Day 72 -- Saturday, July 11

I woke up an hour early so I could get the heck out of Barstow. I had only some hundred and 80 miles left to cover on 66 but it would take me all day. In Victorville, I stopped at the Roy Rogers and Dale Evans Museum. It's a pretty impressive collection of memorabilia and artifacts from Roy and Dale's long lives and careers. Trigger is there, stuffed of course, eternally rearing up on his hind legs. Butternut, Dale's horse, stands placidly beside him as does Bullet, Roy's dog. Several of Roy's favorite saddles are on display, many movie posters, a display honoring the Sons of the Pioneers and many of the Roy Rogers toys, games, and miniatures from years gone by. It makes for an entertaining and nostalgic stroll down memory lane.

Best of all, on this particular day, Roy himself was there. He's quite thin and seems a little frail but, all in all, looked pretty darned good for a man of his years. I tried to get an autograph for a friend's son who is a big fan, but Roy prefers not to sign autographs while at the museum. He said it prevents him from being able to chat with the fans who are visiting. He was quite gracious in declining, though, and I certainly understood. It was a kick just to meet him. Imagine - me, shaking hands with the King of the Cowboys.

Victorville is the earliest example along the old road of the California we have come to expect: malls, fast food, mucho plastic and pre-fabrication. Not long after exiting V'Ville to the west, I entered the outer suburbs of Los Angeles and from the time I passed through San Berdoo, this was one tedious afternoon. The problem was, after awhile, it began to look like L.A., or what I'd envisioned L.A. to look like, so I felt I 'd arrived. And if I was in L.A., then Santa Monica, the Pacific Ocean and the western end of Route 66 couldn't be far away, right?

Wrong. I had some 50 miles of SoCal suburbia to navigate before hitting pay dirt (or pay sand, in this case) in Santa Monica. 66 through these faceless little towns is nothing but a city street, with plenty of traffic, stoplights, and saunteringly slow speed limits to jam things up and precious few obvious points of interest along the way. I did pass Santa Anita, a grand old racetrack; the Marx Brothers filmed A Day at the Races there so that captured my passing interest. I eventually caught a glimpse of the Hollywood sign. I read many town names and street titles that rang a bell but until I got my bearings and could familiarize myself a bit with the lay of the land, this jaunt wasn't much fun. I just gave in to the completist in me and plunged ahead. While I could have made it from San Bernadino to Santa Monica in half the time on the interstate, there was no way I was going to give up the Mother Road this late in the game. She'd treated me well thus far, I was going to dance with the girl I came with.

At long last, I reached the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Ocean Avenue, Nirvana for a 66 pilgrim like myself. Before me was the Pacific Ocean; behind were over 2,000 miles of road leading back to the beginning, the shores of Lake Michigan. I thought I might feel a bit sad at this juncture, having completed my journey down America's Main Street but, in the end, I didn't. It's not as if I won't see the old road again. I plan to drive Route 66 as long I'm able, as long as there's still a mile of pavement that can be traced back to the old days, as long as there's still an old motel along the route, as long as there's still a drive-in theatre, a frozen custard stand, the world's largest totem pole or even a blue whale in an algae-covered swimming hole. As long as these roadside reminders continue to gently tug at my sleeve, urging me to recall the glory that was Route 66, I'll drive this old road. Only now, I'll travel its length an old friend, someone who has seen the best and the worst the Mother Road has to offer and remains loyal to the end. I'm proud to be a veteran of this old road and I look forward to our next encounter. And it pleases me no end to award a BRETTnews Highlight Attraction Award to Route 66 and all the enterprises that line its path.

Now, I had only to find my way to my friend's house, where I was to stay while in the City of Angels. Luckily, Patrushka lives not far off Santa Monica Blvd. so it was mostly a matter of re-tracing my steps. I found her place, let myself in, met her roommate and began to recuperate a bit from my long journey.




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