[The National Old Trails Road was one of the first transcontinental "highways,"
its route proclaimed in about 1914. It ran from Washington to Los Angeles
via, as the name suggests, a series of historic old trails: the National Road
to central Illinois, the Santa Fe Trail farther west, and ultimately a wagon
road into southern California. From Maryland to Illinois, the National Old Trails
Road became US 40; from New Mexico west, it was largely Route 66.]
Route 66 landmarks in the Mojave include Roy's Motel in Amboy, which is
featured in a current TV commercial (can't remember which); the "Bagdad Cafe,"
where the 1980s film was shot (which isn't in Bagdad, but some 30 miles away
in Newberry Springs), and the Amboy Crater, the cone of a (presumably) dead
volcano which once spewed black, rock-hard lava across the already-
desolate landscape.
The Route returns to civilization, of a sort, in Barstow. Best known as the
only decent stopping place between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, Barstow
caters to travelers to such an extent that the only local radio station dubs
itself "the highway station" and nearly all its ads are aimed at those passing
through en route to Nevada. Barstow Station, at the junction of I-40, I-15
and Route 66, offers one of the most complete selections of tourist junk
anywhere.
Although Route 66 ends in Santa Monica, there was no way I was to
drive the entire 65-mile length of the Los Angeles basin, on local streets,
on a weekday afternoon. The only issue was when I'd give up and head
north. Ultimately I decided that since 66 is the "Will Rogers Highway," with
Rogers' ranch just a few miles north of its terminus, the best possible
substitute was the Roy Rogers museum in Victorville.
Roy's a poor substitute for Will, though. Will Rogers was an authentic
Westerner who first attracted attention for his astonishing rope tricks, then
used his wit and common sense to become one of the best-loved Americans
of his generation. Roy Rogers (born Leonard Slye in Cincinnati) began as a
singer, then stepped effortlessly into near-identical roles as the hero of dozens
of Grade B westerns, earning his reputation by personifying a cliche created
by others. (And Will never lent his name to a chain of mediocre fast-food
restaurants, either.)
The Roy Rogers/Dale Evans Museum displays everything Rogers-related
anyone could ever want to see, up to and including the stuffed bodies of
Roy's horse Trigger, Dale's horse Buttermilk and their dog Bullet. Another
highlight: their custom 1960s Cadillac with six-shooters mounted atop the
fenders. Many displays are accompanied by gruesome poetry written by
their fans.
From here I turned north to Palmdale, northwest to Bakersfield, over to I-5
and up past the Bay Area. With the San Francisco Giants visiting the Mets,
this deadly dull drive was enlivened by the same game I'd have been watching
at home. (Have I commented lately on the worthlessness of Met shortstop
Rey Ordonez? "Ordonez" is Spanish for "inept hitter who mistakenly, and
smugly, believes he's God's gift to defense.")
Tomorrow I follow old Route 40 all the way to Salt Lake City. Between
Sacramento and Reno, 40 overlaps the Lincoln Highway; from Reno through
Salt Lake City, old 40 survives as frontage roads and business loops off I-80.
Later...
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