THE MOTHER ROAD FROM THE GREAT LAKES TO THE PACIFIC OCEAN OLD ROUTE 66 NEARLY FORGOTTEN TICKET TO RIDE.

Byline: Story by Brent Hopkins, Photos by David Sprague -- Daily News

This is the road that brought the Joads from Oklahoma, where Elvis stopped for chili fries, where mom and dad came west looking for new lives.

It was the link, immortalized in song, between Chicago and L.A., more than 2,000 miles all the way from the Great Lakes to the Pacific Ocean. Conceived in 1926 and finally paved straight through in 1938, it gave life to dusty small towns and forged America's relationship with the automobile. Books, movies, television, that maddeningly catchy tune popularized by Nat ``King'' Cole, but most of all, personal experience cemented the route's place in national lore.

``It's postwar car culture in its most innocent guise -- the space race, the idea that technology could lead us out of any problem,'' said Matt Roth, the Automobile Club of Southern California's archivist. ``There was no sense of the automobile as a contributor to air pollution, no discussion of sprawl, just this innocent talk about the '50s.

``People associate Route 66 with nostalgia before anything bad came in -- cars with big fins, drive-in restaurants, technological optimism, naivete about the modern world, a '56 Chevy at Henry's Drive In ... and you can't forget the song.''

No other byway -- not Highway 1, not US 99, certainly not anything with the word ``Interstate'' in it -- means quite what Route 66 did to the people who dreamed of the changes it offered, took its curves, remembered their drive time on its long stretches. Quirky motels, greasy meals, junkyards, breathtaking vistas and milkshakes so cold and thick you almost needed a snow shovel to break through their cool veneer filled the way.

The government started killing this weathered passage, dubbed ``The Mother Road'' by famed writer John Steinbeck, 50 years ago this month with the passage of the Federal Aid Highway Act. Fearful of the menace of Cold War and atomic-armed communism, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed it into law to ensure that troops, food and missiles could easily move across the country, unencumbered by stoplights and intersections. Within 20 years, modern freeways would bypass most of Route 66's sections and by 1984, the feds decommissioned the last stretch.

But Route 66 will not die. Robbed of its passengers by megahighways, consigned to the realm of nostalgia by federal planners, the old road has been worn down, neglected and sometimes forgotten altogether. Though many of its landmarks are gone or just poor reminders of the glory days, 80 years of good will cannot be easily stamped out.

Once-fading rest stops have taken on new life; money has poured in to spruce up storied sites. Enough of the old charm remains that an adventuresome driver can easily drive the local stretch from Victorville to Santa Monica in a day and see sites that built the myths of Americana -- and keep them alive now.

Relics of those bygone days line the walls at the California Route 66 Museum in Victorville -- old neon signs, toys and automotive castoffs from travelers who motored west. Jeff Ford, who volunteers at the museum, knows the stories and the road well. He took it himself when he moved out from Kentucky, long after freeway bypasses began stripping away the life from the storied stretch.

``We get people from all over the world in here,'' Ford said. ``That lady over there's from France. We get Germans, all kinds of Europeans. I think this goes back to their idea of what America's supposed to be like.''

That America, with its 25-cent gasoline and ``Leave it to Beaver'' ways, only exists in memories and museums, but traces of it remain all along the route. Not far away at the Green Spot Motel, owner Hemant Patel is trying to bring some of it back.

Motor hotels like his sprang up all along the route -- quick, convenient places drivers could pull into and relax after a long day's journey. They put up extravagant signs, adorned their walls with quirky decor, promised ice-cold air conditioning and swimming pools for the kids.

The Green Spot, just a bit off the slice of the route that's called Seventh Street in Victorville, used to be a fun oasis for celebrities and weary everymen alike. It had a bar in which you could drink away the stress of the road, a little stage for entertainment and quaint, private rooms.

When Interstate 15 came in, the once-charming Green Spot became a popular site for prostitutes and meth cooks to ply their trades. Patel, who bought it five years ago, has been in a long process of trying to restore it to its former snazziness. It's still far from swanky, but a walk around its courtyard evokes the prototypical motel of years gone by.

``This used to be a big place for the movie stars -- they'd come here and go to the restaurant or put on shows on the stage,'' Patel said. ``When we bought it, it was all drug dealers, but we got rid of them. We're making it better again.''

Once through Victorville, there's no choice but to take the modern interstate through a long stretch of desert; it supplanted the original pavement long ago. Right into the Cajon Pass, into the community of Oak Hills, you can fly alongside the tractor-trailers and carloads of speeding tourists beating their way back from Vegas. But not far off the freeway, on Mariposa Road, another outpost remains.

The Summit Inn's claim to fame is that a young Elvis Presley once dined there and its menu looks like it would have definitely suited the truck driver turned King of Rock 'n' Roll. Though it has modern nods, such as ostrich burgers and sweet potato fries, the old restaurant hasn't changed much since Presley's day.

``We're just an old, original diner and people like that,'' said Joanie Blackburn, who got her first real job working at the place decades ago and now serves as its manager. ``We've got a grill from '52 that's original, so of course, our food's gonna taste better. We still taste like the '50s in here.''

And it still sounds like it, too. Apparently on his visit, the date of which remains unclear, Presley became enraged that the jukebox had none of his tunes in its selection. At some point, the management remedied that, including his 45s in its stacks.

With mountains dusted with snow to the west side of the freeway and all of Southern California spread out below, it's hard not to get caught up in the sense of amazement that initial travelers must have felt. Not far down the road, just after the truck scales, modern drivers can detour off to some of the original pavement rolled over by Oldsmobile Special 60 Club Coupes and Ford Tudor Sedans more than 60 years ago. Not punctuated by huge, green road signs or people rushing past at 80 mph, it's got a wandering, rustic feel rarely found on current highways.

