I went on a 35-day road trip across North America to see what I could see. Day 1 took me from Santa Monica, California to Seligman, Arizona. Here’s what I saw.
On July 10, 2026, I started on a 35-day road trip across North America. I’d wanted to go on a road trip through the old Route 66 for two decades, and 2026 is the iconic highway’s 100 year anniversary. So I figured now was finally the time to see not just western America but to wend my way all the way to the Canadian province of Nova Scotia.
And that’s what I did.
I started at the western end of Route 66 in Santa Monica. I had a meticulously packed car full of road trip necessities and no companions. Just me, my thoughts, and whatever distractions I cared to indulge in.
I had wanted companions, but it turned out that most people don’t have 35 days in their schedule to traipse across a couple of nations. I never expected I’d be brave enough to tackle the US by myself, but it turned out I was. Which became an unexpected blessing.
Here’s what I found as braved the interstate highways of a very divided nation.
Road Trip Day 1 took me from California to Arizona mostly along I-40.
Eastern California and western Arizona along this stretch of highway flaunt a wide-open expanse of rather daunting and uninspiring scenery. If you’re a big fan of vast expanses of brownish dirt on what appears to be a rather Martian landscape, you are in for a treat.
Otherwise, you will understand why almost no one lives along this stretch of highway. You will find it a bit harder to understand what motivated the hardy travelers a century ago to pack up their jalopies and head west, other than a distinctively American sense of adventure.
I did take back roads through the Joshua tree country of the Mojave Desert. These giant succulents are world-famous wonders of nature, thriving in an ecosystem that might reasonably be described as rather hellish. That says something about both the resilience and determination of nature.
It was another plant entirely that dominated my day, though: rubber. I-40 through Arizona is a wondrous graveyard of tires. Tires litter the road so profusely that if tires were gold, there’d be prospectors out there 24/7 in spite of heat, dust, and aridity. Most of the tires are at least semi-thrashed and lounging by the side of the highway, flaunting their rubbery wares to all who pass by.
Occasionally, however, tires invade the lanes of the road itself, big and bumpy, and not yet entirely humbled by the highway. Often, Google would alert me to their presence in the road ahead. Not always, though. I got stuck between trucks, traveling at well over 70 miles per hour barreling directly toward a large and insouciant tire that I then rolled right over. The tire left its mark on my car. It tore at a protective plastic undercarriage thingy below my radiator.
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Fortunately, the undercarriage thingy was not necessary for the operation of my car. Unfortunately, no one in Seligman, Arizona had any interest whatsoever in assisting me with removing it. This was concerning, as it dragged along the ground, making a racket.
Seligman, Arizona
Seligman, Arizona is a small, almost town on the old Route 66. It acknowledges this with a motel and some signage. As well as something called the ‘Roadkill Cafe’, which presumably is a charming roadside diner. I can’t verify that since I didn’t venture in. I will assert that I fortunately didn’t find any dead animals on this particular stretch of road.
The people in Seligman gave every impression of being not entirely thrilled to be there. Not angry. Defeated perhaps. Maybe resigned is a better word.
I’m not going to state that Seligman is a prime example of good old-fashioned American poverty out in the middle of nowhere. But if it isn’t, it does a fairly good job of cosplaying at that role.
Seligman and environs almost, but not quite, scream ‘Look at what happened to us when an impersonal modern highway replaced the iconic old road!’
At any rate, there was nothing much in Seligman and certainly not anyone who had any interest in looking at a visitor’s vehicle on a Saturday. The AAA representative told me flatly that I would need to drive 80 miles to Flagstaff to find any assistance and everyone else I asked said the same thing.
Verdict: Life can be harsh in America. Even when you live among very few Americans.
Next up: Day 2: Arizona redeems itself. Thank you, Flagstaff.
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