Friday, June 10 thru Sunday, June 12

If you’ve never participated in a Motor Tour, you may not know what we’re talking about here. In case you’re wondering, read, What is a Motor Tour Anyway? to get up to speed.

Our annual Motor Tour for 2022 is shaping up nicely: this year’s theme is Drivin’ the Dream On 66! You can now pre-register for this fun-filled weekend event. You get a lot of fun for only $35 per registered vehicle – any year, any model, and motorcycles, too!

You don’t need to be a member of our association to participate in our Motor Tour, but we’d love it if you joined our mission to Preserve, Educate, Promote and Enjoy Route 66 in Illinois. Click for membership information.

Tour highlights include:

• North to South tour direction (Countryside to Staunton)
• Registration: (Fill out registration form and pay on site OR pick up participation packet if pre-registered.) Friday evening June 10, from 5:00 PM – 8:00 PM OR Saturday morning 8:00 AM – 9:00 AM at Illinois Harley-Davidson (parking lot), Countryside, IL.
• Tour takes off immediately following morning registration.
• Includes stops/events in Romeoville, Joliet, Wilmington, Odell, Pontiac, Funk’s Grove, Atlanta, and Lincoln on Saturday; Lincoln, Elkhart, Springfield, Girard, Gillespie, and Staunton on Sunday and many more destinations along the way!
• Hall of Fame Banquet (separate event – $25 per person) Saturday evening will be held at the American Legion Hall in Lincoln, Illinois.

You can easily pre-register for this event by downloading the form below:
(Pre-registration by June 3 is $35; on-site registration Friday evening or Saturday morning is $45.)

Click for official registration form which includes additional Motor Tour details.

Submit completed form with payment to:

Motor Tour
c/o Kathy Miller
14828 S. San Francisco Ave.
Posen, IL 60469

We look forward to motor touring with you!

Ron Warnick’s Route 66 News posted this story about Google Doodle’s homage to Route 66. When you make it into a Google Doodle, you’ve really made it!

As part of a series on the influential, colorful, historic people, places and things along Illinois Route 66, we present…

Ernie Edwards, The Pig Hip Restaurant

Route 66 Association of Illinois Hall of Fame Class of 1990

100-198 N Frontage Rd, Broadwell, IL 62634

Here’s the story behind this historic landmark:

Ernie Edwards bought what would become the Pig Hip Restaurant, the Harbor Inn, in Broadwell, Illinois 1937. Until 1991, he served up his famous Pig Hip Sandwiches along IL Route 66, featuring fresh, uncured ham which, as Ernie claimed, “came only the left hip of the pig, never the right.” What went into this special culinary creation? A Pig Hip sandwich consisted of that aforementioned fresh ham, tomato and lettuce on a toasted bun with Ernie’s proprietary special sauce. His motto for the sandwich was, ”it made its way by the way it’s made.” In the early days, “Ernie’s Pig-Hip Special” came with a Pig-Hip sandwich, French fries and Jell-O salad and cost 65 cents. The sandwich’s popularity prompted a change to the name of the restaurant itself in 1939.

During WWII in 1942, there were two lanes added to Route 66 because of its strategic military status. Because a portion of the Pig-Hip’s property was in the path of the new road, Ernie’s house was sold and moved to Elkhart (south of Broadwell) and his restaurant and small filling station also had to be demolished. A new restaurant was constructed with funds he received from the government on a short stretch of road that was added to the west of the military lane in 1943. That same year, Ernie went into the Army, working as a cook in the South Pacific and Japan.

Once home from overseas, Ernie settled down into a bustling few decades which included rubbing elbows with such famous names as bandleader Guy Lombardo and Harlan Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken fame.

Entrepreneurship ran in the family; his brother owned their Phillips 66 station next to the restaurant and his sister Bonnie and her husband built and operated the Pioneer Rest Motel on the property.

