Eating Dust: Walkers, Runners,
and Others on Foot along Highway 66
BY T. LINDSAY BAKER
PART 1—First appeared in Route 66 New Mexico magazine (Vol. 31, No. 4)
Most people familiar with the Mother Road may have read about the 1928 Bunion Derby, a footrace across America that followed newly designated U.S. Highway 66 from Los Angeles to Chicago. The competition featuring 199 male athletes from several countries received widespread publicity, caught the imagination of many Americans, and served an important role in making the new cross-country route widely known. These runners, however, were only some of the people who over the decades sought to follow at least part of the roadway under their own power.
Some of the foot-bound travelers made their way just for the satisfaction of completing a demanding journey. Others did so because they thought the physical challenge might earn them some money. At least one made the trek because of a wager. A few walkers felt that they might inspire others to work toward world peace or achieve other altruistic goals. Finally, a few individuals embarked on unusual pedestrian sojourns by roller skating, walking backward, or lugging a full-size cross across the country.
One of the pioneer American cross-country walkers was Edward Payson Weston (1839-1929). He carried out a series of long and often remarkably rapid walks starting in 1861, when he trod from Boston to Washington in ten days and ten hours to attend one of the presidential inaugural balls honoring Abraham Lincoln. From then on, Weston engaged in long-distance rambling, pausing on his treks to give lectures on the health benefits of hiking.
Some of the foot-bound travelers made their way just for the satisfaction of completing a demanding journey. Others did so because they thought the physical challenge might earn them some money. At least one made the trek because of a wager. A few walkers felt that they might inspire others to work toward world peace or achieve other altruistic goals. Finally, a few individuals embarked on unusual pedestrian sojourns by roller skating, walking backward, or lugging a full-size cross across the country.
One of the pioneer American cross-country walkers was Edward Payson Weston (1839-1929). He carried out a series of long and often remarkably rapid walks starting in 1861, when he trod from Boston to Washington in ten days and ten hours to attend one of the presidential inaugural balls honoring Abraham Lincoln. From then on, Weston engaged in long-distance rambling, pausing on his treks to give lectures on the health benefits of hiking.
Left: Andy Payne approaching the finish line of the Bunion Derby trans-continental race on May 26, 1928. From The Richmond Palladium (Richmond, Ind.), May 29, 1928, p. 9.
Center: Otto Funk posed with his violin for a studio portrait about the time that he hiked and fiddled his way across North America in 1928-29. From The San Bernardino Daily Sun (San Bernardino, Calif.), June 7, 1929, sec. 2, p. 1.
Right: Charles W. “Desert Charlie” Hubricht with his donkeys passing through Fresno, California, in July 1931. From The Fresno Bee (Fresno, Calif.), July 15, 1931, Sec. 3, p. 1.
Center: Otto Funk posed with his violin for a studio portrait about the time that he hiked and fiddled his way across North America in 1928-29. From The San Bernardino Daily Sun (San Bernardino, Calif.), June 7, 1929, sec. 2, p. 1.
Right: Charles W. “Desert Charlie” Hubricht with his donkeys passing through Fresno, California, in July 1931. From The Fresno Bee (Fresno, Calif.), July 15, 1931, Sec. 3, p. 1.
In 1909, on one of his later pedestrian sojourns, Weston unsuccessfully tried to walk across North America from
New York to San Francisco in 100 days. From Chicago he trod to Bloomington, Illinois, along the roadbed of the Chicago & Alton Railroad, beside which Highway 66 would be designated seventeen years later. Wet, cold weather in the Sierra Nevada Mountains unfortunately would delay his arrival.
A year later, at age 72, he sought to hike the opposite direction from Santa Monica to New York in just 90 days. This time he followed the roadbed of the Santa Fe Railway or “the highways adjacent” from metropolitan Los Angeles
to Chicago and thence to the Big Apple. In this trip Weston effectively tracked much of the path across California,
Arizona, and New Mexico that sixteen years later Highway 66 would take. Among his overnight stops were the Fred Harvey hotels in Needles, California; Ash Fork and Williams, Arizona; Albuquerque and Lamy in New Mexico. This time he reached his goal on the Atlantic shore thirteen days ahead of schedule. For an engaging biography of Weston, see Wayne Curtis’ The Last Great Walk (2014).
Another well-publicized rambler in the years just after Weston was Romanian outdoorsman Dumitru Dan. While Dan claimed of competing in the Touring Club de France’s contest for walking around the globe, he did visit several continents. His goal, however, was to give public lectures and thereby earn his way as he toured the world. Evidence shows that he selectively showed up in multiple separate international locations without walking between them. Dan did visit the American Midwest in 1914, presenting talks and selling real-photo postcards of himself, but he ventured no farther west in North America than the Mississippi Valley. World War I delayed his trip back home, but Dan did return to Romania in 1923, becoming a geography teacher. History has not necessarily treated his inflated claims kindly.
