooklyn – at 10:30pm. I would skip NYC traffic, make good time, then by the time I was totally exhausted and started hallucinating the sun would come up and at least maybe it would look cool.


At the first gas stop somewhere in Pennsylvania, it started to sink in that I just drove away from my home (including, crucially, my bed) and I wouldn't get to see it again until I drove over 6,000 miles. No turning back now.


My eyeballs stopping doing what my brain told them to around 4:30am, so I pulled into a hotel parking lot somewhere and grabbed an hour's sleep. But it was fitful as I kept jolting awake and checking the mirrors for pervs. As the sun came up it brought with it rain that would last all morning, and across the rest of the state.


Ohio… I think. Still raining. I was mainlining This American Life and cooking Red Bull in a spoon at this point.


Finally I was delivered into rain-free, picturesque, rural Indiana. I paid lots of tolls. One would think that the tolls charged on the highway would help to make the highway not fall apart. One would be mistaken about that. One would think there might be more than McDonalds and a single Waffle House within a 100 mile stretch. Another mistake. Also, more than one person asked me to "take them with me". I'm sure that was less of a compliment towards what a fascinating and handsome person I am, and more of a statement of how shitty life in small town Indiana appears to be.


I discovered during the night that the washer jets were suddenly kaput on the Mustang. I filled the reservoir, and pulled the hose out of the hood, which still squirted like a race horse, so I surmised that the jets were clogged. Seizing the opportunity when I drove right past a Ford dealership, I ran in and asked if they had the jets in stock. Nope. I asked them to look at the problem anyway. Long story short, they said we could fix it, but it's gonna take an hour, and it's not under warranty (I have an aftermarket hood). I said, no, thanks anyway, and jumped back on the road. Suddenly, the jets were now working perfectly. Have no idea how that happened. I'll take it.


Made it to Chicago at around 1:30pm, about 15 hours after I left Brooklyn.


The main reason I drove to Chicago was to pick up my dad from O'Hare, who would join me for the whole Route 66 part of the trip to Santa Monica. But I left a couple days early to go see some music. My friend plays in a band called Empress Of, who was playing at Pitchfork Festival that weekend in Union Park, and he got me a VIP pass for the weekend. (Thanks, Spencer.) No sleep, but free beer, and it was totally worth it. Highlights included the amazing St. Vincent, Hudson Mohawk, and I unfortunately missed Beck. Lowlights included watching Grimes (above) lip syncing.


Downtown Chicago is awesome. It feels so much different from New York, more urban planning, the parks, and the huge public spaces.


Stayed near Logan Square all weekend, and ate twice at Lula's. It's worth the wait. The sausage patties are bonkers.


Obligatory Chicago bean pic.


Here's me and Pops. Don Burnett, Jr. Obligatory Chicago bean selfie.


I happened to park near this clean 5.0 fox body in Chicago. Look at all that real estate to park in. It's absurd!


It was a hot, clear day. Kids playing in the fountains.


Here it is, the official starting point of Route 66 on Adams street in downtown Chicago. Exciting. My dad was armed with a lap full of guide books. I had an iPhone. We have a Go Pro mounted on the windshield. We're ready. I have to pee.


The first landmark we had been ready to see was Henry's Drive in, a hot dog stand, and as we pulled in, so did this very clean factory air 1967 Mustang GT. What a beautiful car. The owner was cool too, he told me about the car, popped the hood, asked where we were from. I asked what brought him down today, and he said, "uh, I wanted a hot dog." Fair enough. First Route 66 stop and already meeting guys with awesome cars.


We then grabbed a late lunch at the famous Del Rhea's Chicken Basket on Joliet Road. This place has been serving fresh fried chicken for decades, and even though the Route doesn't really exist here anymore, the food keeps it alive.


These were literally the best chicken tenders I've ever had. House red ale, too.


Here's my pops again. We were having such a good time stopping at these little joints along the road.


Del Rhea's is still family owned and operated, and we got a grand tour from Del's son, Pat. Definitely check this place out.


One of many classic garages on Route 66 in Illinois. Some are props at this point, but this one advertised a still functioning repair business.


Route 66 is called "The Mother Road". This sculpture can be found outside the Route 66 museum in Joliet.


This is a beautifully restored period gas station just down the road from Joliet. I was stuck behind a huge RV coming here, full of Australians.


The iconic Gemini Giant. This son of a bitch is taller than the houses surrounding him. So cool.


Fans of Route 66 lost a legend in 2009 when artist Bob Waldmire died. He is known as the most important Route 66 artist; you'll see his artwork – particularly his weird, psychedelic maps – all over the place. This mural dedicated to him is in the amazing town of Pontiac, Il.


We got here a little too late to go inside, but Pat from Del Rhea's Chicken Basket told me that you can still smell the pot smoke in Bob Walmire's old school bus.


Yours truly, posing with the Mustang before a mural that is seemingly designed for travelers to park their cars in front of in order to take cheesy pictures. I am powerless to resist this type of thing.


Pontiac's Livingston County Courthouse is beautifully restored.


