Route 66: The First Great American Road Trip

Route 66 turns 100 this November.

For a lot of people, Route 66 means neon signs, old diners, classic cars, dusty highways, and that famous idea of heading west with nothing but a map, a car, and a little bit of hope.

But for some of us, travel has never felt that simple.

Some people dream about the open road from their couch, their doctor’s office, their bedroom, or the quiet place where fear has slowly convinced them the world is not really for them.

I know that feeling.

I know what it is like to want to go somewhere and still wonder if you will fit. If you will be comfortable. If people will stare. If your body can handle it. If the trip will be worth the stress. If it would just be easier to stay home.

And staying home can start to feel safe.

But it can also get lonely.

That is why I am doing this.

On June 14, I’m leaving Orlando and driving across the country for 100 days to document Route 66 during its centennial year. The project is called Route 66: The First Great American Road Trip, and it is built around one goal:

To make the road feel alive for the people who have not yet had the courage, health, confidence, money, or opportunity to see it for themselves.

This will be an 11-episode documentary-style travel series following Route 66 from Chicago to Santa Monica, covering each state one by one.

Illinois. Missouri. Kansas. Oklahoma. Texas. New Mexico. Arizona. California.

Small towns. Neon signs. Historic motels. Roadside diners. Local businesses. Forgotten stretches of highway. Theme parks. Oddball attractions. Classic Americana. And the people who still keep the Mother Road alive.

But this will not just be another Route 66 travel series.

A lot of people can point a camera at neon signs.

I want to tell this story as someone who understands what it feels like to be pulled toward the open road while fear is still sitting in the passenger seat.

I am a plus-size traveler. I have spent years thinking about the things other travelers do not always have to think about. Will I fit? Will I be judged? Will I be able to walk it? Will the seat work? Will the room be comfortable? Will I embarrass myself? Will I need help? Will people understand?

Those questions can shrink your world if you let them.

This project is my way of pushing back.

I want to show people that travel does not have to be perfect to be worth doing. You do not have to be fearless to go. You do not have to have the perfect body, perfect confidence, perfect health, or perfect life before you are allowed to see something beautiful.

Sometimes you just have to start the car.

That is what Route 66 has always represented to me: movement, possibility, reinvention, and the belief that something better might be waiting a few miles down the road.

And if I can make this road feel real enough, welcoming enough, and possible enough for even one person sitting at home thinking, “Maybe I could go too,” then this project will have been worth it.