I Walked Route 66—And Saw What Drivers Miss

There's a poetry to driving Route 66: Top down, wind in your hair, rock ‘n’ roll blaring through the radio, perhaps even finding yourself—or something like that—along the way. But 100 years after this iconic road was created, the romanticized squiggle of highway is even better known for something even more fantastic than its landscapes: a parade of roadside kitsch. There are neon motel signs in the shape of cowboys, “World's Largest” everything (even a belt buckle!), and billboards so punny you risk losing your eyes in the back of your head (take Uranus, Missouri, which welcomes drivers to pull over for a local candy shop where you can “get your fudge packed”).The El Vado Motel has been recently renovated inside, but the roadside sign hasn't changed a lick. GettyMost people choose to drive Route 66, but the city of Alburquerque has more urban miles than any other place in the country. Visit AlbuquerqueFlying down the length of this thing, then, means a helluva a lot of slamming on the brakes. So I decided to cut to the chase. I'd skip the car altogether. I would walk.If you’re going to walk a road so perfectly designed for vehicles, there is arguably no better place for it than Albuquerque, New Mexico. Albuquerque is home to the longest urban stretch of Route 66: 18 miles that run through city limits. (New Mexico is also the state that contains the greatest number of miles—535—of the cross-country route that stretches from Los Angeles to Chicago.) Once in ABQ, roadtrippers are usually forced to slow to 25 miles per hour, as retro diners and buzzing “Vacancy” signs commingle with stucco buildings draped in chili ristras. I wanted to go even slower. Could walking provide even greater reward?I set out to find out. With six hours to burn in good 'ol Albuquerque, and just a few essentials—a comfy pair of flats, a tote bag, and a Nalgene full of water—my trotters and I hit the Mother Road.At Good Medicine tattoo, the ‘kicks on 66’ are permanent (and entirely done by Albuquerque local artists). Megan SpurrellThe drive-in Dog House—known for chili cheese dogs at bargain prices—is also famously known as a Breaking Bad filming location. Visit Albuquerque6 Hours Walking Route 66Hour 1: Neon designs and Native American art11:45am: I begin on Route 66 and New York on the West side of the city. I’ll walk East, heading from charming Old Town toward Downtown and into Nob Hill. The sun is high and hot in early June—a bone-dry 85 degrees Fahrenheit—though the direct light is enough to make my forehead glisten. I see no fellow pedestrians (yet!).This section of the highway is rich with roadside motel signs, even if the neon hasn’t buzzed to life yet: The El Don (featuring a cowboy swinging a lasso atop a horse); the El Vado (which features a man in a Native American headdress); the Monterey (which has thoughtfully placed a “Sorry” before the “No Vacancy” portion of the sign). And of course, there are things that people who live in a city actually need: Car washes. Strip malls. A wedding reception hall (not Route 66-themed, unfortunately).11:57am: I pop into the post office. Maybe they'll have some commemorative stamps? Score: There’s a set that celebrates postal workers, another depicting bald eagles at every life stage from awkward chick to majestic icon of Americana, and one that is smattered with colorful Route 66 landmarks. I pay $12 for the latter. As I step back outside, a motorcycle purrs past, an American flag hoisted behind the rider's crown of white hair (which I can see, as he’s decided to forego a helmet: freedom!).The El Don Motel, currently underdoing what looks like a gut renovation, is one of several historic stays getting a new lease on life. Megan SpurrellNavajo naatsiilid (rainbow) pottery is known for its colorful painting, and horse hairs swirled into the clay. You'll find plenty of it at Rio Grende Trading. Megan Spurrell12:10pm: Route 66 curves and narrows into the two-lane Central Avenue that runs through the heart of ABQ. The sprawling Rio Grande Trading Post sits right on the corner to prove it. I’m lured in by Pendleton blanket lookalikes and highway-inspired magnets, but the real treasure lies just beyond: walls of Navajo sand paintings and glimmering showcases holding wampum beads and Navajo pearls.It turns out this is not just a random roadside shop but, allegedly, the largest purveyor of Native American art, selling to 800 stores across the US. I trust my source, a coiffed woman named Martha, whose neck is effortlessly holding the weight of a massive orange-spiny-oyster-and-silver necklace. On the second Thursday of every month, she hosts a live sale on Facebook for the shop's finest wares, she tells me. “This is like Disneyland for me,” says another employee, Greg, while walking me to a display of Navajo and Zuni artist Alex Sanchez’s silversmithing work. “I was a customer for over a decade, retired for one year, then decided retirement wasn’t for me: So I came looking for a job here,” Greg adds.12:45pm: My return to the road is short-lived: Duran’s pharmacy is just across the street. At the back of this pharmacy is a beloved restaurant that does New Mexico classics like red-and-green chile enchiladas and huevos rancheros. I’ve already made plans to come back tomorrow so I pursue the tchotchkes, buy a pocket saint (a purse-sized portrait of Saint Francis de Sales, the patron saint of writers), and keep walking.Duran's Pharmacy is business up front, party in the back—well, except for the excellent fudge, which you can purchase by the register. Megan SpurrellAt the back of Duran's is an IYKYK restaurant featuring fantastic versions of New Mexican specials like enchiladas with blue corn tortillas. Megan SpurrellHour 2: An infamous hot dog stand, and the chance to get inked1:01pm: I pass my first two fellow pedestrians! It feels momentous to me, but after glancing up several times it becomes clear they do not intend to acknowledge me. To my right, a life-size hiefer advertising a meat supplier is mounted onto a pole.1:05pm: Could that be… the Dog House? A small parking lot—where I have watched many a fight and drug deal go down in Breaking Bad—leads to a tiny hot dog hut. It is definitely the same Dog House. I walk up to the drive-in, expecting it to be just window service—but then I spot an entrance that looks more like a utility door, and step inside to find a cluster of colorful barstools and tables. I sit at the counter and order—what else?