This very well executed life size sculpture of a young Abe Lincoln gets a lot of attention outside the courthouse. Honestly – I saw at least five people in all of downtown Pontiac total, and at least two of them walked over to this sculpture. The closer we get to Springfield, the more Lincoln-y it's gonna get. Stay tuned.

Part Two: In Search Of Levi


In part one of the Mustang USA road trip, I drove straight from Brooklyn to Chicago to pick up papa Burnett and we headed down Route 66 in search of fun and/or saturated fats. In part two, we continue into the Land of Lincoln where we'll pet some bunnies, be reminded not to shoplift, and ultimately end up in rural Kansas at the burial site of our civil-war fightin' ancestors.


I mentioned in part one that things were about to get even more Abe Lincoln-y, and you won't be disappointed. Unless you thought you were going to see his actual house in Springfield. In that case, you will be completely disappointed, for by the time we waltzed into the visitor's center, the tours were sold out for two hours. Uh, yeah… No. So we walked on up the street and toured the Lincoln-Herndon Law Offices, where Abraham Lincoln learned and subsequently practiced law.


My dad is a bit of a law buff (to put it extremely mildly) but I was as interested as he was to learn about Lincoln as a prairie lawyer. Lincoln practiced law for 16 years in Springfield. He even filed a patent for a floatation device for boats after representing a bridge company. Where's your patent, Stephen Douglas? Thought so. This museum was interesting mainly for the history lesson, but unfortunately all the furniture is a mish mash of period antique props. All that was original to Lincoln's law practice are the hardwood floors.


Across the street is the Springfield Old State Capitol, built in 1837-40. Abe Lincoln would have seen this from his second floor law office's window. Like a lot of other antique buildings in Springfield, it has got a unique dark caramel color, thanks to the locally quarried yellow Sugar Creek limestone. In the 1930s the creation of Lake Springfield flooded the quarry, so good luck getting more of those rocks. In the 1960s, workers took this building completely apart, brick by brick, and fully restored it.


The old Illinois House of Representatives chamber on the second floor is beautiful.


Eventually my head exploded from historical facts and we headed on down Route 66. Didn't take long to stumble across this awesome restored Shell station in Soulsby.


Back in 1926 when this station was built, this set of ramps would have been the professional's choice for gaining access to your horseless undercarriage. That tree looks like it grew there later.


I went inside, the door was unlocked. The place is tiny, maybe 300 square feet. There was not a soul inside. Without any other tourists or people around, standing in there was an especially vivid glimpse into what old Route 66 must have felt like.


I still can't believe that no one is watching all that stuff inside, but it sure made for a cool moment. All we took was pictures.


Things got decidedly weirder from there. In Staunton, Illinois you will find Henry's Rabbit Ranch, which is an explosion of trucking memorabilia and rabbits. Both the furry kind and the Volkswagen kind.


The owner is a guy name Rich Henry and he drove trucks for a long time. His dad, "Hammerin" Hubert Henry, had his own trucking company.


All rabbits, of course. A funny nod to the famous Cadillac Ranch outside Amarillo, Texas.


What's that Volkswagen squareback doing here? Evidently it belonged to acclaimed Route 66 artist Bob Waldmire, who also had a thing for Volkswagens.


ERMAGURD WIDDLE BUNNY WABBIT SO FUZZY, SO SOFT!!! Ahem. Sorry. I liked petting him. Rich introduced him repeatedly as the "world's smallest kangaroo", the reason for which never revealed itself. Maybe he jumps around? Has little boxing gloves? Maybe kangaroos like to sit on countertops motionless? I don't know, I've never met a kangaroo.


Rich really loves all the rabbits he takes care of, and he's been doing it a long time. Stop by this place. It's super unique.


New state: Missouri. After all the action in Illinois today we had worked up a fierce appetite. With the sun starting to drop, we stopped in at Missouri Hick barbeque in a town called Cuba. Cuba is known for its folky murals you can find everywhere downtown.


The decor and atmosphere at Missouri Hick writes a awfully big check that their actual barbeque can't quite cash, but I can't argue with a local craft brew in a frosted glass. I'll eat a plate of horseshit so long as I have a frosted glass of beer. Thumbs up.


The Fanning 66 Outpost is a nice gift shop and also boasts the Guinness world record's largest rocking chair. Of course, it's fully welded to the ground and doesn't rock, because that would be terrifying.


A mural on the side of the Outpost. We had just refueled, so sadly I didn't need to take advantage of Danny's Gas Hole.


Speaking of a man's anus, here's all the deterrent you might need if you're thinking about using the five finger discount on some Route 66 swag.


The Munger Moss is one of many classic Route 66 motels. We didn't stay here, but the sign is exceptional.


That night we stayed in a town called Carthage at the Boots Court motel. The Boots is a classic motel built in 1939 (by a fella named Arthur Boots) and in its day hosted famous actors like Clark Gable (who stayed in our room, we were told). A big effort is underway to fully restore it. No television, just a radio softly playing the local classic hits station, antique furniture, knitted duvets, and really nice hardwood floors. The woman who kindly waited up late for us to arrive was so pumped about the work that they had done that she showed us all five rooms, which were all equally fantastic. Funny thing happens when there's no TV. You sit there and talk.


