You didn't think I'd show you my real head did you? Moo! Im not sure what this has to do with the restaurant it stands guard over, but hey, it worked for us. Another signal to the aliens. Not taken with a flash. Lifelike in every detail! Ohhhhhh-klahoma! Do drop in, to the U Drop Inn! "Charm of yesterday... convenience of tomorrow!". Apparently, this volcanic rock is married to Melanie Griffith. All burritos should be sold from giant hats. Jason selected the 'Grand Canyon' backdrop for his Sears Portrait Studio shot. Get your kitsch on Route 66! The Painted Desert: It took Leonardo Da Vinci over 7 years to paint this masterpiece. A wild burro was right behind me when I took this. Sneaky burro! Burro, burro, where are you? Note the burro poo in the foreground. Artsy, Jane, very artsy.

Day 1: CHICAGO, ILLINOIS Well, actually, we started in Detroit. No, actually, I started in Toronto, then met my travelling companion and gentleman caller, Jason, in Detroit. But I am just going to call Chicago 'Day 1' to avoid any cities-unrelated-to-Route-66 confusion. Or else a whole generation of children may grow up beleiving Route 66 starts in Canada, and that would be a crying shame, not to mention fodder for a nasty international incident. We arrive in Chicago, and its early evening. We managed to find a room at the Lenox Suites downtown, which was quite a trick, because there seemed to be some sort of convention going on. I think it was a blues festival, which would make sense, but It may have been a Amway Convention now that I think of how everyone was dressed. It was decided that my birthday dinner would be celebrated at Pizzeria Due, which is the Pizzeria that comes after Pizzeria Uno, which is down the street. Now that's okay if you've heard of Pizzeria Uno, but if you haven't, you're gonna be looking at this restaurant's sign like 'Pizzeria Due?' When was this Pizza due? Was it due yesterday? Can I renew it? You know, that sort of thing. So after eating one large overdue chicago spinach pie, we wandered towards the lake. Im glad we did, because you know whats there? The biggest goddamn ferris wheel you've ever seen! Whoa, nelly, that thing is big! The crazy little pre-recorded voice in the gondola explained that it was made for the World's Fair, but if you ask me, it was made so extraterrestrials on Vega and Rygiel can see it with the naked eye from their distant planet, and say 'Whoa, that looks like a fun place to visit!' and then show up in Chicago, making Illinois famous for being the place of 'first contact'. Another reason that makes me think this, is the 600 or so cow statues that sprinkle the sidewalks of the city. We all know how much aliens like messing with our livestock. And I would say these cows have definitely been genetically altered in some way. Coincidence? Don't be so naive. Then, being the impulsive little bunnies we are, we jumped on this boat docked at the Pier for a nighttime cruise around Chicago harbour. There was this great guy on the boat (maybe a castaway from the Amway convention) who was this Herb Tarlek-style Love Boat playa - he was on the boat alone... a lone wolf, checking out the ladies, casually strolling around, with a cocktail in his hand. Rrrowr! Excellent! These frisky older women asked him to take their picture, and then he got in the picture with the women, putting his arms around them and saying stuff like 'It's my lucky day' and 'I am the luckiest man alive!' and making them all giggly. Sweet. Day 2: CHICAGO, ILLINOIS to SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS Okay, so we're still in Chicago. I decide that I want to go to the Shedd Aquarium, and Jason kindly obliges. I have a thing for fish, you see. No lesbian jokes, thank you. Anyhow, the aquarium was all I had hoped it to be. They had a very active octopus, and a lot of other exiting specimens and freaks of evolution that would make Darwin sing a jaunty tune, to be sure. They also had a show where thay trained the dolphins to do tricks, but of course in order not to get the PC police of their ass, thay had to give you this half hour speech to go with it that explianed that they weren't forcing the dolphins to do anything they didn't want to do or already do in the wild, and this wasn't REALLY a dancing dolphin show, it was a scientifically sound demsonstration of dolphin behaviour and interaction. Sure, but can they play Yankee Doodle through their blowholes? Anyway, we start down Route 66 from it's very beginning, the corner of Adams and, uh, something. We get as far as Springfield, Illinois before calling it a day ("yup, that's a day"). Which isn't far at all, but the book we bought to navigate with couldn't tell you how to find your ass with both hands, let alone St. Louis. I'm not going to