The Great American Road Trip, Part 2: The Golden Age of The Mother Road
Three scruffy bikers walked into a bar, boots dusty from the road and their eyes sharp as the edge of a Bowie knife. They weren’t looking for trouble—although trouble had a way of finding their kind. Outside, their Harley-Davidsons sat gleaming in the sun, lined up like stallions waiting for the next charge. They ordered drinks, the kind that burned going down, and pulled up chairs beside a group of locals who looked like they’d seen their fair share in this establishment. The air was thick with the scent of spilled whiskey and old leather. This was the kind of place where legends get told—or made.
Okay, it was me, Caleb, and Florian. It was seven in the morning, and we’d just walked into Shelly’s Route 66 Cafe, a little diner only a few hundred yards away from the Wagon Wheel Motel. We were just starting Day Three of our Route 66 trip, so neither of the boys looked too scruffy yet. But our bikes did seem to have an extra sparkle to them when I glanced through the window, a steaming cup of coffee in hand.
We found seats next to a few guys whose names I can’t remember, who said they built hot rods in Tulsa. We chatted about bikes and cars and told them about our trip across Route 66 while we waited for our eggs and bacon to arrive. They split before we finished eating and, to our surprise, secretly paid for our entire meal. The kindness of strangers never fails to surprise me on the road. Thanks, fellas!
Motorcycles & Gear
2024 Harley-Davidson Road Glides and Street Glide
Helmet: HJC RPHA 11 Pro, Arai Signet Q
Pants: Klim Outrider Pants, Klim K Forty 3 Riding Jeans
Jacket: Klim Induction, Klim Marrakesh, REV’IT! Overshirt Tracer Air 2
Boots: Klim Black Jak, Danner Logger, TCX Hero 2 WP
Gloves: Klim Dakar, Alpinestars
Luggage: Peak Design 45L Travel Backpack, Peak Design 30L Travel Backpack
Comm System: Cardo Packtalk Edge (seven of them)
Camera: Nikon Z6II, 24-70mm F2.8, 28-300 F3.5
What’s Up Uranus?
Our engines roared as we rolled past vibrant green trees and farmland. The air was thick, and the humidity wrapped around us like a hot, damp blanket. Missouri’s Route 66 twisted and dipped through rolling hills, where cows grazed lazily and red barns leaned gently with age.
It was the kind of riding that makes you slow down, not because you have to, but because you want to take it all in. Each mile brought small towns with characterful signs, gas stations frozen in time, and stretches of road that felt like they were made just for motorcycles. And then, just when we thought Missouri couldn’t surprise us anymore, we entered Uranus.
Of all the places to stop on the Mother Road, Uranus Fudge Factory was the one that cracked us up the most. We rolled in hot, parked next to a group of fellow Harley riders, and were immediately greeted with, “Hey! We’re RoadRUNNER subscribers!” Of course, we were flattered—and mildly concerned that they caught us slipping in Uranus unannounced.
While in Uranus, things got weird in the best possible way. The fudge was rich, the jokes were dirty, and the cold drinks were exactly what we needed. Every corner of Uranus had something cheeky to offer—gift shops packed with puns, statues begging for photo ops, and signs that made us roar with laughter.
After poking around Uranus for a while, we packed up our fudge and our dignity, and hit the road with sore cheeks—from laughing, of course. They say you never forget your first time in Uranus, and they’re right.