Circumstances that today might seem odd prompted some pedestrian travelers to trek from coast to coast. One of the individuals who partially followed what soon would become the Mother Road was H. W. Owen of New York City. In fall 1924 he wagered with members of the New York Athletic Club that he could start with one penny in his pocket from city hall in the Big Apple and make his way to San Pedro, California, earning his keep as he walked. He arrived in eight months with just the one cent with which he departed. The prize was an even $1,000, which in today’s money would be about $17,500. Starting on Halloween 1924, he made his way with his pet dog, Bob, to Erick, Oklahoma, by May 16, 1925. A few days later the Amarillo Daily News on May 22 reported that “H.W. Owen, transcontinental hiker from New York…spent last night sleeping in a secluded spot in Amarillo” after having hiked in from Groom just to the east.
Owen next turned up in Tucumcari and then Santa Fe, New Mexico. He made his way from the state capital to Albuquerque by accepting the offer of a “lift” in an automobile on Saturday, June 6. The terms of the bet, according to the Albuquerque Journal, “allowed him to accept any rides to which he was invited but in no manner to signify that he wished one.” The unexpected ride inadvertently delayed Owens because his backpack bounced to the ground from an open trailer towed behind the vehicle. Several days passed before a Good Samaritan turned the knapsack in to the Albuquerque Chamber of Commerce. The loss of the pack would have caused Owen to lose his wager, for it contained the proof of his travels in the form of police and fire department badges collected in all the principal cities through which he had passed. On June 23, 1925, the traveler with his four-footed companion Bob resumed his trek, though the author has found no further reports of their journey. Do any readers know whether they reached their goal?
C. C. Pyle’s carnival-like Bunion Derby footrace from coast to coast in 1928 brought great notoriety to Highway 66
as it was planned to do. One of the byproducts of this marketing effort was the encouragement it gave others to attempt their own walks or runs from one side of America to the other. Many people must have attempted this feat but relatively few left any written accounts of their adventures. One exception to this rule was native St. Louis musician
Otto Funk, who over the course of two years in 1928-29, walked entirely across the United States from New York
to Chicago to Los Angeles and then San Francisco - every step of the way continuously playing a violin.
Born into a German immigrant family in 1868, Otto Funk grew up learning to play musical instruments, but his great love became the violin. As a young man he studied violin performance for four years in St. Louis and then four more years in Konigsberg, Prussia. He then pursued a career as a music teacher, supplementing his income by farming outside Hillsboro, Illinois. When Funk read about Pyle’s cross-country footrace in 1928, the reports encouraged him “to hike and play from coast-to-coast” himself.
New York to San Francisco in 100 days. From Chicago he trod to Bloomington, Illinois, along the roadbed of the Chicago & Alton Railroad, beside which Highway 66 would be designated seventeen years later. Wet, cold weather in the Sierra Nevada Mountains unfortunately would delay his arrival.
A year later, at age 72, he sought to hike the opposite direction from Santa Monica to New York in just 90 days. This time he followed the roadbed of the Santa Fe Railway or “the highways adjacent” from metropolitan Los Angeles
to Chicago and thence to the Big Apple. In this trip Weston effectively tracked much of the path across California,
Arizona, and New Mexico that sixteen years later Highway 66 would take. Among his overnight stops were the Fred Harvey hotels in Needles, California; Ash Fork and Williams, Arizona; Albuquerque and Lamy in New Mexico. This time he reached his goal on the Atlantic shore thirteen days ahead of schedule. For an engaging biography of Weston, see Wayne Curtis’ The Last Great Walk (2014).
Another well-publicized rambler in the years just after Weston was Romanian outdoorsman Dumitru Dan. While Dan claimed of competing in the Touring Club de France’s contest for walking around the globe, he did visit several continents. His goal, however, was to give public lectures and thereby earn his way as he toured the world. Evidence shows that he selectively showed up in multiple separate international locations without walking between them. Dan did visit the American Midwest in 1914, presenting talks and selling real-photo postcards of himself, but he ventured no farther west in North America than the Mississippi Valley. World War I delayed his trip back home, but Dan did return to Romania in 1923, becoming a geography teacher. History has not necessarily treated his inflated claims kindly.
