Sixty-six reasons to hit the road

Thrasher Magazine, May, 2007 by Rhino

ROUTE 66 EARNED its Main Street of America title because it wound through small towns across the Midwest and Southwest, lined by hundreds of cafes, motels, gas stations, and tourist attractions. During the Great Depression, hundreds of thousands of farm families made their way west along the route to California.

Today it's the Historic Route 66 (as of 1984), and the small towns which it ran through have been bypassed with high-speed interstate highways, blown out with Wal-Marts, Love's truck stops, Home Depots, chemical fast food chains, and the corporate convenience of track homes built around all the major exits. Though it is no longer a main route across America, Route 66 has retained its mystique due to the same effective hype: commercial know-how and shameless self-promotion have helped the towns along the old route stay alive. Morn-and-pop diners and motels play up their Route 66 connections, and many of the Route's landmarks are kept in business by nostalgic travelers from all over the world wanting a taste of this endlessly endangered American experience. Many old motels and cafes hang on by a thread of hope, sit vacant, or survive in memory only--all for want of an Interstate exit. Route 66 has probably been the most impacted route in the country by the modern interstate world; for many stretches you'll be forced to leave the old two-lane, and follow the super highways that have been built right on top of the old road.

The general mission was to drive a Cadillac on Route 66 starting at the Santa Monica Pier, and head east as far as we could go. We figured we probably wouldn't make it to Chicago in two weeks. So Graceland in Memphis was a good place to end the trip, even though it wasn't on 66. It's a little off the beaten path, outside of Little Rock, where we were headed to skate Kanis Park. The schedule was loose, and from day to day we looked at the map and figured out where we wanted to shred and search for new spots.

LOS ANGELES

EVERYONE MET at the Pier, where Route 66 ends coming from Chicago. We loaded up the two vehicles--a couple of White Donkeys--and we were off. We needed to skate something that day to get the ball rolling rather than spending the time driving. Mount Baldy was the spot; some of the crew hadn't skated there before, so it was a must. Everyone was hitting the fullpipe and before dark set in, Duffel started ollieing the gap that's about 12 feet, and he was coming out of the pipe. Cracks and rough concrete, he and Guzman made it first try. Duffel had to raise the ante, so after about seven tries he kickflipped across the gap and bombed the spillway. Fucking insane.

We knew of a pool that we used to skate off and on for a couple of years, and by now it was dark. A Mexican family lives there now, so Preston--Tecate in hand--starts speaking Spanish and got the green light. A classic nighttime pool session with lights, brew, and good crew. Everyone got some. We ended the night posted up on Route 66 at the Teepee Motel in Rialto. There are only three of these classic '40s teepee-shaped motels left in the United States.

ARIZONA

EVERYONE WAS LIKE, "Let's get the luck out of California!" We'd been there for two days, but the road was calling. Arizona was the next stop. Flagstaff and Kingman didn't give us anything, so it was off to Holbrook to skate a pool that we knew of. Things have changed a bit there. The owner didn't want any part of us skating the pool. So after a half hour of negotiations and a crisp $100 bill, we were in. Four-hour session where so much shit went down. Chet did bluntslides, a back lip over the light box, a Smith grind, and continue on down the list. Pensyl crailed over the box, plus lipslides and blunt fakies. Duffel pulled a lien to tail. Jason frontside rocked and frontside grinded on the hip. Mumford back Smithed over the light box, got some lips and a back disaster, and he was the only one to get the shallow steps. Guzman was cruising around Holbrook getting Mexican food and looking like his back was hurt from the day before. Might have had the shakes from the night previous. Towards the end of the session, he began skating, then suddenly shut the pool down with a backside noseblunt in the deep end. Textbook; couldn't have gotten into or landed it better. Best $100 we spent on the trip ... on skateboarding, that is.

BAILING OUT

ONE OF THE THINGS I learned from being a photographer is that you can get away with not bucketing and cleaning the gnarly pools. Most of the time I'd be in there doing the work, and still do, since the skaters don't know how to handle buckets and brooms--or they're just lazy sitting on the deck drinking a brew or looking for a store to get food, Now I just shoot photos and have the skaters clean the pool, and let them know they'll get more coverage in the mag and still get photo incentive while I'm cracking brews with a camera in my hand. Brilliant.

NEW MEXICO

ALL I HAVE TO SAY is ditches, bitches! Albuquerque's got 'em all over. We spent a few days bombing the Indian School ditch and hanging out with the infamous Rocky Norton. He ended up letting us pitch our tents in the backyard. If you ever stop there, you need to skate with this guy at a ditch. He's insane. Talk about hospitality; he bought us a keg of beer the first night, and then threw it in the car the next day and took us ditch skating. How often does that shit happen?