Despite construction of Interstate 55 through central Illinois in the mid 1970s, Broadwell’s overpass and freeway exit allowed easy access to the Pig-Hip, sparing it from the decline in patronage suffered by many other businesses along old Route 66.

Ernie goodnaturedly adopted the nickname, “Old Coot on 66” while serving hungry travelers and locals alike throughout the decades. And when Route 66 was decommissioned n 1985, he soon thereafter joined with fellow local fans of the Mother Road including Tom Teague and Springfield artist Bob Waldmire in founding the Route 66 Association of Illinois.

For his contributions to the character of Route 66 in Illinois, Ernie Edwards was inducted into the Route 66 Association of Illinois in 1990.

Ernie closed the restaurant in 1991 and converted the building into a Pig Hip/Route 66 museum which he ran for 17 years. People continued to visit over the years: tourists from around the world, those with fond memories of the restaurant, even the famous like Arnold Palmer and former President Jimmy Carter stopped by.

The building burned down on March 5, 2007. All that remains is an informational plaque attached to a boulder and a restored Pig Hip sign on the original site of the restaurant. Artifacts from the Pig Hip that survived the fire are now located at The Mill Museum on 66 in Lincoln, Illinois.

Ernie Edwards passed away in 2012 at the age of 94.

Click to read stories about the ever-growing list of Hall of Fame inductees.

Nolan Stolz is a music professor at the University of South Carolina Upstate. Musically inspired by Route 66, he desired a deeper connection to it – so he took a year-long sabbatical to do some exploring along the Mother Road. Stolz plans to write a musical composition based upon his travels.

Route 66 landmarks in Dwight, IL will be featured in a number of his pieces.

Read all about Stolz’s musical journey on The Paper from Dwight, IL.

The Horseshoe Sandwich

by John Weiss

It seems that many tourists from around the world do their homework before coming to Route 66 in Illinois. As a result, before they hit the highway, they want to have a real Chicago-style hot dog and a Chicago-style deep dish pizza.

Travelers also are seeking out two other taste treats that are only available in Illinois. One is the Cozy Dog. These travelers all seem to know that you can only get an authentic Cozy at the place that invented the hot dog on a stick. That, of course is the Cozy Dog Drive-In on Route 66 in Springfield, Illinois.

However, travelers are often bewildered about where they can get a Horseshoe Sandwich. There may even be some of you who are not familiar with this Illinois specialty. So I had better provide a little background information on what has become known as, “a heart attack on a plate.”

The Horseshoe sandwich was created in Springfield, Illinois in 1928. It is a very large open-faced sandwich. So large that most restaurants also offer a smaller version called a Pony Shoe. The name is derived from the first meat that was used – ham. When the meat was cut off from around the bone in one piece it will be in a “U” shape, somewhat like a horseshoe. The bread that the meat is placed on is considered the foot. Then it is covered with French fries. The fries are considered the nails.

So you end up with bread, usually Texas Toast (the hoof) with any kind of meat, fish or vegetable (the horseshoe). This is covered with the French fries (the nails). But here comes the most important part – cheese. This whole concoction is covered in cheese sauce. The cheese sauce from each restaurant is usually a location creation. The ingredients are often a very guarded secret 

Of course I have had to experience some Horse and Pony Shoe sandwiches at various locations. I won’t make any recommendations. At all locations they offer various meats, fish or vegetables to choose from. One place claimed to have over 50 varieties. Many claimed to sell hundreds of Shoe sandwiches per week. I will mention that the worst Shoe I had was from a  vendor at a fairgrounds. At one place it was so good that half way through I was already looking forward to returning for more.

I found Horseshoe Sandwiches in many restaurants located on Route 66 and almost everywhere in Springfield. I also learned that some establishments never heard of them. Some restaurants have gotten creative. They have invented their own breakfast version. Lots of liberties are taken, but the results of the breakfast shoe I tried was wonderful. The one used gravy instead of cheese and a choice of potatoes such as hash browns instead of french fries. They fixed me up with a 50/50 combo so I could try it both ways.