Circumstances that today might seem odd prompted some pedestrian travelers to trek from coast to coast. One of the individuals who partially followed what soon would become the Mother Road was H. W. Owen of New York City. In fall 1924 he wagered with members of the New York Athletic Club that he could start with one penny in his pocket from city hall in the Big Apple and make his way to San Pedro, California, earning his keep as he walked. He arrived in eight months with just the one cent with which he departed. The prize was an even $1,000, which in today’s money would be about $17,500. Starting on Halloween 1924, he made his way with his pet dog, Bob, to Erick, Oklahoma, by May 16, 1925. A few days later the Amarillo Daily News on May 22 reported that “H.W. Owen, transcontinental hiker from New York…spent last night sleeping in a secluded spot in Amarillo” after having hiked in from Groom just to the east.
Owen next turned up in Tucumcari and then Santa Fe, New Mexico. He made his way from the state capital to Albuquerque by accepting the offer of a “lift” in an automobile on Saturday, June 6. The terms of the bet, according to the Albuquerque Journal, “allowed him to accept any rides to which he was invited but in no manner to signify that he wished one.” The unexpected ride inadvertently delayed Owens because his backpack bounced to the ground from an open trailer towed behind the vehicle. Several days passed before a Good Samaritan turned the knapsack in to the Albuquerque Chamber of Commerce. The loss of the pack would have caused Owen to lose his wager, for it contained the proof of his travels in the form of police and fire department badges collected in all the principal cities through which he had passed. On June 23, 1925, the traveler with his four-footed companion Bob resumed his trek, though the author has found no further reports of their journey. Do any readers know whether they reached their goal?
C. C. Pyle’s carnival-like Bunion Derby footrace from coast to coast in 1928 brought great notoriety to Highway 66
as it was planned to do. One of the byproducts of this marketing effort was the encouragement it gave others to attempt their own walks or runs from one side of America to the other. Many people must have attempted this feat but relatively few left any written accounts of their adventures. One exception to this rule was native St. Louis musician
Otto Funk, who over the course of two years in 1928-29, walked entirely across the United States from New York
to Chicago to Los Angeles and then San Francisco - every step of the way continuously playing a violin.
Born into a German immigrant family in 1868, Otto Funk grew up learning to play musical instruments, but his great love became the violin. As a young man he studied violin performance for four years in St. Louis and then four more years in Konigsberg, Prussia. He then pursued a career as a music teacher, supplementing his income by farming outside Hillsboro, Illinois. When Funk read about Pyle’s cross-country footrace in 1928, the reports encouraged him “to hike and play from coast-to-coast” himself.
Left: Notice inviting community members in and around Canute, Oklahoma, to attend a “pie supper” to celebrate Otto Funk walking while fiddling through their town in 1929. From Elk City News-Democrat (Elk City, Okla.), March 21, 1929, p. 7.
Right: Advertisement for Otto Funk’s planned appearance in a Salinas, California store selling Brown-Hamilton shoes, his corporate sponsor for hiking and playing the violin across America. From Salinas Index-Journal (Salinas, Calif.), July 11, 1929, p. 10.
Right: Advertisement for Otto Funk’s planned appearance in a Salinas, California store selling Brown-Hamilton shoes, his corporate sponsor for hiking and playing the violin across America. From Salinas Index-Journal (Salinas, Calif.), July 11, 1929, p. 10.
Departing New York on June 28, 1928, Otto Funk made his way “sawing” his fiddle across the Midwest to Chicago, where he started down Highway 66. Although the musician did not seek to earn money as he went, the Hamilton-Brown Shoe Company subsidized his venture and provided his footwear. Son-in-law Lester Grundy, who acted as an “advance man,” drove along in a Ford automobile to set up performances, on-air radio shows, and time with customers in Brown shoe stores. Additionally, Grundy sold real-photo postcards of the musician together with sheet music for his original composition, “The Savior and the Rose.” Things went well until just past mid-November 1928, after the fiddler had reached Amarillo, Texas, when high plains weather turned cold and wet. Even though the Santa Fe New Mexican had alerted readers that “he is headed this way over the U.S. 66 Highway, walking and fiddling at the same time on his way,” a snowstorm just beyond Amarillo convinced Funk and Grundy to suspend their journey and head home for the winter.
April 1929 found Otto Funk and advance man Lester Grundy back on the plains. The Albuquerque Journal on Wednesday the 17th alerted its readers to watch that day for the walking fiddler who was “scheduled to pass through Albuquerque. . . on his way from New York City to San Francisco.” With violin and bow in hand, the musician proceeded westward and upward from the Rio Grande valley through Grants and Gallup to Manuelito, near the Arizona line by the end of the month. There in an obvious misunderstanding, a Navajo man named Hastin Nez mistakenly thought he could trade a blanket for Funk’s fine Hopf violin, temporarily disappearing with the valuable instrument. Trader Mike Kirk and local officials retrieved it without damage. According to local reports, the Native American “admitted he never had played a violin but thought he could make music come out of it just as Funk did.”