discuss too deeply the haunted hooker motel we stayed in that night, because I'm still checking my bath towel for crabs. What I'm getting at here is, if you see a horny old farmer with a corn cob in his pocket pull up in his Dodge Dart with a 15 year old Vietnamese refugee in hot pants, chances are your motel isn't triple-A approved. Day 3: SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS to STANTON, MISSOURI Okay, the majority of this day was spent getting lost, as I recall. We had lunch at this diner (the Ariston, a Route 66 landmark) and let me tell ya, that thing they do where the waitress comes by your table with a giant platter with EVERY DESSERT the diner offers and puts it in front of your face, then takes it away? That is downright cruel. I mean, what if there were small children at the table? "Here's your cake! No, wait. mommy's poor, YOU DON'T GET ANY CAKE!" I had the peanut butter pie. We hit St. Louis in a rainstorm, and much to my delight, Jason told me you can actually go inside the arch! There is a crazy elevator/rollercoaster/spacepod device that you sit in and it takes you up to the top of the arch, where you can see out these little windows. However, a warning to others: this contraption was made in the days before the world discovered peanut butter pie, because if you're over 200 pounds, you're staying in the gift shop, baby. DAY 4: STANTON, MISSOURI to TULSA, OKLAHOMA Well, after waking up in the middle of the night and barfing up my soy-chicken-patty at the KOA Kampground, I thought this was perhaps not an auspicious beginning to day three. Oh, but how wrong I was! Day three was a delight, just chock full of Route 66 oddities and amusements (I'm not sure why I'm coming off as facetious here when I'm trying to be enthusiastic. I assure you it's all true). First, we went to the Meramec Caverns. This is where Jesse James made his getaway from the fuzz when they were trying to put a cap in his ass for some minor infraction or another. But strangely, the Meramec folks don't really play up the Jesse James angle as much as they play up the fact that somebody once shot an episode of some obscure 50's game show there. Boy oh boy, when the 16 year old tour guide shared that nugget of Hollywood history, the crowd went wild, snapping Fujifilm of the sacred site - a hole in the wall. I also enjoyed the reflecting pool, where you could see the reflection of the caverns ceiling in this very still dark water on the floor, making an optical illusion that the water was really deep and filled with stalagmites. So of course, the crowd once again starts snapping away - with flashbulbs on. Wa-hey, those'll be some photos to remember! Now, I don't want to ruin the finale of the whole tour for those of you that intend to go, but let me ask you this: Have you ever sat inside a cold, dark, underground cavern on a bench and been asked to sing along with "God Bless America" over the loudpeaker while a spotlight in the shape of ol' glory is being projected onto a solid wall of white stalagtites millions upon millions of years old? Well, I don't want to spoil it for you so I won't tell you for sure if that's what happens. You'll just have to guess. While youre in the area, don't miss The Jesse James Wax Museum. So far to the lame end of the scale, it somehow manages to break through to the other side of lameness and come out bitchin'. DAY 5: TULSA, OKLAHOMA to FOSS LAKE, OKLAHOMA Yeah, I know, you want to skip through this whole Oklahoma bit and get to the good stuff. But Oklahoma's where half of the great stuff is! And as a bonus, the man who works in the Oklahoma tourist information booth has no hand, yet will be happy to point out the way to wherever yu want to go on a map for you with his stump. Another friendly Oklahoman I met was the waitress at the Moonbeam Restaurant (read: A shack with wood panelling, a plastic clock, 3 vinyl chairs, and a condemned salad bar) who said that If I won a "free dinner" in their business card draw, because I would be unavailable to return and claim my dinner, she would mail me an "Elfkin" ceramic figurine instead 'cause "she ain't cheap". You don't get that kind of service in Toronto or Montreal, sweetie darling, that's for damn sure. We camped that night at the Foss Lake Reservoir, near Clinton, which is home to the Route 66 Museum. Or should I say, the first of 1,459 'Route 66 Museums', if you're heading south. Foss Lake Reservoir was a little scary, but one of the best camping times I've ever had. Sure, there were tarantulas and snakes crawling on the roads, sure there were no forest rangers and no human souls for miles around, sure we went swimming in a rainstorm and tempted the tornadoes, but dammit, there were shooting stars! And rabbits! And chinaberry trees! DAY 