—a chili cheese dog. The menu only mentions footlongs, but it turns out you can get a sixer on request. Another lone diner at the counter tells me he works for the railroad, and always comes to the Dog House when he's in town from Phoenix.The vibes are good and the dogs are reasonable at the Dog House drive-in. GettyWe watch as the women in the open kitchen split every dog in half before placing them onto the griddle. It helps them cook evenly, one of them says over the sound of fat popping on the flattop. I bite into my dog, which is perfectly snappy, ensconced in a spongy bun holding the mess of chili and cheese and the jalapeños I requested. I like it enough to ask about buying a shirt, which are, sadly, all sold out. My total is under $5 for the souped-up dog, tip included.1:19pm: I walk only a few paces before I spot Good Medicine, a tattoo shop in a former fill station. It's closed today, but co-owner Elliot is there watering some plants. The interiors—checkered black-and-white tile floor, baby pink walls, and flash sheets of tattoos hanging over each station—are enchanting, even in the absence of buzzing tattoo guns. All seven of the artists who have stations here are originally from ABQ, he tells me. Some moved away, got inspired, and decided to come back; others never left. He tells me the Dog House is great for a trashy lunch, and I tell him I know. I just barely missed the Breaking Bad tour buses that tend to pull up and unload fans, he says. I flip through a binder of tattoo designs, even though I have exactly zero pieces of ink on my body and no imminent plans to change that. “Permanent Kicks on '66”, the window outside reads. Maybe next time.Just a couple blocks further is downtown, or as Elliot calls it, “party central”. The flashing sign of the new Arrive Hotel beckons me toward the action.An installation of alebrije sculptures have landed on Central Ave near the Arrive Hotel. This one by Adrián Xuana honors a xoloitzcuintli dog believed to guide spirits through the underworld. Megan SpurrellIf you're going to take the road on wheels, motorcyles are a popular choice—you still get the wind in your hair, and sharing breathing air with icons like the Kimo theater. Megan SpurrellHour 3: Art installations, vintage theaters, and the only place in America where Route 66 crosses itself1:41pm: After poking around the new Arrive—which I honestly wish I were staying at—I follow a couple other rubberneckers to an art installation just out front. It's part of a touring collection of Mexican sculptures titled Alebrijes & Nahuals. This one, by Adrián Xuana (San Martín Tilcajete, Oaxaca), is a towering, spindly incarnation of a xoloitzcuintli, those hairless Mexican dogs believed to guide spirits through the underworld. It has a big, open mouth, bent down toward the sidewalk. Its ears, tall and adorned with turquoise paint, are as big as the couple standing beside me, admiring it. “Something this beautiful can't last forever,” one of them says to the other.All it takes is a knowing nod from me, and suddenly we are chatting. “We're just hanging out today,” the woman tells me, sporting a Ringo Starr shirt from a concert they attended the previous night. “We recently retired, and finally learned what hanging out means,” her companion adds. I blink, and suddenly I am looking at his phone, at the photos of the classic cars he collects. A ‘57 Bel Air. A ’68 Chavell. Then he pauses to say a name I do know: The Dog House. “Did you pass it? I went to junior high behind that place, and we would jump the fence after school to go get hot dogs,” he says with a smile, turning to his partner. She has only been once before, despite being an ABQ local; he estimates he has been about 200 times. I peel off when they flag down the mailman, who appears to be a friend. Time moves differently when you're on two feet.2:00pm: I trod East, though I have their voices in my head. “Downtown has gotten seedy,” they said, “Not the kind of place you want to wander after dark.” But it's fine right now. Most people I meet throughout the day are surprised that I've passed up, say, the Hot Air Balloon Museum, or the BioPark, or a full day in Old Town, for my one day in the city. None have even considered walking Route 66 through the city. Being on two feet, I already notice more of what's around me. There are art deco theaters, like the 1947-built Kimo. There are nightclubs, and Flamenco music schools (big in Albuquerque!), and bars that people tell me to come back at night for, like Anodyne Pool Hall (I did return, and it was great).2:16pm: The corner of Central Ave and 4th St. SW is easy to breeze past, but meaningful to those who know what they're looking at: 4th used to align with the old Route 66, before the path was changed in 1937. This is the only place in America where the famous road “crosses itself”, I'm told by a man in the Route 66 Tourist Office, which has been set up on the corner for the