The Mystique of Route 66
The March SAGE Challenge focused on the celebration of Route 66. We didn’t get a lot of entries this month, but the ones we got were awesome!
The city of Albuquerque is joining the nation in recognizing the historic and well…fun…aspects of old Route 66. The kick off to the event nationally is April 30, 2026. Low Riders, artwork and events are popping up from Illinois to California. (For more information on events being planned, click here.)
The March SAGE CHALLENGE was: Write a poem or story – fiction or non-fiction – less than 800 words, that ties into the history and culture surrounding Route 66. Below you will find some interesting insights and tales submitted our members. For more information about them click on their name to view their webpage.
Authors Story Title
Rachel Bate Wild & Free
Suzanne Stauffer Route 66
Wild & Free
By Rachel Bate
Hopped into my SUV
Going to see
Mother Road
Feeling wild and free
Goodbye urban Chicago
Taking it easy these 2,448 miles
Ready to up the mileage
On my brand new
Ole’ Billie Bronco
Thinking about the Great Depression
When Mother Road gave hope
And a solid destination
For those
In search of work
A family to start
Following their dreams
And aspirations
Oh, by golly
My daydreaming is changing
These landscapes
that I behold
Are inconceivable
truly touching my soul
Going through
All these eight great states
Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, & Oklahoma
Texas, New Mexico, Arizona,
and finally, California
My EZ66 Guide for Travelers
It is on my dashboard
Planning on stopping
at many quirky locations,
Historic landmarks, diners
On my extra-long
Birthday vacation
Full of extreme jubilation
Contemplating
Billie Bronco,
“What will be my next
Historic Route 66 situation?!”
BAM!
Detour
Route 66
Suzanne Stauffer
(Author of Fried Chicken Castañeda — Artemesia Publishing, 2025)
“Lucky you saw this in this fog,” Dick said, pulling up to the Tiki Restaurant. “It got thick pretty quickly. We need to stop.”
“I saw the sign’s Sputnik lights. They just … appeared,” I replied. “I wonder what it cost them to replicate that sign.”
A carved tiki pole greeted us just inside the entrance. Dick ran a hand across it. “Feels like real wood. Must have cost a pretty penny.”
A waterfall ran down a faux rock face into a pool, where several koi swam. The walls were covered with the usual flotsam. The Beach Boys sang about the attractions of “California girls” over the sound system.
“I didn’t know places like this still existed,” I said.
“Neither did I. Looks like we lucked out. Now, if the food’s as good as the design…”
We walked into the bar. The women wore sheath dresses and had bouffant hairdos. The crew cut and pompadoured men were in suits and ties, except the bartenders, who wore bright Hawaiian shirts.
“Do you think this is a theme night?”
“Must be. It’s the centennial of Route 66 this year,” Dick shrugged.
“Help you folks?”
“Table for two,” Dick said.
“There’ll be a wait. Coupla’ seats at the end, if you wanna’ drink.”
“Sure thing.” Dick guided me toward seats next to an older couple. She wore a print dress with a gathered skirt, her grey hair in tight curls. The thin strands of the man’s grey hair were brushed over his balding scalp. He wore an ill-fitting suit and tie.
“What’ll ya’ have?” The bartender asked.
“It has to be mai tais, right?” Dick looked at me. I nodded. We find them cloying, but when in Rome …
“We’re the Prices. I’m Glen and this is my wife, Irma.”
“We’re the Smiths,” Dick replied. “And, to make it worse, I’m Dick and this is my wife, Jane.” We all laughed.
“You folks goin’ far?” Glen asked.
Dick shook his head. “Home to Albuquerque, but we got lost in the fog.”
“Fog? Musta’ come up after we stopped. We’re on our way to Long Beach.”
“We’re visiting our grandkids,” Irma interjected excitedly. “We’re taking them to Disneyland for its tenth anniversary! And that new SeaWorld, in San Diego.”
“Our son has a job at Douglas Aircraft,” Glen added. “He’s an engineer. Got his degree on the GI Bill.”
“Vietnam?” Dick asked.
“Korea. Enlisted toward the end, but stayed in long enough to qualify. He’s too old for the draft now. Besides, he’s married with kids.”
These people had really done their research.
The drinks arrived as the Beach Boys began begging Rhonda for help. Dick grimaced at the ceramic tiki cup. He took a sip. His eyes grew wide.
“Wow! This is the real thing. Careful, honey. It’s pretty potent!” He was right. Nothing too sweet about it. We sipped carefully. I did have to walk to the table, after all.
“Table’s ready, folks,” a waiter called. We followed him to a high-topped booth. He set menus on the table.
“Another mai tai?”
“Not for me.”
“Sure,” Dick said.
“Be back with that drink and for your orders.”
We perused the menu.
“How about the pupu platter, Jane? Got a little of everything.”
“Great idea! Let’s do it.”
The waiter returned and took our order. While we waited, I eavesdropped on the adjoining booth.
“Soon as we get to Vegas, we head for the Flamingo. Ann-Margret’s there,” a male voice said.
“Va-va-va-voom!” added a second male. “And then the showgirls at the Stardust!”
“Don’t forget, you promised we could see Phyllis Diller,” a female complained.
“And I wanna see Frankie! He’s at the Riviera,” another demanded.
“Don’t worry,” first male said. “We got two whole weeks.”
These people were really in character!
Sinatra was assuring us that “It was a very good year” when our food arrived on a carved monkey pod platter. When nothing was left of the eggrolls, crab Rangoon, spare ribs, beef skewers, chicken wings, and coconut shrimp except a few bones and skewers, Dick signaled for the check.
“You take cards?”
“Yes, sir. BankAmericard, Diner’s Club, American Express.” Everyone was staying in character!
Dick handed me the check. “Have a look.” The drinks were a dollar each and the pupu platter four, making a total of seven dollars. Sales tax was only three percent!
“How do they stay in business with these prices?”
“Probably charge through the nose for the theme night.”
Dick handed the waiter a ten. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you, sir! And come again!”
I looked back at the restaurant through the thinning fog as we drove west on Route 66. The Sputnik lights on the sign winked out, just as suddenly as they had flashed on. Where had the fog taken us – and when?