6: FOSS LAKE, OKLAHOMA to SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO Don't eat at the Pancake Inn. Just don't. That's all I have to say about that. We visited a Route 66 Museum #2 and 3, I beleive, then we figured that was just about enough of that, athough one of them had Denver Pyle's hat and overalls. I picked up a book for Jason called "Haunted Route 66" which detailed which hotels restaurants and attractions to visit if you wanted a brush with doom. Can't say I really beleived that I'd see a ghost, but it's fun to tempt ectoplasm, isn't it? So we ended up at 'The Nat' in Amarillo, Texas, a supposedly spooky antique store. Well the only thing that scared me was the price of a Moroccan Amethyst glass I wanted to buy, so we ate our supernatural fudge sundaes in the cafe and hot footed it outta there. DAY 7: SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO to GALLUP, NEW MEXICO I can't say enough about the El Rancho Hotel. First of all, it was so great, they had to give it two slogans: "Home of the Stars" and "Charm of Yesterday... Convenience of Tomorrow". If you ever do this Route 66 thing, and I highly recommend you do, you HAVE to stay here. I can't really explain the phenomenon that is El Rancho, so you'll have to make the pilgrimage yourself. Ask for the Rita Hayworth suite. It's only 50 bucks or so, but easily worth 3 times that for the rustic log chairs alone. Thrill to the autographs of hundreds of movie stars on the wall. Bathe yourself in the gentle glow of giant electric bull-horn lamp over the fireplace. Watch the stars twinkle over the desert from your balcony. You are also allowed to drink beer and play cards in the 2-story taxidermy heaven they call a lobby. I just thought you'd like to know that. I think this was also the day we visited the Ice Cave and the Banderas volcano. The ice cave is, uh, a cave with ice in it. And the Volcano is... a volcano! And if you make a 'Zorro, the Gay Blade' joke to the guy in the gift shop, I'm sure you wouldn't be the first. DAY 8: GALLUP, NEW MEXICO to THE GRAND CANYON, ARIZONA The Grand Canyon isn't really on Route 66, but it's close enough that anyone doing the trip should make the detour and go. But before we got there, we also looked at a lot of old stumps at the Petrified Forest National Park. They are awfully protective of them thar trees. You'd think they had a forest of crack cocaine in the middle of the desert the way they carried on. They have all these fines posted, they search your car if they suspect you've taken any tree bits, and so on. Now I imagined somehow that these trees would be standing upright, so I felt pretty dumb when got there and I realised they weren't upright at all, they were just bits of tree-shaped rock lying around in the desert. Almost as dumb as when I called the Mojave desert the "Moe-Jayve". But not quite. I would have liked to have stayed at Wigwam Village (a motel with real wigwams for rooms) but it wasn't near nightfall when we passed it, so it was not to be. Perhaps you will be luckier. All the campsites in the actual Grand Canyon park were full by the time we got there, so we stayed at the Ten-X campground just south of Grand Canyon Village in Tusayan. I think it was probably a better campsite anyway, but it was no teepee-with-teevee. Yet, sitting by the fire, listening to the coyotes howl, and eating toasted avocado sandwiches is a pretty nice consolation prize. DAY 9: THE GRAND CANYON, ARIZONA to LAS VEGAS, NEVADA The Grand Canyon is big. Very big. Very big and hot. Las Vegas is not on the actual Route 66 either, but again, the temptation was too great. Upon arriving, Jason splurged and got us a room at Treasure Island Resort, which features a moat and some pirate ships out front. Sadly, the pirate theme did not continue through to the room, but I must say, considering the room had his-and-hers bathrooms the size of the Moe-Jayve, I wasn't complaining. The only thing piratey we could find was this sandwich on the room service menu that was made with banana bread, rum, fruit and cream cheese. Of course, when Jason tries to have one brought to our room, they inform us they no longer make this island delicacy. Shiver me timbers! We enjoyed the cheap chapmpagne they sent us too. Somehow someone got the idea that we were newlyweds, and I guess it's standard protocol to send the happy new couple some bubbly and their congratulations. Little did they know our union had NOT been sanctified under the eyes of god, and we were just a couple of filthy sinners! Arrrr mateys! DAY 10: LAS VEGAS, NEVADA to MONROVIA, CALIFORNIA Okay, there's this really big tower in Las Vegas. It's called the Stratosphere. It is the tallest building west of the Mississippi, apparently. And on top of this tall