centennial. He gives out maps and cold bottles of water, and likes to suggest period-appropriate music for road trippers (Woody Guthrie, for someone driving the original route; Buddy Holly for cruising past the neon signs at sundown). We spend longer than I realize chatting, which ends with me posing for a photo behind a cardboard cutout of a convertible. “Driving” 66!On 2nd St. a packed-to-the-brim thrift shop will restore any wanderer's love of a good find—with prices that, as promised, beat the internet. Megan SpurrellThe And Stuff retail shop in University Heights is a tidier approach to vintage, with entire Pyrex sets, plus new-made cowboy boots and more. Megan SpurrellHour 4: Vintage shopping and the lowdown3:23pm: I ogle vintage signs and storefronts downtown, but it's a few blocks before I find another worthy stopping point. A sandwich board points me off 66, a few paces down 2nd St. to a thrift store whose innards look like a garage sale. There are Louis L'amour western novels, vintage gym tees, retro Hot Wheels in their original packaging, and countless musical instruments. A sign out in the window cautions “No ICE Allowed”, while one inside promises to beat any price online. Quickly, I know it's one of those special places.Things have been tough around here, the owner Stue tells me as I rummage through instructional VHS tapes on learning to play the dulcimer. There are many more unhoused people since the pandemic; a huge ICE presence that citizens have tried their best to fight back against. He is not the first nor the last person today to tell me that shows like Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul were set in Albuquerque for a reason: The city has its share of social issues, but that's also why people look out for each other.He tells me it might be worth hopping on the bus to Nob Hill–things get sparser between here and there. When two people who run a mobile barber shop pop by to say hi to Stue, I make my purchase—a bottle opener that has “Made in West Germany” punched into the back—and carry on, despite the sideways winds outside ("it's windy season" he warned me).4:22pm: Stue was right, I think, as I pass under a highway overpass, past a hospital, and—in yet another Breaking Bad reference—by the Crossroads Motel so famously used as the “Crystal Palace” setting for shady dealings in the show (now for sale: Just a few mil!). Beyond, the vintage cowboy boots, cotton tees, and glassware at Heck Yeah catch my eye, but the threat of rain and minimal space in my carry-on keeps me moving.If you walk the road by day, make a point to cruise back down once the sun sets–the neon signs may or may not flick on for the night (worth a try, right?). GettyHour 5: Unexpected rain around the university4:49pm: I power-walk toward the promise of Nob Hill, which I'm told has a neon sign collection as hearty as the one near Old Town. The 66 Diner, which is as quintessentially of this drive as it gets, is closed on Tuesdays. I'll have to get my Frito Pie and Grasshopper shake some other time.It has begun to rain, so I am bopping from one store awning to the next. I can smell the rain on the sidewalk. I have reached the next section of shops, where abandoned deco storefronts have found new lives under new owners. This is where Stue thought I might want to hop off the bus and resume my journey. There's a pilates studio, a kava bar. University of New Mexico students pass me on the sidewalk, eyes downcast under their umbrellas bent against the fat droplets of rain (the campus is right on Central Ave). “It starts slow, then it goes real fast!” says a man who passes me, unhurriedly, in a soaked tee.The 66 Diner in Albuquerque packs in retro roadside nostalgia, from the decor to the 1950's-inspired menu. And yes, there is a jukebox inside, so start thinking about your pick. GettyIf you make it from Old Town to the “Greetings From Burque” mural, there is still plenty more ahead—but if your dogs are barking, it's a fitting place to hit the brakes. Megan SpurrellHour 6: “Stop Bagging, Start Bragging!”5:17pm: The rain beats down even harder, so I leave my hiding place across from a closed comic book store and dart in the direction of a colorful mural that reads “Burque” in postcard font. I wish I could stand there for a beat and take it in. On a sunnier day, I could keep going—I see the promise of more gift shops and taco stands and green-chile-slinging markets ahead—but the rain has won. I've seen plenty to feel satisfied.Albuquerque is, to engage in easy consonance play, quirky. Nobody has seemed too passionate on behalf of their home city, and yet everyone has offered their time when I've asked about it. Someone along the way mentioned an ongoing campaign, with its own website and podcast, encouraging residents to “Stop Bagging, Start Bragging Albuquerque”. The homepage describes ABQ as “the most-interesting mid-size city in America”. It's true that my walk has been nothing if not interesting: Exposure to gems and shells, turned into treasure at the trading post. Stumbling upon a TV-famous hot dog. Childhood stories of high-jinx. Metamorphosis of historic buildings. A metaphorical trailer full of Route 66 trivia that I will be unloading for years. Even here, on this mythic road, you can't escape the realities—and pains—of living in America in 2026. But when I link up with colleagues for dinners, all of us in town for a conference, I will know far more about this city than those who have spent their days in museums and restaurants. Every fact I share is be one bestowed upon me by an actual person—and I met many of them today. If one day I get the chance to drive the whole of the Mother Road, I should be so lucky to know any section this well.