There are two green lions in front of the Art Museum in Chicago. They stand with their tails held high, looking westwards. This is where Route 66 begins.
As I weave my way into the morning traffic, I feel a queasy sensation in the pit of my stomach. I feel weak and lonely, for mile after mile there’s not a single other cyclist in sight. The road is full of dreadful potholes and treacherous drain grates; high-rises tower like mountains on either side, the morning sun glinting off their windows. It’s immense, and it’s beautiful. But I have to pluck up my courage: “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” and similar heroic nonsense, I whisper to myself. Then I feel the steady gaze of the two lions on my back, and luckily, in three weeks’ time, I’ll be meeting my friend Pete, who’ll be joining me from Albuquerque, New Mexico, to cycle the final third of the journey.
It takes half a day’s cycling to leave Chicago behind. The avenues and boulevards stretch on endlessly; the hours spent pedalling between shopping centres, factory sites and piles of cars seem hopeless. America is all about cars, nothing but cars. The drivers, however, are so considerate that European driving seems barbaric by comparison. As a cyclist, you can get about just fine in the USA too. If you take it in your stride, it’s actually quite fun – and you’ll experience that ‘Moloch’ sensation half a dozen times along Route 66.
As dizzying as the big cities are, so liberating is the vastness of the countryside. Illinois is flat; a lovely tailwind sweeps across the pea-green fields; the sky, with its broad, sweeping bands of cloud, is endless; the horizon seems to drop off into the distance. There is no dramatic landscape to obstruct your view. The cyclist feels a sense of emptiness and, at the same time, a sense of abundance. Nothing and everything at once. If you lie down in the grass and gaze up at the sky, after a few minutes you can sense the depth of the cosmos. You can gaze out towards the Sputniks and Apollos. When the idea of cycling along Route 66 was mooted, even the most loyal companions had waved it off. “What’s there to see?”, they asked, because they could only picture Niagara Falls, the Statue of Liberty and Death Valley. Anyone fixated on tourist attractions will find it hard to satisfy this hunger on Route 66. Those who leave them behind, however, are gifted an unforgettable experience of the world and of themselves.
Route 66 is a symbol of the westward drift, the longing for California, the Promised Land. For this reason, it goes without saying that you travel along it from east to west. Yet sometimes you have to search for the ‘Mother of All Roads’, asking local residents for directions. All along the route, you’ll repeatedly come across beautifully restored sections of the original road from the 1920s and 1930s.
You can find the full travel story below as a PDF download.
The route runs from Chicago via St Louis, Amarilla, Albuquerque and Needles to Santa Monica.
Book recommendation: Thomas Schröder:
"Cycling 66 – by bike from Chicago to Los Angeles"
The detailed, but long out-of-print, roadbook (unfortunately dating from 1994) can be obtained via the website www.bikeamerica.de Order – as a photocopy at cost price of 5 euros, including postage.
Downloads:
PDF: USA: Route 66
