All of 66 is behind me now. We finished the last little bit to the intersection of Ocean Ave. and Santa Monica Blvd., then walked to the end of Santa Monica Pier, just to be thorough. A bit of an anticlimax, really. Economically speaking, the businesses along old 66 in Los Angeles don't need nostalgia to make a living. Business is already good enough. Were it not for the periodic signs

there'd be no reason to suspect you were following The Main Street of America. And our arrival at the termination of 66 went unacknowledged by any signs. It just stops. Later, while walking along Santa Monica's palisades for a look-see, we found a plaque commemorating the dedication of 66 as The Will Rogers Highway. It's a small plaque, low to the ground in the park running alongside Ocean Ave. Not something you'd likely notice unless looking for it, as were we.

And that's it. Done. Next journey, please.

Well, there's all these rolls of film to process, scan to Photo-CD and make digitally pretty. There's all these journal entries to edit and reformat for the website. There's all the essays and articles waiting to pop out of my notes and memory.

And I'm more than half-tempted to do the whole thing over again and write an exquisite road guide to 66. The existing guides leave plenty margin for improvement and the market is by no means small. In fact, it's growing at a pretty good clip, even if the folks in Santa Monica haven't noticed and aren't participating.

I'm tired and rambly. I'm going to bed now and sleep this trip off after reading more Kerouac. More than half-way through On the Road. Hopefully, Kerouac won't be so anticlimactic.

...besides which Lucille would never understand me because I like to many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.

Jack Kerouac On the Road