Since the crux of the Motor Tour is to travel old, beaten down pavement and see old businesses that reflected the history and economic condition of America, perhaps it’s appropriate to start the second day of the journey in the rotting parking lot of an abandoned Wal-Mart. In the shadow of a sparkling new Wal-Mart SuperCenter. The circle of life, or something trite like that.

Let’s start with the two opposing schools of thought:

1.) Start the morning strong and no matter what ills you run into the rest of the day and you’ll still enjoy the journey.

2.) Start the day too strong and everything else is just a letdown.

Depending on how you feel, beginning the second day of the tour in Atlanta could either be a brilliant move or a harrowing mistake.

Atlanta is simply the most gorgeous little town on Route 66 in Illinois. The highway curves onto Arch Street and past a collection of older downtown stores that makes the National Register of Historic Places wail with envy. Just restoring the existing businesses would have been enough to secure the village a place on Route 66’s All-Star list, but add the old museum and its clock tower, the cute corner park and old Logan County Fair ticket booth, an old grain elevator museum, and add a giant retired lumberjack/hot dog salesman from Cicero to do round the clock surveillance and you have an amazing combination of pure awesome. Atlanta’s always been our favorite Route 66 community, and it just keeps getting better.

Inside the under-restoration Palms Grill the tourists were greeted with water, coffee, lemonade and a tasty cookie decorated with the symbol of Atlanta: the yellow smiley face painted on the omnipresent water tower. Visitors were directed to the Atlanta Country Store to the north where a gift shop awaited featuring t-shirts bearing the faces of both Tall Paul and the grinning water tower; the latter was a must-buy.

Many of the aisles bore empty peg hooks, and the tiny store seemed to be lacking a lot of essentials. In a rough economy, it appeared that the small town market was being battered heavily, and a stack of flyers at the checkout begging Atlanta residents to buy “at least some” of their groceries in town each week confirmed this. With Lincoln and Bloomington so close, you can understand the temptation to head to a Schnucks or other big name supermarket, but I get the feeling that a little more negligence by northern Logan County will cause a lot of unforeseen heartache down the line.

Over at the Hawes Grain Elevator Museum, an old man waited patiently…just in case. The stop wasn’t on the agenda, but he figured someone might float by, and our group did just that. After a brief tour inside he showed off the main engine outside and promised he’d attempt to fire up the old gal. His immediate success produced a load roar that attracted several other gawkers, quickly scuttling over to investigate the ancient noisemaker and admire the power of the machine; boys and their toys.

Our tour was noticeably smaller as we rolled along the west frontage of I-55, losing the freeway amidst the forestry of Funks Grove. The sirup stop was optional, but few zoomed past the modest entrance without stopping to pay homage to one of the Mother Road’s most unique landmarks. Business was brisk inside the small shack, Route 66 shirts and books, bags of candy and bottles of sweet all flying off the shelves as the visitors scrambled to take home at least a small piece of the Funk (and aid their breakfasts in the days to come.)

Throughout the day we would find ourselves continually running into the group of classic cars that traveled together, and at Funks Grove some of the hoods popped up and a number of tourists took the time gather under the canopy to hide from the sun and gawk at the construction of yesteryear. Back on the road and heading north to the Twins, another group of antiques passed by, traveling America’s Main Street southbound, adding to the fun of it all.

After a quick stop at Terri Ryburn’s gas station restoration in the Normal neighborhoods of the Twins (again, an optional stop that was visited by most) it was onto Towanda and the midday eats. Kicks on 66 played host, and the choice was a cheap (and delicious) box lunch or ordering from the very affordable (and delicious) menu. Service was good and the day was perfect for eating outside between the old two-lane and the later four-lane alignments. Hopefully no townies planned to patronize their village’s most northern business that day; there wasn’t a free seat in the house.