I haven't talked much about the Mustang, because it's been a champ on the trip, except for one thing. A little annoyance manifested itself on the ride into Missouri. Something in the BOSS side exhaust was intermittently rattling/whistling, always at 2,000 rpm, right behind my left ear, and it was driving me nuts. I got under there and loosened the side pipe and tightened it back up and it solved the problem…. for half a day. I was convinced it was the bolt under the rocker panel getting loose, so I went nuts and torqued it in there with some red Loctite, hoping that it would be cured overnight. Well, it didn't work. After we checked out of the Boots we headed for coffee and that damn tick/rattle/whistle was still there. I knew I would have to get the car on a lift and check it out.


Right across the Garrison Avenue from Boots Court I saw a muffler shop called United Muffler. These guys rule. Gary, on the left, and his guy Chris helped me problem solve for an hour, even fabbed up a custom replacement hanger for the side pipe just to see if it would work. Ultimately they thought it was a flutter of some kind, not a mechanical rattle, and after repositioning the brackets for the side pipe and carefully lining everything up, they nearly solved it. It's not gone, but it's much better. I had to get out of there but I'm sure if I had more of the day they would have been happy to work on it until it was perfect. Shout out to United Muffler, they're good people.


We hit the road and headed for Kansas in order to find and visit the gravesite of my father's father's father's father, Levi Burnett. My dad had done a lot of research on his life and believed he was buried outside of Parsons. We fought through a downpour to get here, some of the blackest skies I ever saw, and at the end of some gravel roads, we found him.


Levi Burnett fought for the Union in every single significant battle in the Civil war. Legend has it that he once ran across a live battlefield and found bullet holes in his long coat when he got to the other side. He lived to be nearly 80 years old. His wife is buried at his side.


My dad and I are now the only living Burnett descendants to have seen Levi's grave. Who knows when anyone else will come here to visit. Driving across America, particularly Route 66, you find yourself being in awe of the cultural history around every corner. So it was very special to have my dad show me a link to our own family history on the same trip.


After such a heavy morning we took the rest of the day and just blasted through Oklahoma on the interstate to make up time. (Sorry, no Oklahoma content! Next time.) Up next: Amarillo, Texas, and the Cadillac Ranch. Stay tuned.

Part Three: Crossing The Midpoint


After my dad and I took a detour into Kansas and found the gravesite of our civil war fightin' ancestors, we again cracked open our Route 66 guidebook and realized we had a problem. Too many pages in the book, not enough days to see it all. We had to make a call. It became obvious that we had to just blast right through Oklahoma. Sorry about that Oklahoma. Next time.

So, we rejoin our Route 66 adventure in Amarillo, Texas on a brutally hot and dry morning. We were nearly out of gas and I pulled into a Shell station with the onboard computer bong-bonging its message about 10 miles to empty. The Mustang is running a Steeda tune optimized for 93 octane, but Steeda assured me that I could dip down to 91 if necessary. This pump topped out at 90 octane. Shit. Same deal at the Flying J across the street. What the F, Texas? Don't y'all make this stuff? Where's the high octane bubblin' crude? A quick google search found a Chevron 8 miles up the road that had 91, and it was ethanol free, to boot. Cool story, huh? Gather around, grandkids! I put a bottle of octane booster in the trunk just in case this happened again.


Undoubtedly the star of the show in Amarillo is the world famous Cadillac ranch. In 1974, a bunch of San Francisco art hippies who called themselves the Ant Farm were instructed by a shadowy Texas billionaire to create something that would freak out the locals. Cadillacs from the '50s and '60s were buried nose first in the dirt, facing west, and supposedly at the same angle as the pyramids in Egypt. My dad said it was the "darndest thing" he ever saw.


It has become a tradition to spray paint graffiti on the cars. I wonder if all the paint is actually helping to preserve the metal underneath. Most of the trim and parts were stolen decades ago.


The overspray in the air from the paint cans mixed with the treacherous cow dung infused mud was a real treat. Bring the kids!


In Texas Route 66 is a mix of driving on the old alignment and hopping on and off the modern interstate 40. Putting our heads down through Oklahoma payed off as we found ourselves crossing the midpoint line on Historic 66 right at the midpoint of our trip.


Adrian is the exact geographical spot halfway between Chicago and Santa Monica.


Seeing that we had already come 1,139 miles made us suddenly very hungry. Choices are slim in Adrian, but they're good. No Yelp required. Just eat at the Midpoint Cafe, a former greasy spoon that is now a really nicely run gift shop and luncheonette.


You kind of expect to get some frozen crap in some of these places. Not here. Homemade chicken sandwich, homemade potato salad, and a Route beer, of course.


Next door, an elderly Ford F100 with a different kind of graffiti on it. Thousands of autographs from Route 66ers.


A weatherbeaten old Chevy, near the midpoint in Adrian.


So long, Texas, hello New Mexico. Now it's getting really good. This is the stuff you think of when you picture Route 66. Old, dusty signs? Check. Campy murals? Check. Historic motels? Check. The town of Tucumcari has it all. You feel like you're back in time.