This project of finding the best places for a Horseshoe sandwich cannot be accomplished by me alone. If I did, then my next book would have to be on how to lose weight. So I need your help. I want all who are reading this to go have a Horseshoe or Pony Shoe sandwich somewhere. Then send me your comments (and photo) to Moxie66@sbcglobal.net or to P.O. Boxx 66, Wilmington, IL 60481. I will then add my collection of locations to those that I receive from all of you. We will then print this list. At the end of the year I will award a bathroom style scale to the person who provides me with the most Horseshoe sandwich locations.

Our members-only newsletter, The 66 News is distributed quarterly since its first issue in September, 1989.

From time to time, we’ll share a piece from the magazine here on the website so you can see for yourself the kind of content you can expect in this quality publication. This article is from Summer, 1994. Enjoy!

Hitching 66

by Stu Kainste

Editor’s Note –  Stu Kainste lives in Springfield where he’s involved in natural preservation activities. He wrote this reminiscence of 66 at the request of his longtime friend, Bob Waldmire.

Ultimately all hitchhikers who thumbed 66 were tourists. We lived and breathed the highway’s contours and curves, slept its embankments, drank its acid coffee. Bleached in its relentless sun, soaked in its ill-timed rains, but mostly stayed partly awake through its long stretched that lead to somewhere. It was 1972. I was 21. I had already hitchhiked some of Europe and probably every road in New York State, visiting friends who were sometimes glad to see me. The Catskill/Adirondack trails were my first introduction to nature. Hitching was my prime escape route out of the projects in Brooklyn. I didn’t drive and I wasn’t sure exactly what a motel was. So when I went west, starting at the George Washington Bridge, I was skilled to the ways of the road. In three days I reached my first stopping place – Springfield, Illinois.

On the way, I met a nice fellow in a convertible who took me through Ohio and Indiana. He was going to Yellowstone. If a vacation had been my goal, I would have accompanied him. But the only thing I was sure of was that I didn’t want to return to Brooklyn and not being a bear, well, Yellowstone wasn’t it. Instead I spent a week in Springfield with a friend, then headed west on Route 66 toward the Grand Canyon. 

It was the perfect destination. I was stopped repeatedly in Tulsa in Oklahoma City by the law. When they asked me “Where yer’ going?” the Grand Canyon always got me off. In both towns I waited all night under and beside the four-lane until I was rescued the next morning by kindly citizens.

I remember riding with a hard-nosed guy carrying a truckload of watermelons. He stopped off at a watering hole, came back smashed and still drove through the night. He had me along to help put the tarp on if it rained. It did and we got soaked. He shared some cigarettes with me and put me off at a pine forest under the twin peaks near Flagstaff. I woke up with the dear and hitched to the canyon. It was indeed a perfect destination.

At the canyon I met a guy from Pittsburgh who was, like me, getting ready to hike to the Colorado River. He had a bag of fried chicken and some cigarettes. Fortunately for him I had enough camping gear to keep a small regiment alive, so he survived. Fortunately for me, he was driving a VW, going my way, and got me through the worst of Utah’s dry country.

I left 66 for a sojourn through Utah, Idaho, Oregon and the Sierra Nevadas. On the road I met a wide range of fellow freeloaders – short, tall, black, white, hairy, bald, alone, coupled, etc. You could tell the road tested ones by their nonchalance – if they gave a damn, they weren’t telling. When I hit Route 66 again in Needles, I had become one of them. There was no more, “Hi, my name is Stu and I’m from Brooklyn,” stuff. It was a nod and a grunt and a sunburnt glance up the road.

I almost hopped a train in Needles. I’d spent two days roasting in the desert sun. But a ride came along just before the train left. And adventure not done, but no regrets.