By June 7 the walking fiddler had reached the Cajon Summit in southern California. The San Bernardino County Sun advised its readers that “The Pied Piper of 1929…will be moving the bow of his fiddle across the strings in cadence with his steps and will walk around the city before going on toward Los Angeles.” From there the musician made his
way via Salinas to Oakland, where he celebrated arrival by giving an on-air recital on a local radio station on June 21. The local press reported that Fox Movietone news cameramen would film events “when he arrives at… San Francisco City Hall, Thursday, July 25th,” followed by yet another live radio performance. The walking fiddler returned home by car with Lester Grundy, spending the remainder of his days residing on his farm while he played and taught music while basking in his newfound fame.
One of the most self-serving of the known cross-country walkers to use Highway 66 was Charles William Hubricht, who liked to call himself “Desert Charlie.” Born in Indiana in 1861 and living there and in Missouri for the next four decades, he relocated to California by 1904, the year he married Ida Honeywell. The couple relocated to Kokomo, Indiana, but then Charles on his own went back to California, which essentially became his base of operations. From work as a farmer and carpenter, Hubricht transitioned to become a mineral prospector. When he traveled to Escondido to visit his brother in 1928, he did it on foot while leading two burros loaded with picks, shovels, and other gear. He attracted a lot of attention. The Hoosier cultivated this prospector’s persona to his own pecuniary advantage.
For at least five years “Desert Charlie” Hubricht reputedly hunted for gold and other mineral deposits in Death Valley and other desert areas in California. Then in 1929 he became a “gold digger” of another sort—one who took
advantage of his grizzled visage to attract tourists and others who fancied taking pictures of his exotic appearance and beasts of burden. A sign attached to one of the donkey’s pack saddles read, “NO PICTURES LESS THAN 50 CENTS.” As a contemporary reported, “it costs exactly half a dollar every time the shutter clicks,” adding that Hubricht earned a hundred dollars a year in photo fees, while he spent only about seventy-five meeting his immediate needs. Once the tenderfoot set up his camera, “he holds his burro’s head with one hand” and “then grabs his own dirty and lengthy beard with the other, [and] with a faraway look in his eyes, commands: ‘Shoot!’”
At least by April 1929, at age 69, Charles Hubricht set out with four burros on what grew into at least five years of peregrinations. During this time, he traveled stretches of U.S. 66 as well as many other roadways crisscrossing the nation. Along the way from the Desert Southwest, he initially aimed for New York City and then Washington, D.C., all the way camping out, giving impromptu talks on desert life, and charging the uninitiated fifty cents to take his picture. Soon he added selling postcards of himself for 25¢ apiece. After arriving in New York in March 1930, he acted offended by the high prices charged after he finally found a still-operating livery stable. He lingered only three days, adding a new signboard to one of his donkeys reading, “From Los Angeles to New York and Back Again.”
On his westbound circuit in 1930, Hubricht adopted Highway 66 for several hundred miles. When a reporter in Clinton, Oklahoma, in mid-August asked why he had made his trip, the bewhiskered prospector responded, “Just to see the country and lecture on two things: hard times . . . and the desert.” Continuing west, the prospector and his donkeys sauntered into Amarillo, Texas, on September 2. Another reporter spotted him, which was not difficult, and asked about his wanderings. The old man snapped, “Automobile drivers in Texas, Indiana and Oklahoma are the worst in the world,” whereupon he “spat, I trifle indignantly, but with unerring aim, at a spot on the pavement.” A small crowd gathered around Hubricht on a downtown Amarillo street corner, and he unexpectedly admonished them, “Ladies, do your own cooking.” After airing his views in general, the old man pulled his hat down and called to his beasts. The reporter concluded, “The cavalcade started westward down Sixth Avenue, following Highway 66 ‘home.’”
Hubricht returned to the California desert, spending 1931 and 1932 in his more familiar haunts while he recouped his finances with more fifty-cent photograph fees. The last reference that the author found on Hubricht was from San Antonio, Texas, in early 1933, noting that “Desert Charlie” was headed northward from the Alamo City toward St. Louis and the Mississippi River.
According to the Guinness Book of World Records, Texas restaurateur Plennie Lawrence Wingo over ninety years ago made the longest known journey “walking backwards.” The entrepreneur conceived the idea of walking around the world facing where he had already been by using special rear-view-mirror-equipped sunshades that had been developed as safety devices for motorcyclists. Departing Fort Worth, Texas, on April 15, 1931, he hiked facing backward first to Dallas, where he commissioned a photographer to make a thousand real-photo postcards showing him demonstrating his
technique. He subsequently sold these for 25 cents apiece to fund the trip. Wingo headed north to Vinita, Oklahoma, from where he followed U.S. Highway 66 to Chicago.