I could have spent a whole day or two in Tucumcari just photographing the relics. They're everywhere.


The Blue Swallow Motel is one of the greatest motels on Route 66. Sadly, our itinerary didn't allow for us to spend the night. It's been continuously operated since 1939, is a registered historic building in New Mexico, has "100% refrigerated air", and still has a bitchin' Pontiac Chieftain out front.


It would be hard to get away with this level of absurd racism on a hood ornament these days, but you have to admit that the design is incredible.


Indians abound on the Chieftain. You think that's fucked up? It is. Here's something else that's fucked up, especially in the legislated distraction free driving era we live in: the Chieftain could be ordered with a Remington Auto-Home in-car shaver. Yes, an electric shaver. In your car.


Down the road in Santa Rosa, we passed by Bozo's Garage. This place opened in 1980 to service cars traveling the route, especially classic and vintage cars. Compared to the museum-ification of the historic Route 66 garages, it's cool to see a place that exists because of the current era of Route 66 and not the bygone one.


The Bozo's crew would eventually open an auto museum across the street, which we visited. Out front was an Edsel that had wood bolted to it in an attempt to make it look stupid. It worked!


Inside the Route 66 Auto Museum, things got better. I love the 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner, and they had a good one.


A beautiful 1935 La Salle. A lot of the stuff in here was for sale, it felt kind of more like a classic car showroom that we paid $5 to visit.


A supposedly very rare Ford Thunderbird roadster. Dechromed?


We peeled out of Santa Rosa and hit the road again. I was surprised with how lush and green some of New Mexico is. Our goal for dinner tonight is Santa Fe, with bonus points for pulling in during sunset.


Not far from Santa Fe is a charming little town called Las Vegas, New Mexico. This place was a boomtown when the railroad came here in 1880. Supposedly a wild and sometimes lawless place that saw legends like Doc Holliday and Jesse James passing through with their crews. They probably took shots at this fancy hotel. The Plaza was built in 1881 and has figured in loads of cowboy movies over the years.


Las Vegas is full of cool old buildings, some restored, some original. We only stopped for photos but could have stayed longer to enjoy it. In the park in front of the Plaza Hotel, it looked like they were getting ready for a big biker meet. Cool town.


Finally, my pops and I pulled into Santa Fe and its unique southwest style architecture, none of which you can see in this picture.


The Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi is an imposing, elegant landmark of downtown Santa Fe.


The cathedral dates back to 1869. This modern sculpture out front depicts Kateri Tekakwitha, Lily of the Mohawks. She was a native American Mohawk Indian from New York state in the 1600s and the first North American Indian to be beatified (blessed) by the Catholic church.


After a killer dinner at the Santa Fe Shed (and a couple perfect margaritas) it was time to put the Mustang back on the road for one more hour to get to Albuquerque for the night. This group of lovely mariachi ladies drew a huge crowd on the street and helped send us on our way.


In Albuquerque we stayed at Monterey Non Smokers Motel, which we saw in a guidebook. It's got historic Route 66 roots, a much better sign than the EconoLodge across the street and it was cheap as hell. But… back in Illinois, when we ate at the Chicken Basket, Pat told me that some of the classic motels have new ownership and have gone downhill. This must be one of them. I had 16 bug bites on my freaking legs when I woke up the next day. Yeah. For reals. This place sucks, the Polish guy with the dog is a dick, and his shithole motel has either bedbugs or fleas. We shoved all our clothes into washers at the next stop and hit the temperature setting that said "Fukushima". Luckily, we acquired no hitchhikers.

Anyway, so far, the trip has been amazing and there's plenty more to come. Next, we will be hanging in Albuquerque and getting super high, Walter White style. Yes!! What? Stay tuned.


Part Four: Getting High In Albuquerque


The Route 66 journey has hit high gear as my dad and I cruise into New Mexico. After crossing the midpoint in Adrian, Texas it's getting hotter, weirder and better with every roadside relic. We woke up to a hot and hazy Albuquerque morning and decided to spend a little time in this interesting city before putting the Mustang westward again.


No better way to start a Route 66 day than with a artery busting mexican breakfast. Juanita's is reputed to have some of the best tacos in Albuquerque and it didn't disappoint. I am so addicted to coffee that I insisted on drinking it while also eating their super hot salsa.


After breakfast we headed over to Old Town, the heart of historic Albuquerque. There are scores of restored old buildings, shops, and restaurants. It's tourist central. The standout landmark is the San Felipe de Neri Church, built in 1793.


You can't swing a dead armadillo in Old Town without hitting a gift shop selling Breaking Bad t-shirts. I've seen every episode. And all of a sudden, I had an idea.


Fans of Breaking Bad will know exactly where I'm standing in this picture. There was no pizza on the roof, nor was Skyler's Jeep Wagoneer in the driveway, but I still felt like I was getting a contact high. I wasn't the only one either. In the approximately three minutes we were there, another car pulled up to snap pictures.