On the way back east, I’ll never forget the mesa outside New Mexico. I spent two days there living on milkshakes, waiting for a ride. It was the only break on the horizon. I’ll also never forget the hitchhiker we picked up while I was riding in a VW van. He had a brown paper bag full of cigarettes. We all had some and when we reached the big sky country outside of Amarillo, we saw the largest rainbow possible.

My last ride was with an ex-P.O.W. who was going home after being away for four years. He hadn’t seen his girlfriend yet. The only other things I remember were his questions, “Is Creedence Clearwater still together?” “What’s with all this long hair?” and “Will I see you at the State Fair?” We turned north on Illinois Route 4, still a fine road, and he dropped me off in Jacksonville, thirty miles from Springfield. I got a ride the rest of the way from two youngsters who were on their way to the fair.

I thought I would winter in Springfield and travel the summers away. Twenty years later, I do my traveling in a station wagon, my home is still Springfield and I only see Route 66 in small doses that mostly link subdivisions or suburban communities.

Route 66 was doomed the way our countryside is doomed, the same way our forests are doomed, the same way our lifestyle is doomed. The earth can’t hold the people, just like the old two lane couldn’t handle the volume. While I was traveling a stretch of Old 66 near Funks Grove recently, the adjacent interstate was full of traffic. The old road couldn’t hold it. This old planet can’t hold it. No problem – we’re only tourists.

It is with deep sorrow that we report that Marty Blitstein, Treasurer and Membership Chairman of the Route 66 Association of Illinois, passed away after a short illness at Lightways Hospice in Joliet, Illinois on Sunday, February 13th.

Marty was a steadfast devotee of the Mother Road; he loved being part of the Route 66 Association of Illinois with all his heart. Not a stranger could meet him and leave his company without a thorough education on the allure and many delights of Route 66. His contributions throughout the years to the association were numerous. Among the highlights were revitalizing its membership and Treasury. He collaborated with Betty Estes to facilitate the moving of the Hall of Fame from the Dixie Truckers’ Home in McLean, IL to its current location in the old Fire Station in Pontiac. Intensely dedicated to product and quality, Marty ensured that our Association thrived by adeptly managing the pricing on Motor Tours, clothing and events. He proved an ardent fundraiser for our award-winning Preservation Committee.

Services for Marty will be held Sunday, February 20th.
Lawn Funeral Home
17909 S. 94th Avenue
Tinley Park, IL 60487
Phone (708) 532-3100
Wake will be from 2 to 6 p.m. with a short Memorial Service at 4 p.m

Marty leaves behind – and will be dearly missed by – his best friend and partner, Cathie Stevanovich, his children and their spouses: Marc (Kathy) of Diamond, IL, Steve (Judi) of Tinley Park, IL, and Scott (Gina) of Park Forest, IL. He was a loving, good-natured grandfather to Cyle, Molly, Ryan, Mackenzie, Seth and Jack. Marty had a special relationship with Ian Stevanovich (Cathie’s son) and “4 th son” Roy Olson.

Memorials in lieu of flowers may be donated to Lightways Hospice, Joliet, or the Route 66 Association of Illinois (please reference Marty’s name with your donation so that we may personally thank you for your kindness and generosity).

Interment will be private.

This delightful recollection appeared in the Spring 1996 issue of our members-only newsletter, The 66 News. Enjoy a little blast from the past…from the past.

by Kent Sanderson

I entered the world in 1940 in Chicago where the road began. Dad was a seminary student at the University of Chicago at the tine. After he finished, we lived in Michigan for a while, then moved to Dwight, Illinois. Dad was minister of the Congregational Church on Delaware Street. We lived in the parsonage two houses north. It was a huge, two-story home with an attic and a large basement. At the time, Delaware Street was a brick thoroughfare, a WPA project from the ‘30s.

