Notes About The Poem
For a hundred years,
Trail blazers have ridden old Route 66,
With pioneer grit beneath American skies!
Route 66 Drives 100 Years!
What a mighty fine time drivin' my rig down that funky trail!
Sure love the sights along the iron rail!
This ol' 'Mother Road' inspires drifters like me to roam!
Where adventure and hot rods holler on their rolling homes.
Route sixty-six was born back in nineteen twenty-six.
And rail-lovin' folks hit the road lookin' fir kicks.
More than two thousand four hundred miles on which I'm bound.
While fireflies twinkle and wayfarers gather round.
From Chicago's deep-dish pizza and city lights blazin' bright,
To Santa Monica's shorelines and cool sagebrush night.
Roadsters and jean-clad bike riders roll under open sky.
Chasin' their destiny as tumbleweed peddle by.
Built atop wagon wheels and pearly paths to gold,
Route Sixty-Six stays rugged, rare, and bold.
I can hear wagon wheels creakin' with strain,
And horses thunderin' whilst Odin's ravens fly o'er the plain.
Through eight great states where frontier hospitality rings,
Motels, hand-cranked gas pumps, and grease-spoon diners greet all beings!
Illinois beckons us with skyscrapers tall as Yggdrasil's stone.
Museums and wonders that make me feel at home.
Missouri recalls ol' Twain's river tales,
Pony Express riders, and settlers tales!
Kansas stretches wheat fields and sunflowers blazin' bright,
While Thor's thunderbolt roll in hard overnight.
Texas makes me hungry with Tex-Mex fire in the air,
And spur-jinglin' cowboys wear jeans with Texan flair!
New Mexico pleases with red chili-peppers a gleamin'.
And sun-baked quirky deserts fit fer singin'!
Arizona's Monument Valley dances as proud as a warhorse.
With motorbikes and coyotes a-howlin' to the wolves of Fenrir's course.
Rough as raw ramblers, with wild eagles in the clouds at noon!
Where runestones mark the sacred wanderers' tune.
Then California calls from the farthest burnished west,
Where Gold Rush ghosts and Hollywood fevers never rest!
A Bifrost bridge where ambrosia and nectar hopes are addressed,
Takes me to those olden dreams per my request.
Route Sixty-Six was among the first freeways bracin' this land.
Linkin' lonesome towns with a big calloused brand.
Small businesses prospered and grew like nature's walkin' canes.
Bringin' smart folk together across the frontier's plains.
Wheels rolled cross-country, gritty, cool, seekin' somethin' new.
Motorcycles rumbled, singin' the highway blues.
Grandpa and Grandma in their sunfaded motorhome,
Lovin' this hardy highway wherever they roam.
Route Sixty-Six is the trail of my dreams.
The frontier is gleamin',
And Cali waits ahead, ol' American dreamin'.
Route Sixty-Six
One hundred years, so fearless and free-ridin'!
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