We snuck out of town to the south in an attempt to grab a look at the Duncan Manor mansion (not willing to pony up the time…or the cash…to tour the inside today) but our cars were not even allowed down the lane, with tour traffic directed further down the county road and individuals being bussed into the festivities. Turning around, we stopped back at the Schenk family garage on the north end of Towanda. The family’s garage was filled with Mother Road memorabilia and fun, unique gifts, and the rarely talked about stop, unknown to many (including us,) was a fun surprise. Word of advice: if you’re ever setting up a shrine to Route 66, splurge and get the black and white tiled floor. It totally makes the presentation.

I threw my hands up in celebration. “It’s open!”

The gate was open!

We’d walked down Lexington’s Memory Lane several time, but never cruised it. Scandalous, I know. At this point we were without company on the tour, behind a few and ahead of most, and our two car caravan had the old 1926 pavement to ourselves as we entered the open gate to the north and slowly traveled into Lexington, the classic billboards and looming grain elevators beckoning. A bumpy ride, but we wouldn’t want it any other way.

The storm clouds started to assemble at Pontiac, forcing us to beat a hasty retreat from the Illinois 4 marker on Ladd Street after getting our passport stamped. Most of the tour hadn’t reached the seat of Livingston County yet, but the museum was starting to get busy with couples wandering down the rows of cases, checking out various Hall of Fame members, while several other groups huddled towards the back talking about highlights of motor tours past and present. We ducked to the back to check out the giant Route 66 mural, obscured slightly by temporary fences keeping us from being harmed by the elevator construction at the old firehouse, and then we moved further south for a glimpse of the county courthouse. The last time we visited Pontiac was on the Sunday of the Red Carpet Corridor, and downtown Pontiac was far busier on that day then on this weekend when it seemed not a soul was milling under the darkening clouds hovering over the city. Perhaps they were still spooked from the tornado that trampled through just to the northwest one day prior.

South of Odell, the weather turned eerie.

It probably should have been raining. Grey clouds turned black, and sunglasses practically welded to our heads after two days of blinding sunlight quickly became pointless.

But no rain.

This was good news for the happy couple. They were gone by the time we reached the south of Odell, off with their wedding party on a cruise to Gardner and a photo op at the two-celled jail. They had gotten engaged on Route 66 and with the help of John and Lenore Weiss booked the 1932 Standard Oil Station as the site where they would exchange vows. Many of the cars from the ceremony remained there as a trolley bus had shuttled most of the onlookers north for the rest of the fun, but there were plenty of room for the few tourists who cruised in ahead of most of (what was left of) the pack. Running into the group of classics again, we investigated the garage area (finding a stack of chairs left from the wedding ceremony) and a red carpet that was most likely used for the vows and not the Route 66 promotion offered by Pontiac Tourism one month prior.

North of Odell, it started pouring.

The drizzle began as we sat by the old pedestrian tunnel in Odell. We lost the other half of our party (the parents) as they sought to return south at a decent time, and as we pressed on to Dwight the skies opened up and the Rain-X coating our windshield became useful. While the water fell down the sun shined down at an angle from the south, but no rainbow could be found.

By Dwight we were done with the wet stuff.

Having never taken the Dwight bypass, we did that, and now we never have to again. It got us to Gardner early and after we passed the happy couple (and their trolley bus hot in pursuit) as they returned to Odell we had ample time to check out the two-celled jail (as the decorators took down the ribbons and bows from the newly minted couple’s visit) and get our passport stamped at the Gardner Chronicle Antique shop. A few people floated in and out, but , and by the time we reached Wilmington and Camz Gift Shop it was clear that most of the tour was either running far behind or had gone their separate ways.

What began with a bang on Saturday morning whimpered out late in the PM on Sunday, and as we snacked on our burgers at the Launching Pad a small group of tourists – mostly Association board members and VIPs – surrounded us. It was a quiet, relaxing end; one can hardly wish for a raging party to wrap the weekend up when, in effect, the entire weekend was a party all up and down the Mother Road in Illinois.

Besides, when you boil it down, thirty-one years after the State of Illinois tore down the reassurance signs of a stretch of pavement a large group of admirers gathered for the nineteenth time to celebrate its significance and have a blast. At a time when the price of gas is nothing to scoff at.

No matter how the end fizzles out, that has to make you happy.