I'm a bit of a free spirit. I have no life and no responsibilities and can do whatever, whenever. But that freedom comes with a price: I have no place to call home, no woman and little coin for living the dream. On the plus side, though, occasionally someone will call me up and ask me to do something that takes a bit of time like, say, ride a Harley across the country.
I accepted the mission, and the boys in Milwaukee were brave enough to give-er, I mean lend-me a fresh-off-the-line '08 Road King Classic 105th Anniversary Edition (why the corporate guys at Harley-Davidson let me even jangle the keys to such a sweet rig is a mystery). Roadside attractions, old tourist traps and greasy diners were my initial targets on the tour. However, by trip's end I actually felt enlightened. Certainly I was wowed by the sight of Cadillacs growing out of a field and the experience of sleeping in a cement wigwam, but it wasn't those points or even the sound of floorboards skidding across fresh asphalt on a plush bagger that had me recalling the ride. It was the people, like the fat, naked alligator wrestler in Missouri and the guy I met in Oklahoma who's walking across America, who have made me appreciate this trek. Riding solo forces you to talk to folks, upping your chances of meeting some great characters.
I knew the trip wouldn't be easy. First of all, Route 66 isn't really fleshed out on regular road maps. Thankfully Harley-Davidson has created the "H-D Self-Guided Route 66 Tour Map" with turn-by-turn directions, lodging information, road conditions, important places to visit and a list of all the Harley dealerships along the way. This road is like a rite of passage. You can't really know America until you cruise the long-lost route, passing towns that are way past their freshness dates and imagining what life must have been like before the Interstate Highway System-which ended up putting many local businesses in the poorhouse. The construction of the interstates sped up life in America, killed many roadside attractions and left the old days in the dust.
Luckily for the families left behind Route 66 has never completely died and in the past few decades has even experienced a resurgence. Ol' hot-rodders and bikers travel the route to relive memories, and the younger, Kerouac-reading set wants to experience true American adventure. Songs and movies glorify 66, and entrepreneurs have built new attractions catering to huge tour buses. Luckily I wasn't crammed on one; I was on my own, with no friends who needed to stop and snivel on the phone with their wives every hour.
Unlike a rickety bus the Road King Classic rode smoothly and turned surprisingly well. I was skeptical about the new antilock brakes, but my concerns quickly disappeared after having to stop hard in a gravel lot. Without ABS I'm sure my front wheel would have skidded and caused me to drop the bike and wish I had a wife to snivel on the phone to.
The stock saddle held onto my butt like a fat lady with pillow hands. Some people have complained about the bars being swept too far forward, but at 6 feet 2 inches tall I thought they were perfect. And the classic-style saddlebags kept out the rain; my only complaint is there's no way to lock them and secure your stuff.
The Road King is classy and luxurious but with a rough-and-tumble edge. So I lived both sides of life on my tour, staying in comfortable hotels sometimes yet still finding time to camp on the ground next to my bike-snuggled up next to the Mother Road.
Plan to Motor West
Chicago is the true start of this hot mama (going from west to east isn't advised unless you're a moron). The Land of Lincoln has put some effort into restoring Route 66, so it's easy to enjoy the ride without constant use of a map. Most tours start with a solid old-school breakfast at Lou Mitchell's restaurant on Jackson Street (the original Route 66 into Chicago).
But I'm highly allergic to cities and traffic, so I bolted out of Chi-town for greener pastures. There are at least 66 (OK, exaggeration) Route 66 Museums along the Mother Road. The Route 66 Hall of Fame in Pontiac, Illinois, was a good reason to get off the saddle. I wished I'd packed an extra-large bag of french fries for the World's Largest Catsup Bottle down the road in Collinsville, Illinois, only miles from the mighty Mississippi. It would have paired nicely with the World's Largest McDonald's in Vinita, Oklahoma (although some folks in Orlando had double-arches envy and erected an even bigger PlayPlace.)