April 1929 found Otto Funk and advance man Lester Grundy back on the plains. The Albuquerque Journal on Wednesday the 17th alerted its readers to watch that day for the walking fiddler who was “scheduled to pass through Albuquerque. . . on his way from New York City to San Francisco.” With violin and bow in hand, the musician proceeded westward and upward from the Rio Grande valley through Grants and Gallup to Manuelito, near the Arizona line by the end of the month. There in an obvious misunderstanding, a Navajo man named Hastin Nez mistakenly thought he could trade a blanket for Funk’s fine Hopf violin, temporarily disappearing with the valuable instrument. Trader Mike Kirk and local officials retrieved it without damage. According to local reports, the Native American “admitted he never had played a violin but thought he could make music come out of it just as Funk did.”
By June 7 the walking fiddler had reached the Cajon Summit in southern California. The San Bernardino County Sun advised its readers that “The Pied Piper of 1929…will be moving the bow of his fiddle across the strings in cadence with his steps and will walk around the city before going on toward Los Angeles.” From there the musician made his
way via Salinas to Oakland, where he celebrated arrival by giving an on-air recital on a local radio station on June 21. The local press reported that Fox Movietone news cameramen would film events “when he arrives at… San Francisco City Hall, Thursday, July 25th,” followed by yet another live radio performance. The walking fiddler returned home by car with Lester Grundy, spending the remainder of his days residing on his farm while he played and taught music while basking in his newfound fame.
One of the most self-serving of the known cross-country walkers to use Highway 66 was Charles William Hubricht, who liked to call himself “Desert Charlie.” Born in Indiana in 1861 and living there and in Missouri for the next four decades, he relocated to California by 1904, the year he married Ida Honeywell. The couple relocated to Kokomo, Indiana, but then Charles on his own went back to California, which essentially became his base of operations. From work as a farmer and carpenter, Hubricht transitioned to become a mineral prospector. When he traveled to Escondido to visit his brother in 1928, he did it on foot while leading two burros loaded with picks, shovels, and other gear. He attracted a lot of attention. The Hoosier cultivated this prospector’s persona to his own pecuniary advantage.
For at least five years “Desert Charlie” Hubricht reputedly hunted for gold and other mineral deposits in Death Valley and other desert areas in California. Then in 1929 he became a “gold digger” of another sort—one who took
advantage of his grizzled visage to attract tourists and others who fancied taking pictures of his exotic appearance and beasts of burden. A sign attached to one of the donkey’s pack saddles read, “NO PICTURES LESS THAN 50 CENTS.” As a contemporary reported, “it costs exactly half a dollar every time the shutter clicks,” adding that Hubricht earned a hundred dollars a year in photo fees, while he spent only about seventy-five meeting his immediate needs. Once the tenderfoot set up his camera, “he holds his burro’s head with one hand” and “then grabs his own dirty and lengthy beard with the other, [and] with a faraway look in his eyes, commands: ‘Shoot!’”
At least by April 1929, at age 69, Charles Hubricht set out with four burros on what grew into at least five years of peregrinations. During this time, he traveled stretches of U.S. 66 as well as many other roadways crisscrossing the nation. Along the way from the Desert Southwest, he initially aimed for New York City and then Washington, D.C., all the way camping out, giving impromptu talks on desert life, and charging the uninitiated fifty cents to take his picture. Soon he added selling postcards of himself for 25¢ apiece. After arriving in New York in March 1930, he acted offended by the high prices charged after he finally found a still-operating livery stable. He lingered only three days, adding a new signboard to one of his donkeys reading, “From Los Angeles to New York and Back Again.”
On his westbound circuit in 1930, Hubricht adopted Highway 66 for several hundred miles. When a reporter in Clinton, Oklahoma, in mid-August asked why he had made his trip, the bewhiskered prospector responded, “Just to see the country and lecture on two things: hard times . . . and the desert.” Continuing west, the prospector and his donkeys sauntered into Amarillo, Texas, on September 2. Another reporter spotted him, which was not difficult, and asked about his wanderings. The old man snapped, “Automobile drivers in Texas, Indiana and Oklahoma are the worst in the world,” whereupon he “spat, I trifle indignantly, but with unerring aim, at a spot on the pavement.” A small crowd gathered around Hubricht on a downtown Amarillo street corner, and he unexpectedly admonished them, “Ladies, do your own cooking.” After airing his views in general, the old man pulled his hat down and called to his beasts. The reporter concluded, “The cavalcade started westward down Sixth Avenue, following Highway 66 ‘home.’”