building, wrapped around the outside, they have a roller coaster. And on top of that, they have a tower they strap you to and send you flying into the air with the use of magnets or something. I engaged in both of these activites, and I don't mind admitting I was scared. Scared like a little girly-girl. No, even more scared than that. I don't think there's a simile that can quite capture the unique state of scared-osity that occured to me as I was flying around up there. So, I shall discuss the buffet instead: gluttonous vice, or manna from heaven? Here's the grand tally-ho: JANE Potato Salad Fettucine Alfredo Canteloupe Fish Fingers Spinach (discovered bacon in it, didn't eat it) Cheesy Broccoli Macaroni and Cheese Cottage Cheese Fried Scrod More Canteloupe Lime Cheesecake Italian Pastry Raspberry Iced Tea JASON Potato Salad Mashed Potatoes Sicilian Vegetable Medley Corn on the Cob Cucumber & Onion Salad Grilled Potatoes Corn and Red Pepper Canteloupe Caramel Cheesecake Lime Cheesecake Italian Pastry Raspberry Iced Tea After squandering my children's future on the Elvis slot machines (five bucks to be exact), we went to the Guinness Book of Records Museum (another wax-figure mecca!) and the world's largest souvenir shop. What amused me about the souvenir shop was not so much my choice of a Vegas sno-globe and souvenir plate, but the woman ahead of me in line. After examining all the items available in what is surely the world kapital of kitch, she decided to purchase a tasteful set of miniature copper windchimes with a rustic green patina. Why she just didn't stay in Cape Cod and go to Pier One is beyond me, she could have saved herself the airfare. People are strange. I, of course, am perfectly normal. Now it's off to Oatman, California, where wild burros roam the streets and come up to yur car like it's an 'African Burro Safari'. They are the great-great-graet grand burros of the original burros abandoned by the miners who left Oatman when the mine went bust. So now they wander the streets in search of carrots and treats.Sadly, I did not capture them on my Pentax, just on the camcorder. So if you want to see the hungry hungry burros, send 5 bucks and a SASE to "Americas Funniest Burro Videos" and I will be happy to send you a copy. Another worthwhile attraction in Oatman is the Oatman Hotel, which is haunted by the ghost of 'Oatie". Oatie was an old miner who got really off his tits one night and croaked behind the bar, and no one found him till 3 days later. Now he haunts this fine establishment. The bartender told us he pulls such hijinks as pinching the waitresses ass, and rearranging the glassware. We had dinner in the desert. Barstow, California, I beleive. You will be glad to know there is a Brooklyn-style pizzeria in Barstow. I surely was - As much as I love food from a giant hat, I was getting a little tired of refried beans. After consulting 'Haunted Route 66' to see what kind of apparitions we would sleep with that night, we decided upon the Aztec Hotel. Not only was it a landmark of misplaced arcitecture AND on the National Register of Historic Places, but we were informed that a young woman's ghost haunted one of the rooms. Supposedly, she had died 'en flagrante delicto' from hitting her head on the radiator in the boudoir. This certainly bode well for the state of the Aztec's bedsprings, as well as for general all around sexually-charged spookiness. We made a beeline for the place. Now here's the part where you need to pay attention: Although this hotel was listed in both Route 66 books we had bought, NEITHER mentioned that this fine establishment was no longer in the hotel business as we understand it. So it was only when we got there, tired and cranky, dragging our bags into the lobby, that we were informed they were in the welfare-and-karaoke business. As in, if we'd like to buy some heroin and stay a month, they'd be happy to give us a room. But since we were just a couple of nice kids who had no intention of burning holes in the mattress with our Menthol More's and staying up all night singing "Oh Danny Boy", they really couldn't help us. DAY 10: MONROVIA, CALIFORNIA to LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA Well, that's where Route 66 ends, my friend. There is no moral to be learned here, no deep thoughts to leave you with. After the ritual jumping into the ocean by the Santa Monica pier (and the not-so-ritual riding of the ferris wheel, making of the sand-robots, and eating of the seafood burrito) we of course continued on up the coast to see some big-ass trees, hunt for the elusive quarter-pound date shake, other wonders of the west coast. But "that" (as they used to say on Hammy Hamster) "...is another story".

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