In reality, there's only one good way to get really high in Albuquerque, and it was my dad's idea. The Sandia Peak tramway is the longest arial tramride in the world, carrying amusingly terrified passengers from a base elevation of about 6,000 to over 10,000 feet in about 15 minutes.


These people are all wondering if they are about to die. The Swiss-built tram would swing and dip when it went over the major towers. People screamed.


A little hazy that day, but the view was still totally amazing up there. A bonus of extreme elevation is that one beer feels like two.


My dad has never seen Breaking Bad, so I wouldn't expect him to understand why I was so pumped that we saw the house. But someone on the tram was also a fan and told me that Bryan Cranston (Walter White) considered the restaurant at the top of the peak to be his favorite in town. Cool.


We could have stayed in Albuquerque all day but soon we realized the day was slipping away. We had to jump in the Mustang and make some miles. In New Mexico some of Route 66 is really just I-40, but the views are great.


There are plenty of opportunities to pull off though and grab some gears on the old road, however. We went exploring and wound our way through amazing landscapes in the Native American communities of Laguna and Cubero.


"Hey man, why don't you take my picture?" Sure. We were just outside Grants, New Mexico.


Ahhhhhhhh! That sky!


Sometimes the old Route 66 runs right next to I-40. The speed limit is lower and sometimes the road surface is dodgy, but it's great to be able to just stop or pull off nearly anywhere to grab photos at at any moment. The weather was disgustingly perfect and we were enjoying the crap out of this windows-down evening cruise.


Here's another Route 66 legend: the El Rancho Hotel in Gallup. This place hosted every single pre-1950 movie star you've ever heard of and then 7,400 more you haven't.


The lobby of the El Rancho is even more fun than the huge neon sign outside. The player piano bangs away and you could spend hours just poring over all the history on the walls.


We almost spent too long loafing around in the El Rancho however. We still needed to eat, and just about the only place left in town that was still serving was Sammy C's "Rock N'" sports bar.


I wasn't expecting much from the outside of Sammy C's. But it turns out it's the most insane sports bar I've ever seen. It's more or less a memorabilia museum with a huge bar and restaurant shoved into it. We ate our burgers under Muhammad Ali's robe. It's great when you're on the road and you just find yourself somewhere you would have never planned and it turns out to be great.

Tons more to come as we get closer to California. Stay tuned.

Part Five: Standin' On The Corner Of Holiday Road


In part five of the Route 66 journey, my dad and I were kicking up dust out of Texas and gobbling up Americana in the New Mexico desert like it was a Golden Corral. Now we are in Winslow, Arizona, which you might have heard of if you've ever heard music on the radio.


"Well I'm standin' on a corner in Winslow, Arizona and such a fine sight to see," begins the Eagles hit "Take It Easy". So the town of Winslow went ahead and built something never seen before: a full scale replica of a song.


The Standing On The Corner Park was built in 1999 and is part of Winslow's effort to bring tourism back to the area. The story of how the I-40 interstate bypassed these towns and left them for dead is one we are hearing at nearly every stop. Winslow has a nice little restored downtown area with some gift shops. And damn, it was hot.


Elsewhere in Winslow, the effects of interstate I-40 are clear. The town is absolutely full of abandoned relics.



This bright Ford hot rod coupe stuck out against Winslow's relics like a piece of turquoise in the sand.


Just down the street from the downtown tourist trap in Winslow is a stunning oasis in the desert. The La Posada hotel is one of the last great Fred Harvey railroad hotels. This place was incredible. I tried to book us a room here the day before, but sadly (and once we saw it, unsurprisingly) it was fully booked.


La Posada, considered one of architect Mary Elizabeth Jane Colter's masterpieces, was gutted decades ago and used intermittently for railroad offices.


In the 1990s it was purchased by Alan Affeldt for next to nothing. It was a huge, derelict shithole, yet he and his wife turned it back into the stunner it is today. I would drive Route 66 again just for the chance to spend the night here. Or, you can take the train directly to the hotel: La Posada is still an Amtrak stop.


Back on the I-40, we were on the lookout for Route 66 landmarks on the side of the road. We found the now closed Meteor City Trading Post.


This was the moment my dad learned what a dreamcatcher was.


The Trading Post is housed in this amazing Native American (helmet?) and we read that efforts are being made to restore and reopen the place. It was super cool, hope it happens.


Just outside the Meteor City Trading Post.


So our next stop on the road took us to the actual Meteor Crater, which is the world's largest known crater caused by, you guessed it, a meteor. But wait a second, who the fuck cares about that, the motherfucking FAMILY TRUCKSTER IS IN THE PARKING LOT.


Yes, it's real. This is a perfect replica of the Family Truckster station wagon made famous in the movie National Lampoon's Vacation starring Chevy Chase. I was singing "Holiday Road" out loud taking pictures.


The best part is, it's owned and being used by a family for a cross country road trip, kids and everything. My hero.


After having my mind blown in the parking lot, it was like oh cool a crater. No, seriously, this crater was amazing. I forgot to pop on the 14mm lens, but even still, it's impossible to show in a photo how huge it was. The impact that created it must have been ridiculous.