Hubricht returned to the California desert, spending 1931 and 1932 in his more familiar haunts while he recouped his finances with more fifty-cent photograph fees. The last reference that the author found on Hubricht was from San Antonio, Texas, in early 1933, noting that “Desert Charlie” was headed northward from the Alamo City toward St. Louis and the Mississippi River.
According to the Guinness Book of World Records, Texas restaurateur Plennie Lawrence Wingo over ninety years ago made the longest known journey “walking backwards.” The entrepreneur conceived the idea of walking around the world facing where he had already been by using special rear-view-mirror-equipped sunshades that had been developed as safety devices for motorcyclists. Departing Fort Worth, Texas, on April 15, 1931, he hiked facing backward first to Dallas, where he commissioned a photographer to make a thousand real-photo postcards showing him demonstrating his
technique. He subsequently sold these for 25 cents apiece to fund the trip. Wingo headed north to Vinita, Oklahoma, from where he followed U.S. Highway 66 to Chicago.
Left: Plennie L. Wingo in 1983 at age 88 demonstrating his technique used in walking 8,000 miles backward in 1931-32. Courtesy of the author.
Center: The Rev. Arden M. Rockwood near the end of his 1936 trek overland from Pasadena, California, to attend the fortieth reunion of his class at Amherst College in Massachusetts. From Arden M. Rockwood, Amherst Graduates’ Quarterly (Amherst, Mass.), XXVI, No. 1 (November 1936), facing p. 14.
Right: Ella and Henry Bykerk, setting out on their honeymoon on roller skates from Racine, Wisconsin down Route 66 to California in September 1960. from The Racine Journal-Times (Racine, Wisc.), September 6, 1960, p. 6.
Center: The Rev. Arden M. Rockwood near the end of his 1936 trek overland from Pasadena, California, to attend the fortieth reunion of his class at Amherst College in Massachusetts. From Arden M. Rockwood, Amherst Graduates’ Quarterly (Amherst, Mass.), XXVI, No. 1 (November 1936), facing p. 14.
Right: Ella and Henry Bykerk, setting out on their honeymoon on roller skates from Racine, Wisconsin down Route 66 to California in September 1960. from The Racine Journal-Times (Racine, Wisc.), September 6, 1960, p. 6.
By June 1931 the retro pedestrian had reached St. James, Missouri, where the Leader reported that he stopped long enough to have a new set of toe taps fastened to his shoes. Robert Magnin lived nearby, and he remembered, “We sometimes knew ahead of time that . . . odd travelers were in the vicinity and we kind of watched for them.” Along came “nicely dressed” Plennie Wingo “walking as fast backwards as a normal person would move forward” and “wearing a kind of Panama hat.” Wingo stopped at a roadside flower stand run by Robert’s sister, Frieda, “picked up a nice rose, put it in his lapel, and handed her a $1.00 bill.”
The backwards-facing walker proceeded to New York and then Boston, where he secured a one-way working job aboard a trans-Atlantic steamer. From Germany he continued his rearward-facing stroll to Istanbul, where the American’s odd behavior led to his being refused entry. A wealthy Italian took pity on Plennie and paid for his return to the United States. Undaunted the backward walker went to Santa Monica, California, faced west and headed east back to his Texas home, arriving October 24, 1932, having covered an estimated distance of 8,000 miles on foot.
The transcontinental walker who left perhaps the mostsolid contemporary documentation on his adventures was Reverend Arden M. Rockwood of Pasadena, California. At age 61 the retiree decided in January 1936 to walk across the continent from his palm-shaded home to attend the 40th anniversary of his graduating class from Amherst College in Massachusetts. Choosing the “southern route” along the Bankhead Highway via Yuma, Arizona, and El Paso, Texas, he angled up via Carlsbad Caverns in mid-March to Amarillo on Highway 66. This route took him across much of southern and eastern New Mexico.
Rockwood’s most daunting experience on the whole trip was becoming caught on the roadside while a Dust Bowl-era
windstorm engulfed him. “The only time when my life seemed in any danger was when I was caught in the center of the worst dust storm of the season, just east of Amarillo,” he wrote. “An autoist picked me up, but not until my clothes, hair, eyes, and lungs were filled with it. At times one could not see an auto ten feet away. I had to have several baths before I felt clean.”
The former pastor deviated from a direct line of travel to stop over to see friends in Nebraska and Iowa before continuing east across the Corn Belt to Amherst in time for the class reunion in June. While traveling about 4,000 miles, the retired preacher estimated that he walked 1,400 miles out of the total distance. Rockwood wrote an extended essay recounting his experiences on the trip for the Amherst Graduates Quarterly in
November 1936. For the rest of his life until death in 1942, people knew him as the “hiking pastor.”