Following this down the hill and back onto the 15, then on into the edges of San Bernardino, it's a long stretch of flashes of nostalgia intermixed with modern blight. There's not a lot of charm to be found here, as it hooks over onto Foothill Boulevard for the long run through the Inland Empire. It's hot, there's a lot of stoplights, there's not a lot to see -- it's enough to make you want to hop back on the freeway.

But then, sort of out of nowhere, there's the Wigwam Motel. It no longer has its iconic ``Do It In A Teepee'' sign, but if travelers are so inclined, they can still do so in the 15 refurbished rooms. Another Patel family bought the property several years back and has fixed it up, making it an inviting place to stop once again.

The strange site, opened in 1949 as part of a national chain of Wigwams, perfectly encapsulates the weird, old vibe of the road. By the time travelers got as far as Rialto, they'd driven so much and so hard, this kooky oasis seemed like the California dream, writ large in concrete and steel.

``People headed out from the East Coast, looking for opportunity,'' said Manoj Patel, the owners' son and part-time manager. ``There weren't even paved roads this way before this.''

The Wigwam's got nothing in the strangeness department, however, on the Aztec Hotel, further along in Monrovia. With its boldly carved walls and exotic murals, it would look out of place just about anywhere, but in the sleepy old downtown area, it sticks out even more.

Designed by Robert Stacy-Judd, an architect enchanted with Aztec and Mayan cultures, the place was weird on the day it opened, and time has managed to make it even stranger. Pool sharks can play billiards in the Brass Elephant Bar, identified by the immense brass elephant head above the door. Old barber chairs and an unused switchboard sit in the lobby as gorgeous paintings spill across the walls.

Jorge Macias Castaneda D'Soria, who's hidden his face in the 23 murals he's restored from old black-and-white photos, also sings opera weekly in the 1925-era hotel. His wife, Jewel Myers, accompanies him on piano and manages the business.

It's also quite popular with psychics, who seek out the aura of a woman who died in Room 120. Before the current owners came, Marilyn Monroe used to lay her platinum locks on its pillows, around the same time John Wayne ate in the restaurant and Bing Crosby wandered through the opulent lobby.

``It was a quiet, secluded place where they could go and not be surrounded by looky-loos,'' Myers said. ``Later, it went down so much that the military personnel weren't even allowed inside. It was so nasty.''

But it's nasty no more as Macias Castaneda works his way through the rooms. Eventually, owner Kathie Reece-McNeill plans to style each room after each of its famous occupants, along with a Route 66-theme bedroom.

On a hot day, this long drive down Foothill becomes draining pretty quickly. Dotted by ample anonymous quick-stops and convenience stores, there are plenty of places to drink up -- none with offerings so cold and so refreshing as the Fair Oaks Pharmacy & Soda Fountain in South Pasadena.

By this point, the route has twisted through Colorado Boulevard and down to the Arroyo Parkway. Like many of the stops along the way, the pharmacy's full of trinkets and manufactured remembrances, but its whirring blenders dispense the coldest, sweetest concoctions imaginable. After a long day behind the wheel, its frosty metal cups, filled with rich vanilla desserts, seem pretty close to heaven.

Its roots stretch back to 1915, but like the other spots, it's enjoyed extensive renovation to bring it back to the packed tourist spot it's become. Even the soda fountain has a Route 66 link, purchased whole from the McGee Pharmacy in Joplin, Mo., and transported to the present location to conjure up memories of the old America that's largely faded away.

From there on in, it's a quick shot through the 110 Freeway and down Santa Monica Boulevard nearly all the way to the ocean. The Formosa Cafe where movie tough guy Humphrey Bogart used to dine with sultry Lauren Bacall; Barney's Beanery, where rock singer Janis Joplin drank her last drink before dying; and Hollywood Memorial Park all pop up along the route, which ranges from grimy to posh, depending on ZIP code.

Technically, the Mother Road comes to an end at the intersection of Lincoln and Olympic boulevards, but many drivers will head a few blocks back to the Santa Monica Pier, which provides an awfully pretty final photograph to finish off the album.

Jan McCallum, a Durham, N.C., mom, did the drive from St. Louis to Santa Monica in eight days. With her sister, Kim Crawford, riding shotgun in her Toyota Prius, she slept in a Wigwam, cruised with some bikers and loved each mile, no matter how bumpy or backwater.

It was just like the car rides they remembered from their childhood decades before. Smudged perhaps, worn around the edges, but at its heart, an essential part of America.

``For me, it was about getting away and seeing a different time and place,'' McCallum said. ``It really takes us back to the things we remember.''

brent.hopkins(at)dailynews.com

818-713-3738

CAPTION(S):

7 photos, 2 maps

Photo:

(1 -- 4 -- color) Oh, the lure of the open road - even one that's been bypassed by modern-day freeways. Two motorcyclists zoom along old Route 66 between Victorville and San Bernardino, above, as, top center, Summit Inn manager Joanie Blackburn delivers some burgers in Oak Hills near the Cajon Pass.

(5) The Wigwam Motel in Rialto, once an exciting stopping-off point for weary travelers, after many years is open for business again.

(6) The California Route 66 Museum and Visitors Center in Victorville features an exhibit of vintage car parts that were sold along the route for cars that weren't as reliable as they are today.

David Sprague/Staff Photographer

(7) This Automobile Club of Southern California crew, with its 1915 truck, posted Route 66 signs along the road.

Courtesy of the Automobile Club of Southern California archives

Map:

(1) An undated map, probably published sometime in the late 1930s after the full length of Route 66 had been paved, shows the new road, at bottom of map, snaking through Arizona from Flagstaff to Seligman.

Courtesy of the Automobile Club of Southern California archives

(2) Old Route 66