We read about the area called Two Guns in the guide book. It's got a long history, but these days it's an abandoned campgrounds. Glad we didn't read the part about rattlesnakes until after we left.


Here's a classic Route 66 image: the Twin Arrows in Arizona. Unfortunately the name and imagery of this old icon has been reused for the casino up the street, but the wooden arrows still stand.


We started heading towards Flagstaff. I had always heard about the beauty of Sedona, and so we decided to make a Route 66 detour and head down there. Highway 89A, which you can take between Flagstaff and Sedona, is reputed to be silly beautiful.


But I fucked up, and we accidentally took the freeway down there. It was a blessing in disguise though. We ended up approaching Sedona from the south, which was incredible, and still drove 89A back to Flagstaff. One of the most beautiful drives ever. The landscape around here was supernatural. And 89A is a fun little twisty jaunt up the side of the mountain.


After days of eating tacos and burgers, we found a nice place in Flagstaff and had a good restorative healthy meal. We're getting close to the end, but the Route is densely packed now and there's still much to see. Stay tuned for part six: Seligman and beyond.

Part 6: Rust, Dust, And Spectacular Route 66


Following an incredible drive from Sedona into Flagstaff the previous evening, I feared that we had perhaps had reached the zenith of our trip. Can it get better than a spectacular winding drive through glowing red canyons? Yes, it can. Of course, it's not everybody's cup of tea to be chased by a dust storm big enough to swallow a town across a desert hot enough to melt your eyeballs, but that's what day six of Route 66 would bring. Some of the most Route 66-y towns on the whole trip are on the map today, so buckle up and I hope you like photographs of rusty things.


Here's a minor regret from the trip. In Flagstaff we were so wiped out that we had dinner and packed it in for the night, but the famous Museum Club was just down the street. Shoulda had a beer there and heard some live music, but we did snoop around in the morning. If you were here in the '60s you could have seen Willie Nelson on stage here (unless he had an "opportunity to appear on national television," according to a 1968 contract displayed on the wall).


Down the road is Williams, Arizona which might just be the most touristy Route 66 town on the map. My dad and I even rode a "zip line" that was shaped like a '57 Chevy. Skip the temptation to shorten your life with a hot dog and a shake at a '50s throwback diner and grab lunch at the Red Raven instead. It's fresh and reasonable and doesn't have a single RT66 t-shirt or keychain for sale.


Then you walk out the door of the Red Raven and get punched directly in the face with more World Famous Route 66 merchandise. It was a little much. But we are very near the Grand Canyon; everywhere you look there are bleary eyed families emerging from their rented RVs, stumbling directly inside gift shops for water just to reemerge wearing a 66 t-shirt and hat. OK, I did buy something, but it was just a coozie. It said "Get Your Sips." Ha! Oh, I will.


Walk down 66 a little further from the Red Raven and you'll see Pete's Gas Station Museum. The garage is packed full of vintage tools, machines, tires, and oil cans.


Fed and gassed up, we blasted out of the manicured keychain version of Route 66 and immediately fell of the edge back into the dingier, more awesome version. Next up, Seligman, Arizona. This is a must stop town, a true time capsule of the old Route 66 with just the right balance of tourist-y services and authentic sights.


In Arizona it seems that old cars are just everywhere.


The Copper Cart is an original, still open and serving food, with some interesting Volkswagens outside. I always wanted a Karmann Ghia as a kid.


USA! USA! USA! FUCK, A RATTLESNAKE


The Supai is another classic that is still in business.


This couldn't have been any better. We came across the Family Truckster replica that we first saw at Meteor Crater again, this time parked in front of the Snow Cap eatery in Seligman. My mind was practically malfunctioning with pure uncut Americana in this moment.


Delgadillo's Snow Cap has been around since 1953, owned and operated by Juan Delgadillo. Obviously Juan was a character, there is a lot of personality in this largely handmade building. Since his passing in 2004, you'll find his son John behind the counter, who scared me by squirting fake mustard on my shirt.


Behind the Snow Cap are more relics. One trend I could do without is Pixar Cars style eyeballs painted on any classic car's windshield (I hid them in this photo). Ever. I liked the movie, of course, but real cars don't need that shit, do they? Some of that was at Snow Cap, but as it turns out, the Delgadillos were involved with the historical side of the Cars movie, and are even thanked in the credits. So I guess they can do whatever they want. And they do.



Down the street we talked to Dave, who owns the Seligman garage. I think the garage has been there for a long time, but he's just moving his business in.


An interesting "Mercedes" kit car sat out front. In the desert, that looks like fun.


A completely original Plymouth Savory sat inside. These had tube radios. So cool.


Outside, Dave had this funky old trailer. He claims it was actually built by Boeing out of leftover aircraft aluminum in the 1950s.


A view inside the Boeing trailer. Who knows if it's true, but how many of these could exist?


As we left Seligman, we looked over and saw this massive dust storm pacing us from the north.


Had to stop for photos, of course. I think we could outrun the dust if we had to.


My pops spotted this Corvair wagon outside the Frontier Motel in Truxton, Arizona.


