This journey began with a calling
It became something much more.
Over the next 2,400 miles, Route 66 introduced me to places I never expected, people I'll never forget, and moments that changed the way I see the world.
This isn't a guide to the Mother Road.
It's a collection of the memories I brought home.
Through photographs, journal entries, and the quiet moments in between, I hope these places become a little memorable to you, too.
Sometimes the beginning of a journey isn't the first mile you drive. It's the moment you realize you're ready to leave.
This was mine.
On my last evening in Chicago, I stood on the shore of Lake Michigan and watched the city slowly disappear into the sunset. I quietly thanked it for everything it had given me.
The architecture taught me to notice the details — the history hidden in every building, the stories held within every corner. The cold winters taught me to appreciate stillness. The summers by the lake gave me moments I’ll carry with me forever.
I will miss Chicago.
But as the sun set behind the skyline, I knew it was time for something new.
Route 66 was calling.
The Mother Road
Illinois
June 23, 2016
Distance Travelled: 0
“Chicago over everything ”
June 23, 2016 — First Day on Route 66
I left Chicago with a knot of excitement that grew as the city fell behind me. For a while, everything felt exactly as I'd imagined: familiar, efficient—a clean edge between the city and the open road.
Illinois felt like an introduction.
It surprised me.
I expected faded motels, neon signs, and the kind of roadside Americana I'd seen in books and movies. Instead, I found Abraham Lincoln everywhere. Parks. Streets. Museums. Even a town named after him.
"Lincoln's Land," they call it.
At first, I smirked. Then I realized Lincoln, Illinois felt less like a stop along Route 66 and more like an afterimage from a history book come to life.
I spent most of the day wandering through town.
There was an old-world pride that made even the quiet corners feel cinematic.
I passed a museum façade, walked among bronze statues, and eventually stumbled upon the world's largest covered wagon.
Of course, Lincoln stood at the front, book in hand.
It was monumental and a little absurd.
Not a prop, either—they told me it was fully functional.
The sheer ridiculousness of it made me laugh out loud.
It was earnest.
And somehow, that made it unforgettable.
Looking back, I realize I was rushing through the very thing I had come to experience.
Maybe every great road trip begins by teaching you to slow down.
I still wanted the neon, the forgotten diners, and the weathered roadside attractions I'd imagined for months.
But Illinois had already given me something I wasn't expecting:
The reminder that the best parts of a journey are usually the ones you never planned for.
End of Illinois
Missouri
June 23-24, 2016
distance travelled: 178 miles
“The road hadn’t become Route 66 yet - it was still teaching me how to slow down”
Missouri was… interesting.
I still can’t quite put my finger on it. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was the water. Maybe it was just a feeling I couldn’t explain.
But something told me I wasn’t meant to stay long.
I did make a few stops along the way. One of my favorites was an old general store tucked away along the route. It was closed, but something about it pulled me in. It had that classic Midwestern cabin feeling — weathered wood, quiet surroundings, and a Route 66 sign carved right into the post.
It felt like a piece of history waiting for someone to remember it.
Missouri was also where I began noticing the forgotten relics of civilization — the abandoned buildings, fading signs, and places that time seemed to have left behind.
But that’s where things started to feel different.
Whenever I stopped to take a photo, people would stare.
Not the curious kind of stare. Not the “who is this traveler passing through?” kind.
It was more like, “What are you doing here?”
It reminded me of those movies where a stranger rolls into a small town, and someone standing outside their house watches them a little too closely.
So, naturally… I kept driving.
Day turned into night. Miles kept passing. And eventually, Missouri became a place in my rearview mirror.
Some places welcome you with open arms.
Some places become part of the story because you passed through them.
End of missouri
Kansas
June 24, 2016
distance travelled: 594 miles
“I don’t think were in Kansas anymore”
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
Well… Route 66 is only 13 miles long through Kansas, so I barely had time to figure that out.
Looking back through my photos and journal, I realized I barely wrote anything about Kansas. Maybe it was because Missouri had me anxious to keep moving. Maybe it was because Kansas—the shortest stretch of Route 66 at just 13 miles—passed before I had time to settle into it.
But I do remember the wide-open plains.
There was a real farmland aura to Kansas that reminded me of Illinois. The endless fields, open skies, and quiet roads felt strangely familiar.
This was the real middle of the West.
Before I knew it, I was already crossing into the next state.
Sometimes a place isn't remembered because of what happened there, but because of how quickly it slipped away.
End of kansas
Oaklahoma
June 24-25th, 2016
distance travelled: 851 miles
“Bring on the broadway tunes”
Oooooooklahoma!
The entire time I was driving through the state, I couldn't stop thinking about the musical. I barely know the lyrics, but that didn't stop me from singing, "Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain..." over and over.
I'm such a theater kid.
After a five-hour nap at a truck stop, I was finally well rested and ready to keep driving. I crossed into Oklahoma just as the sun was rising. The morning light spilled over a farm that seemed to stretch forever, an endless sea of clouds, cows, and open sky.
It was beautiful.
Oklahoma was also the first place where I wasn't just reminded of my mom—I felt reassured that she was with me.
It's easy to get lost when you're traveling back roads with little to no cell service and a curious mind. Somewhere along the way, I took a wrong turn. Instead of panicking, I kept driving until I came across a sign that simply read:
Warsaw.
That one word stopped me.
Warsaw was my mom's hometown in Poland.
Whether it was coincidence or something more, it felt like exactly what I needed to see in that moment. It was as if the road was quietly reminding me that I wasn't making this journey alone.
Looking back, Oklahoma was about nature, stillness, and reassurance.
It was also where I realized this trip was becoming something much bigger than I had planned.
It was never just a road trip.