Not everyone who set out to travel across the nation using their legs did so walking. After American highways became paved during the 1930s, energetic roller skaters decided that their concrete and asphalt would offer an appropriate gliding surface. Californian “Happy” Lou Phillips, Jr., a former U.S. Marine, and Norwich, New York, native “Lucky” Jimmy Parker made such a trip in 1929-30, seeking to roll from Washington, D.C., to San Francisco. They selected U.S. Highway 66 as their route across much of the Southwest. Parker carried a letter of introduction from New York Congressman John D. Clark, and asserted he promised “not to take any auto rides or to do any begging.” The pair made their expenses by selling real-photo postcards of themselves and performing an “occasional vaudeville contract.” After they rolled into Williams, Arizona, on January 3, 1930, the newspaper reported that Phillips “says he will be on the streets of Williams tonight and anyone who cares to ask him any questions in regard to the trip that he will gladly answer them and also give them one of his autographed cards if they care for one.” In 1929-30 there were still some long unpaved gaps in Highway 66, but the skaters explained that “when we are on roads that are not concreted [,] we keep the skates on and walk on them.” Readily available sources do not indicate whether the two young men successfully reached the Pacific shore.
The appeal of roller skating to travel cross-country continued to appeal to Americans such as eighteen- and twenty-year-olds Ella and Henry Bykerk. As newlyweds they strapped on skates in Racine, Wisconsin, on September 6, 1960, rolled down to Chicago, and started across the nation on the Mother Road. Henry quipped that it was “just a crazy idea that we got to talking about” as they envisioned multiple unorthodox ways to make such a crossing. Each carried a backpack with clothes and essentials, and they slept where darkness fell, camping under the stars or seeking shelter on wet days like October 18, which found them in Hydro, Oklahoma. The local press reported, “Tourists on U.S. 66 . . . could hardly believe their eyes when they saw a young couple traveling west on roller skates.” The paper continued, “Dressed in hiking clothes and jungle [pith] helmets, the skaters were sticking to the highway despite the rain. They admitted that they had done some hitchhiking, but always kept their skates on.” The couple did indeed make their way to California, returning home by hitchhiking in early February 1961.
Many individuals continued to try and walk cross-country. Some received publicity for their efforts, while others seemingly were recognized only by their home communities. Among the latter group was Compton College sociology major Robert Earl Pipes. He set off intentionally with no money at 6:30 on the morning of June 18, 1962, from 112th and South Central Avenue in Los Angeles. Robert, whose father pastored the First Unity Missionary Baptist Church in South Central L.A., wanted to see whether the generosity of others would enable him to travel completely across the country and back. To the sociology student’s surprise, young Pipes learned that others were indeed willing to share rides, meals, and lodging as he made his way east and then back west. His hometown newspaper, the Los Angeles Sentinel, reported that on his departure, “Within three minutes Robert had his first ride [,] which took him to Union Station. He carried no money nor lunch, but at 1:00 p.m., he was having lunch in San Bernardino. He states, ‘I averaged two meals per day and I never begged nor worked for food or money.’” Traveling Highway 66 as far as St. Louis, he then headed on east to visit relatives in Philadelphia on the way to see New York City and then Niagara Falls. Coming home via Detroit, where he stayed with another friend, the student made his way to Chicago. In just four hot late July days he walked and hitchhiked Route 66 all the way back home to California in plenty of time to get ready for the start of classes at college. .....
The backwards-facing walker proceeded to New York and then Boston, where he secured a one-way working job aboard a trans-Atlantic steamer. From Germany he continued his rearward-facing stroll to Istanbul, where the American’s odd behavior led to his being refused entry. A wealthy Italian took pity on Plennie and paid for his return to the United States. Undaunted the backward walker went to Santa Monica, California, faced west and headed east back to his Texas home, arriving October 24, 1932, having covered an estimated distance of 8,000 miles on foot.
The transcontinental walker who left perhaps the mostsolid contemporary documentation on his adventures was Reverend Arden M. Rockwood of Pasadena, California. At age 61 the retiree decided in January 1936 to walk across the continent from his palm-shaded home to attend the 40th anniversary of his graduating class from Amherst College in Massachusetts. Choosing the “southern route” along the Bankhead Highway via Yuma, Arizona, and El Paso, Texas, he angled up via Carlsbad Caverns in mid-March to Amarillo on Highway 66. This route took him across much of southern and eastern New Mexico.