Across the street was the Truxton Station, which made for a good photo op. The skies were getting crazy and the radar app on my phone was showing some kind of stormy beast moving right alongside us to the north. That dust storm is getting bigger!


The Hackberry General Store is a must-stop. It's a memorabilia mecca. The 1958 Corvette is certainly the most beautiful car among at least a dozen rusty heaps scattered across the property. As we pulled in, there was virtually no one here.




Well, it was silent as long as this ass wasn't screaming at us. I thought he wanted to bite us, but he also looks strangely happy to see us. Maybe he liked our car.




The benches under the Hackberry General Store's canopy provided a photo-op for me and my pops. Notice the big white bus over his shoulder that pulled in as the picture was taken. An army of French tourists with cameras stormed out and immediately started shooting pictures of my Mustang. We gave them a photo op by peeling out in a cloud of dust.


We stopped to recharge the batteries and have a beer in Kingman Arizona. The locals were all talking about the dust storm, which now was making our phones light up with emergency warnings. It was coming right for us, so we got out of there in a hurry. Grabbed a picture of the El Trovatore's motel sign on the way out.


Now well clear of the storm, my dad and I decided to take one of the ancient alignments of Route 66 called the Oatman highway. If you're doing the Route, you have to do this. It was incredible. A mostly deserted winding road through some of the best and most rugged scenery in the west.


We came up on Sitegraves pass and the sun was beaming at us from the other side. What's down there?


This is. Are you kidding me? Best road ever.


We spent a half hour on top of Sitegrave's Pass just soaking it in. Maybe saw two other cars the whole time. Just spectacular. Tomorrow would be the final push into Santa Monica, and we headed towards Needles, California tonight to get some dinner and sleep. Almost done with Route 66, but do you think the trip ends there? Hell no, I live in New York! How do you think I'm going to get home? Stay tuned.

Part Seven: Finishing Off Route 66


My dad and I have been on the road together for eight days and well over 2,000 miles. We have had such a good time that we wish that Route 66 could just continue on into the sea and into a weird Alaskan version. But this is it. Our last day together will take us from Needles, California across the desert and into Santa Monica. Then we'll duck down into Irvine, where my brother lives, and spend the night. My dad's Mustang USA Road Trip will end there but mine will just keep going. I have to get home somehow, I live in New York!


We spent the night in the town of Needles, California. It was a hot, dry welcome rest after the huge day we had previously; the Oatman Route 66 extension really wore us out.


Did I mention it was hot? That's the Mohave for ya.


After doing some wrong turns (but fun wrong turns) in the desert, we found the town of Amboy, the "ghost town that ain't dead yet." Another story of I-40 decimation, but also another hopeful candidate for restoration. Roy's Motel has been there since 1939.


The Mohave section of Route 66 is interesting. It's a lonely, sometimes rough alignment that undulates up and down with the terrain. There is a complete lack of any kind of attempt to keep the road level across the dunes. The construction crew was like: "It's 110 degrees. Hell no. Pave it."


Movie buffs might remember the German film "Bagdad Cafe," in which a German tourist gets a job at a weirdo desert cafe. Well, this is it.


When the movie was filmed here in the '80s the cafe was called the Sidewinder, but has since been renamed to make the connection clear. Jack Palance was here!


"Boss Lady" Andree Pruett is more than happy to pose for pictures, take pictures, and suggest taking pictures at the Cafe.


Of course, the jukebox at the Bagdad Cafe is weird. Twisted Sister, Chaka Khan, and Paolo Manotovani. About as electic as the characters in the film.


Here was a place we didn't know about until we saw it going past at 60 miles per hour. Much braking and reversing ensued. The Bottle Tree Ranch is in Oro Grande, and if the Cadillac Ranch was the "darndest thing" my dad ever saw, it's my turn to say that now.


The Bottle Tree Ranch was another one of those awesome Route 66 places you just wander into and don't see another soul. It was really cool. Peaceful, actually.


One of my dad's early memories was being a kid and taking the train right past this very train station. Originally known as the Casa del Desierto, this is a Harvey House station and a historical landmark. These hotel/train stations are very interesting, and maybe someday it can be returned to its former glory. For now, it's an unstaffed Amtrak station. There are also a couple of museums inside, including a "Mother Road" Route 66 exhibit, but it was too late in the day to check that out. We had to hustle to get to Santa Monica by sundown.


And we made it. Barely! We pulled into a parking lot and ran over to the coast, looking for some kind of official sign or end to the Route 66 road.


It turns out that the photo-op end to Route 66 is actually only accessible by foot, down the Santa Monica pier.


And here we are, looking like we just drove 8 days straight. It was worth it. I wish we had even more time to do it, and hit every page in the guide book. Until next time.


The weather was perfect, the drive was great, and we celebrated a bit on the pier. But like I said before, this journey is far from over. Next, my brother will join me for a drive north into the mountains of California, then to the coast for some Highway One action up to San Francisco. Stay tuned!