Life in Dwight was grand and provides wonderful memories – the steam locomotives, the billboard that listed the local servicemen and women, the Sip ‘n’ Bite ice cream shop where being “good” was rewarded, the Blackstone Theater where I saw Wizard of Oz for the first time, the barbershop overlooking the railway station, the five and dime, and many more. I saw a lot of Dwight because Dad took me with him whenever he and Mom called upon their parishioners. Sometimes when Dad made these calls alone, Mom and I walked downtown to patronize the local merchants. Usually, however, we just window shopped because money was scarce.

Neighbors on Delaware Street included Mrs Nelson next door, playmates Sandy and Barbara Hillman, Kenny Nevill and Dick Branz. I saw another friend, Buster Jacobsgard frequently because his dad and mine were avid bird hunters who carved wooden decoys wherever they could get together to do so (I still have a few of Dad’s old ducks and can’t believe the detail that went into them).

We’d drive on 66 in our ‘41 Oldsmobile whenever we went to the Jacobsgards or the Branzes. Usually we’d stop for gas at the intersection where Becker’s Marathon is now. There used to be gas stations at all four corners there! When we visited my grandparents in Milton, Illinois, we’d drive Route 66 south. This trip took us through strange-sounding places like Pontiac, Chenoa, Cayuga and Towanda that seemed to a boy as if they were on a different planet. One such trip on a snowy Christmas Day nearly ended in disaster when an old Ford with side curtains pulled across 66 in front of us.

After the war ended in 1945, my parents decided to move back “home.” It was a decision I didn’t understand and one that brought much sadness into my life. I remember pulling away from the big house on Delaware Street in the Olds for our new home in Pittsfield. The neighbors stood on the curb and waved. It was a sad event and for a long time I wondered when we were going back “home” to Dwight.

I grew to love our new home, but never completely forgot about Dwight and Route 66. In 1956 when I was a rebellious teenager, I bought a ‘41 Olds coupe for the princely sum of $200. The car’s only redeeming quality was that it was virtually indestructible. One summer afternoon, for reasons understood only by me, I decided I wanted to see Dwight again and took off in that direction, No map was necessary because the route was indelibly etched in mind, including all the turns required to get through larger towns like Springfield and Bloomington, even though it had been 11 years since I’d made my last trip. I stopped for gas at Dixie Truckers Home. Dwight’s silhouette appeared just before dark and I made a right turn off 66 at the filling station corner. Another right turn by the Catholic Church and another block down at the Congregational Church put me on Delaware Street. I parked in front of Mrs Nielson’s house and spoke with her while she sat on her porch. To my amazement, she recognized me and I was transported back to 1945. Former parishioners Elmer and Mary Bundersen invited me to spend the night and I was thankful. I’m certain nobody understood why I was there alone, even thought I offered some vague explanation about wanting to see Dwight again. My plan to find a job and live there was, no doubt, cause for some concern. I had to rethink this during the night, but still looked around for some kind of work the next morning. Naturally, there was nothing for an unknown kid from out of town. I was secretly grateful.

I got in touch with my friend Dick Branz that afternoon. He was working nights at the Standard station on 66 and asked me to join him during his shift. We filled gas tanks, checked oil levels and washed windshields non-stop until midnight. Dick convinced me it would be a good idea for him to call my dad and let him know I was safe and sound. It was great to hear Dad’s voice and I was struck with a consuming case of homesickness. I spend the night at Dick’s house. The next morning, his mom fixed a breakfast feast. Later, I made one more trip around Dwight to burn it all into my memory. Then I pointed the Olds’ long hood south and drove back home on Route 66.

My wife Mary Sue and I have driven Illinois 66 many times as members of the state association. Each time, I get a feeling of euphoria. We always drive through Dwight, sown Delaware Street, past the old parsonage that I would dearly love to walk thought just once more, and park downtown to stroll the streets that were mine fifty years ago.

I know Thomas Wolfe probably never drove Route 66 – it’s one road that can still take you home!