Day 3: Two Wheels, No Regrets: Characters, Classics, and Close Calls on Route 66

ByPete

There is nothing quite like the freedom of the open highway, but when that highway is Route 66, “freedom” comes with a side of pure, unfiltered Americana. Yesterday’s ride from Stroud, Oklahoma, to Tucumcari, New Mexico, was a masterclass in why we choose to travel on two wheels. From roadside legends to roadside scares, this is what the Mother Road is all about.

The Morning Log: Loose Ends and Rat Wings

Our day started the way all great riding days do: over a hot breakfast, talking through the map, and setting a loose game plan. First order of business was logistics. We had to hit a FedEx drop-off to mail a replaced stator back home—a little insurance policy from the road gods.

While we were waiting in the parking lot, Route 66 treated us to its first true character of the day. A guy pulled up on an ancient Honda Goldwing that looked like it had survived an apocalypse. This absolute legend was using a plastic baseball batter’s helmet for protection, his windshield looked like it hadn’t seen a rag in a decade, duct tape was doing the heavy lifting on his seat, and bungee cords were single-handedly holding his saddlebags on. Was it street legal? Debatable. Was it pure Mother Road? Absolutely.

Parades, Pop, and Pixar Lore

Leaving Stroud, we rolled right into an unexpected slice of luck in the next town: an antique car parade. For a few miles, we cruised slow and low in the left lane right alongside about 40 beautifully restored vintage rides. Throwing thumbs-up to the drivers and shouting compliments at the stop signs reminded us why the car and bike communities on this route are so special.

From there, it was a blur of classic roadside architecture:

  • The Arcadia Round Barn and the glowing giant Coke bottle.
  • A pit stop at Pops (where the store is a shrine to thousands of glass soda bottles) to cool down with some classic Route 66 black cherry and orange sodas.
  • The iconic Braum’s milk bottle sign.

We finally parked the bikes at the Historic Route 66 Museum. While browsing the exhibits, we stopped dead in our tracks at a photograph of a woman who looked incredibly familiar. It turns out it was Dawn Welch, the owner of the Rock Café where we had dinner the night before (and the lady who was giving Dean a friendly hard time!). Reading the plaque, we learned she was actually the real-life inspiration for the character Sally Carrera in Pixar’s Cars. How cool is that?

(Local tip: If you stop by, maybe skip asking Helga for lunch recommendations—both spots she told us to find had been shut down for a while!)

Finding the Spirit of 66 in Erik, OK

You can’t plan the best parts of a road trip. In Erik, Oklahoma, we stopped to snap a quick photo of the Roger Miller street sign (the genius behind “King of the Road” and the “Hee Haw” theme).

As we were taking photos, a guy backed out of a nearby driveway in a rat truck. He was wearing overalls—no shirt, no shoes—and yelled out an invitation to come check out his shop. When we asked where it was, he just grinned and said, “You’ll know.”

He wasn’t lying. Flanked by beautiful antique porcelain gas signs, we walked into what turned out to be the only shop on Route 66 where absolutely nothing is for sale. The man, Pete, welcomed us warmly: “Look at anything, go anywhere, just don’t touch my guitars!”

Before we knew it, Pete popped the top off a fresh dispensary jar, lit up a massive doobie right there in the shop, and launched into a soulful, acoustic rendition of “Get Your Kicks on Route 66”. A few other travelers wandered in, completely mesmerized. At one point, he barked out a protective, “Don’t touch my Coke cans!” (which we suspected held a different kind of “road fuel”). He showed us an incredible piece of history—one of the very first Route 66 signs ever erected in Oklahoma. We snapped a group photo with him and hit the asphalt, leaving a few stories behind that can only be told in person over a beer.

Landmark Hopping to the Texas Border

The afternoon was a rapid-fire sequence of Route 66 staples:

  • The Edsel Graveyard: A junk dealer with a wild collection of classic, tragic Ford Edsels.
  • The U-Drop Inn: Stopped in for some crisp, free water at one of the most beautiful Art Deco stations on the route.
  • The Leaning Water Tower of Groom and the massive, awe-inspiring Cross of Our Lord Jesus Ministries.
  • The Bug Ranch: Long Branch’s answer to Cadillac Ranch. While there, we played good Samaritans, helping a couple of girls from California who had managed to get their U-Haul wedged on a tire. Once they were free, we pulled out the spray paint and tagged the buried VW Bugs with “901” and “Stator Haters”.

        [ ROAD CHEF REVIEW: THE BIG TEXAN ]

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Wait Time: 30 Minutes (Not bad for prime time!)

The Road: Absolutely brutal, rutted, and uneven. 

          Keep your wits about you so you don’t lay 

          the bike down in the parking lot.

The Verdict: Fun atmosphere! Our waitress Ashley even 

             brought Blake a kids’ meal hat. Dean’s steak 

             was charred to a crisp, but they made it 

             right and took it off the bill.

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Before losing the light, we made a sunset run to Cadillac Ranch. It was much drier than our last visit, allowing us to walk right out to the cars. Blake tagged his Instagram handles, we left another “901” mark, and I spray-painted a bear for the girls back home.

The Night Scrape and the Neon Glow

As darkness fell, the reality of a long haul set in. I called ahead to Rob at the historic Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari to let him know we’d be a late arrival. We stopped for a final gas top-off, and Pete split from the pack to ride ahead and get us checked in, completely forgetting that crossing into New Mexico gained us an hour on the time change.

After Pete took off, Blake and I pulled out of the station. Just as we hit the main road entrance, Blake’s headlights went pitch black and his engine completely died.

My stomach instantly dropped into my boots. Not again. I was already panicking, envisioning the nightmare of coordinating a midnight flatbed wrecker in the middle of nowhere. But the motorcycle gods were merciful. It turns out Blake had just slammed into a crater of a pothole so violently that his hand accidentally bumped the kill switch. A flip of the switch, a roar of the engine, and a collective sigh of relief later, we were back en route.

We rolled into Tucumcari well after dark, greeted by the unmistakable, warm neon hum of the Blue Swallow Motel. There is something deeply satisfying about pulling your motorcycle directly into its own private, vintage garage attached to your room.

We ended the night exactly the way a classic road trip demands: sitting outside the garages in 1950s metal lawn chairs, watching the neon buzz, and recounting the wild characters and close calls of a perfect day on the highway.

Next Stop: Holbrook, Arizona. Keep the shiny side up, friends.