Rockwood’s most daunting experience on the whole trip was becoming caught on the roadside while a Dust Bowl-era
windstorm engulfed him. “The only time when my life seemed in any danger was when I was caught in the center of the worst dust storm of the season, just east of Amarillo,” he wrote. “An autoist picked me up, but not until my clothes, hair, eyes, and lungs were filled with it. At times one could not see an auto ten feet away. I had to have several baths before I felt clean.”
The former pastor deviated from a direct line of travel to stop over to see friends in Nebraska and Iowa before continuing east across the Corn Belt to Amherst in time for the class reunion in June. While traveling about 4,000 miles, the retired preacher estimated that he walked 1,400 miles out of the total distance. Rockwood wrote an extended essay recounting his experiences on the trip for the Amherst Graduates Quarterly in
November 1936. For the rest of his life until death in 1942, people knew him as the “hiking pastor.”
Not everyone who set out to travel across the nation using their legs did so walking. After American highways became paved during the 1930s, energetic roller skaters decided that their concrete and asphalt would offer an appropriate gliding surface. Californian “Happy” Lou Phillips, Jr., a former U.S. Marine, and Norwich, New York, native “Lucky” Jimmy Parker made such a trip in 1929-30, seeking to roll from Washington, D.C., to San Francisco. They selected U.S. Highway 66 as their route across much of the Southwest. Parker carried a letter of introduction from New York Congressman John D. Clark, and asserted he promised “not to take any auto rides or to do any begging.” The pair made their expenses by selling real-photo postcards of themselves and performing an “occasional vaudeville contract.” After they rolled into Williams, Arizona, on January 3, 1930, the newspaper reported that Phillips “says he will be on the streets of Williams tonight and anyone who cares to ask him any questions in regard to the trip that he will gladly answer them and also give them one of his autographed cards if they care for one.” In 1929-30 there were still some long unpaved gaps in Highway 66, but the skaters explained that “when we are on roads that are not concreted [,] we keep the skates on and walk on them.” Readily available sources do not indicate whether the two young men successfully reached the Pacific shore.
The appeal of roller skating to travel cross-country continued to appeal to Americans such as eighteen- and twenty-year-olds Ella and Henry Bykerk. As newlyweds they strapped on skates in Racine, Wisconsin, on September 6, 1960, rolled down to Chicago, and started across the nation on the Mother Road. Henry quipped that it was “just a crazy idea that we got to talking about” as they envisioned multiple unorthodox ways to make such a crossing. Each carried a backpack with clothes and essentials, and they slept where darkness fell, camping under the stars or seeking shelter on wet days like October 18, which found them in Hydro, Oklahoma. The local press reported, “Tourists on U.S. 66 . . . could hardly believe their eyes when they saw a young couple traveling west on roller skates.” The paper continued, “Dressed in hiking clothes and jungle [pith] helmets, the skaters were sticking to the highway despite the rain. They admitted that they had done some hitchhiking, but always kept their skates on.” The couple did indeed make their way to California, returning home by hitchhiking in early February 1961.
Many individuals continued to try and walk cross-country. Some received publicity for their efforts, while others seemingly were recognized only by their home communities. Among the latter group was Compton College sociology major Robert Earl Pipes. He set off intentionally with no money at 6:30 on the morning of June 18, 1962, from 112th and South Central Avenue in Los Angeles. Robert, whose father pastored the First Unity Missionary Baptist Church in South Central L.A., wanted to see whether the generosity of others would enable him to travel completely across the country and back. To the sociology student’s surprise, young Pipes learned that others were indeed willing to share rides, meals, and lodging as he made his way east and then back west. His hometown newspaper, the Los Angeles Sentinel, reported that on his departure, “Within three minutes Robert had his first ride [,] which took him to Union Station. He carried no money nor lunch, but at 1:00 p.m., he was having lunch in San Bernardino. He states, ‘I averaged two meals per day and I never begged nor worked for food or money.’” Traveling Highway 66 as far as St. Louis, he then headed on east to visit relatives in Philadelphia on the way to see New York City and then Niagara Falls. Coming home via Detroit, where he stayed with another friend, the student made his way to Chicago. In just four hot late July days he walked and hitchhiked Route 66 all the way back home to California in plenty of time to get ready for the start of classes at college. .....
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
T. Lindsay Baker a member of the New Mexico Route 66 Association, is the author of two dozen books on the history of the American West. He wrote Portrait of Route 66 Images from the Curt Teich Postcard Archives (University of Oklahoma Press, 2016) as well as Eating Up Route 66: Foodways on America’s Mother Road (University of Oklahoma Press, 2022). He has driven the length of Route 66 both directions behind the wheel of an unmodified, four-cylinder 1930 Ford. |
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