The summer of 2023 was supposed to be just another ordinary break from college. But when my grandfather handed me the keys to his 1967 Mustang Fastback and said "Take her for a real drive, kiddo," I knew this would be anything but ordinary.
The plan was simple: Chicago to Arizona, following the legendary Route 66. What I didn't plan for were the storms that would chase us across the plains, the sunsets that would stop us in our tracks, and the memories that would last a lifetime.
Day One: Leaving the Windy City
We started at the iconic Route 66 sign in downtown Chicago, the Mustang's V8 rumbling with anticipation. The city quickly gave way to Illinois farmland, and with each mile, I felt the stress of college life melting away. The Fastback handled like a dream – responsive, powerful, and with a soundtrack that no modern car could replicate.
The Storm Chasers
By day three, we were deep in Kansas when the sky turned an ominous green. What started as scattered clouds quickly developed into a full-blown supercell. Instead of seeking shelter, something wild in me decided to follow it. The Mustang and I became storm chasers, racing alongside nature's fury across endless wheat fields.
The contrast was breathtaking – the classic muscle car against the raw power of the Great Plains weather. We pulled over to watch the lightning dance across the sky, the Mustang's chrome gleaming in the electric atmosphere.
Diners, Motels, and Time Capsules
One of the most magical aspects of Route 66 is how it preserves America's roadside culture. We stopped at classic diners where the coffee was strong and the pie was legendary. Each meal felt like stepping back in time, surrounded by locals who had stories spanning decades.
The Mustang fit right in at these establishments – heads would turn, conversations would start, and before we knew it, we'd be sharing our journey with complete strangers who felt like old friends.
The Arizona Sunset
After seven days on the road, we finally reached Arizona. The desert landscape was unlike anything I'd experienced – vast, raw, and beautiful in its harshness. As we approached our destination, the sun began its descent toward the horizon.
We pulled over at a scenic overlook, the Mustang's engine ticking as it cooled. The sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and purple that matched the car's vintage aesthetic perfectly. In that moment, sitting on the hood of my grandfather's Fastback, watching the sun disappear behind desert mesas, I understood why Route 66 is called the Mother Road.
Coming Home
The return trip was bittersweet. The Mustang had performed flawlessly – not a single mechanical issue in over 2,400 miles. But more than that, the car had become my companion, my mobile time capsule, and my gateway to understanding America's automotive heritage.
When I handed the keys back to my grandfather, he just smiled and said, "So, did she teach you anything?" She had taught me everything – about patience, about adventure, about the simple joy of the open road. The 1967 Mustang Fastback didn't just take me to Arizona; it took me on a journey through time, culture, and self-discovery.
Route 66 may be mostly bypassed by interstates now, but for those willing to take the longer way, it still offers what it always has: the freedom of the road, the beauty of America, and the reminder that sometimes the journey really is more important than the destination.