The Mother Road. Part 2, Missouri and Kansas

We crossed into Missouri from Illinois on the second day of our 2700 mile motorcycle journey across the USA. I don't remember seeing a sign but the State boundary is in St Louis, at the Mississippi. Almost immediately there was a change: gone were the flat, endless fields, the mass of agriculture. Missouri brought wooded, hillier country, and with it came the interstate. Not that we rode this six lane highway but it was there, in fact Route 66 ran on frontage roads beside Interstate 44 for most of the way to Rolla. Occasionally, we would be diverted away and pass through a small town but then it was back to watching trucks and cars as they sped along the main route.

Although the guide book had told us that Route 66 runs close to the line of the railway, here in the midwestern states it would be just as true to say it follows the interstate. How could any road builder discover completely different routes across the country when over a century before railway engineers had found the best ones? So, we glanced at the interstate and the occasional train, each one sometimes close, sometimes in the distance, while riding our own almost exclusive strip of tarmac. Now and again a car would come towards us, and maybe one might come from behind but both were rare occurrences. It felt there were two Americas: a characterless one of global conformity where nondescript cars and trucks whizzed along and a slower, localised one carrying a lone Harley Davidson Electraglide. From the frontage road you could ignore the interstate, if you chose not to look; when we occasionally found ourselves on the interstate, we didn't have time to look at the frontage road.

The weather got out lovely and warm again and all suitable zips on our jackets were now undone. (I was wearing a Triumph leather with the lining removed, Sue had a light weight Scott gortex.) Even the motorcycle's fairing vents were fully open. In Fanning we visited the worlds largest rocking chair, another Route 66 draw, apparently. A lot of these roadside attractions summed up the ethos of the Mother Road, or certainly during the era in which we were interested. In the 1950s the road was used as a holiday route and gas stations, motels and diners were all trying to attract custom, often with enormous colourful signs or some sort of novelty dimension. As then, our trip was all about simple enjoyment, a vacation from the seriousness of everyday life while still on a journey – an adventure more akin to Disney than Davy Crockett.

In the afternoon we stopped at a small diner in another small town, the type that felt like real America. A wide, uncluttered street allowed us to pull up outside and park nose in to the kerb. We drank ice tea while watching a couple devour what was, I think, a late lunch. A washing up bowl of salad was followed by a large tea tray sized pizza, all washed down with pints of cola. I imagined a petite young American girl and her boyfriend eating such food for several years, and then looked again at the American lady of generous proportions and her equally large man.

That night saw us at the Best Western hotel in Rolla, with dinner at a nearby steak restaurant - in cattle country. The vegetarian option was crap. Breakfast in the hotel was the usual processed stuff that seemed the norm in these places, leaving us both longing for a nice b&b. In reality, the hotels were comfortable and the food edible, it's just that they weren't authentic enough for a trip such as ours. I can see why EagleRider use them - they have a lot of riders to house - and they did fulfil our basic needs, but I think if we were doing our own thing completely, we would have sought out smaller, independent motels and eaten breakfast at local diners. 

A funny thing was happening, though. When we were walking through the hotel and out to the motorcycle the following morning, I experienced what was to become a daily occurrence: the feeling of excited anticipation. The smell of these chain hotel corridors and reception areas – they smell the same the world over – will always remind me of those days and that wonderful expectation. Another day on the Mother Road - on a Harley, in the sun, on near empty roads, in the States. We left Rolla and headed off on what was to be the longest day of the trip. 

The route continued to hug the interstate, clinging to one side then the other on the frontage road. An early stop found us at the Gay Parita, a historic gas station now being run as an attraction by the descendants of its original owners. There was a collection of fantastic period garage equipment inside and a number of vehicles of similar vintage outside. One was a Nash police car (very rare, or so they said) sitting amongst some breakdown trucks. After buying some knick-knacks we signed the fence - yes, the fence - with a few suitable epitaphs: Triumph; Norton; Ace Cafe London; Black Rats London. I bored an ageing semi recumbent hippie lounging in a deck chair out back with my theory on the Mother Road's future. The road, I told him, would become even more popular within a couple of decades, as the interstate will be for the exclusive demesne of electric, self driving cars and trucks. Everything else, including vehicles owned by the ever growing number of retro enthusiasts, will be on historic routes preserved for the purpose of leisure. "Amen to that, brother", he mumbled, although I'm not sure he was actually fully awake let alone listening.

Leaving Missouri, 'the gateway to the west', we started a transition from the greener mid-west that would eventually deliver us to the desert. There was plenty of the old road to see in Missouri but care was needed, as all of a sudden large pot holes or enormous areas of broken tarmac and concrete would appear. This was something we found through the whole trip, that the old route, now superseded by the interstate, wasn't always well maintained. We popped into Kansas briefly and visited another old bridge, an old gas station and a Route 66 Kansas sign. Soon we were in Oklahoma. Now there was ranch land and churches, some big and newly built, as if the largest of all corporations was undergoing a period of expansion.