Part Eight: Cruising The Pacific Coast Highway


Hey, here's a fact for ya: California is really far away from New York City. It's easy to forget this. Anyone can chug a margarita (or four) at Sammy Hagar's restaurant in JFK, pass out on the plane, and wake up the very next moment in the Golden State. I don't recommend that, because 1. Sammy Hagar's is gross and 2. your bladder will explode on the plane (the other Golden State), but also because there is too much America you'll fail to see. There is seriously a lot of incredible stuff to experience inside the coasts of this country.

I contemplated this as my pops and I rolled into Santa Monica at sundown in my Ford Mustang at the finale of our Route 66 journey. We had just ticked a box on our bucket lists by driving the Mother Road. It was an accomplishment, for sure, but it still felt like the tip of the iceberg faced with the sheer depth of the United States. It was just one road.


No time to celebrate, though. We shot down to Irvine, visited my brother Jason and his family, and the next day it was back on the trail with Jason taking my dad's place in the car. I had already covered 3,650 miles, and it wasn't even half of what I would log before I got back to Brooklyn. San Francisco, here we come, via the beautiful coastal California State Route 1.


Well, we thought we would hit the coast. But after doing some business (oil changes, visiting some friends) around Los Angeles, we found ourselves heading north on The 5 (in California every highway is "the" something). Realizing we were not going to make the coast by sunset, we decided to just enjoy the drive through Los Padres.


My brother getting some seat time in the Mustang. If you've been reading this series from the beginning, you might remember him from the classic photo of the two of us posing in 1987 in front of his '68 Mustang. I might remember him as the guy who wrapped bubble gum around my head as a child.


The nagging feeling that we were missing a great drive on the coast disappeared completely when we found ourselves on a terrific rural highway at sunset. Damn, California. You're just beautiful everywhere.


Had to stop for some Mustang photos along rural Highway 166. The light was just too good.


Our loose plan was to get to San Luis Obispo for dinner and a hotel, but after calling around we learned that the whole town was sold out of rooms. Well, shit. We at least need dinner. Yelp to the rescue (again). The restaurant we found was a gem: Jocko's Steakhouse in Nipomo. Casual, basic decor, full of locals, and considering the ridiculous amount of food we were served, a bargain.


All wood fired steaks. This dude was maaaaaaaybe hitting the sauce a little bit while manning the grill.


Whatever homeboy's doing back there at the grill, it's working. I was delivered a Fred Flintstone sized hunk of beef. Happy.


Before we left some guys wanted to show us how to do a pretty lame burnout. I responded by taking an even worse picture of it.


We solved our hotel dilemma by going a few minutes south to Santa Maria, where there is a Best Western that is owned by this cat.


The next morning we were excited. A whole day of driving up the coast in a Mustang. I had done some of this drive before, but usually in the conveyance of some awful vehicle like a 15-passenger van full of rock band gear. It's a cool feeling to have your own car for such a great piece of road.


California State Route 1, also known as the Pacific Coast Highway, mostly follows the natural shape of the coastline. That means tons of tight turns and elevation changes. Also a surprising array of conditions, from sunny and hot to foggy and cool within a few miles. It's stunning.


Having drank huge coffees, Jason and I were bouncing around inside the Mustang like pinballs when we saw a sign that said Elephant Seal Viewing Area. Stopped the car, saw a huge crowd, heard some distant, alien beast screams, and were kind of shocked to see a beach full of these guys.


Elephant seals are so weird. One minute they are laying there prone, the next they activate and start howling this guttural moan, trying to chew each other's faces off. Not gonna lie, I'm a little jealous of this lifestyle.


Saw this friendly little VW bus in the parking lot. What's up, New Jersey! Bonus points to the RV for the hilarious dog decal in the window.


Boni's Tacos in Cambria, CA was another Yelp find. There is no way without the internet we would ever have found this super tasty taco joint. It was literally in an industrial park. But all the locals seem to come here and I love finding shit like this.


Around the corner from Boni's was a car restoration shop with this lovely army Jeep outside.


The Pacific Coast Highway is amazing, but you have to get used to this. A lot of traffic. Some people are cool about moving over. But some people are clueless. Patience is a virtue out here. Still, we got plenty of killer GoPro footage.


And it's worth stopping to take in the views, too.


My bro, busted in mid-selfie.


We made it to San Francisco as night fell. Here's home sweet home. Nice, eh? Was an Airbnb apartment that would be big enough for me, my girlfriend Margo, and my brother. Wasn't too snazzy, but got the job done for less than a hotel.


We went down to the Mission district to hook up with my cousin Elizabeth and her boyfriend Brian. They've lived in San Francisco for years. Saw these dudes in the skate park on the way to the bar.


Sweet Firebird on the street in the Mission. I think this is my favorite Firebird body style. And style points awarded for the black steel wheels and raised letter tires.


It was an awesome hang in San Francisco. We went to dinner, then to one of Liz and Brian's favorite dive bars and played table shuffleboard, way too many beers deep to not make up our own rules.


It's always great to get shown around a city by those who live there. Thanks again for a great night, Liz and Brian! (pictured above) Tomorrow, we explore San Francisco a little more, then Margo and I hit the road and push further north towards Point Reyes. Stay tuned!