Ever since I learned about the history of Route 66—between 2014 and 2015—through a Spanish YouTuber known as LuzuVlog, who traveled the entire length of Route 66 from Chicago to the Santa Monica Pier in California, I’ve been absolutely fascinated by it.
In 2016, I traveled to the United States for the first time through a program funded by the State Department, and during a study tour visiting Arizona, we stopped for one night to rest in Flagstaff, where I began to see Route 66 signs everywhere. My heart was so moved—not only because I’d already watched LuzuVlog’s videos, but also because by then I knew I was on a route that had shaped the history of the United States. I was standing in the midst of history itself.
In Flagstaff, looking back on my first trip to the U.S. in 2016, we stopped at a gas station before continuing on our way back to Tucson, where my studies were continuing at the University of Arizona. At that gas station, I bought a Route 66 sign that I wanted to take back with me to Venezuela. I ended up hanging the sign in my room, where I would see it every morning when I woke up.
Those were the hardest years in Venezuela, and for some reason, Route 66 inspired me to keep going.
In 2023, I met the man who is now my husband; in 2024, we went to St. Louis, Missouri, and once again, the memory of Route 66 moved me deeply, even though we didn’t do anything specifically related to it. That same year, we took a trip to Tulsa, Oklahoma, and there—more aware that Route 66 also ran through the city—I asked him to take me to a small park that honored the route with signs and artifacts. I asked him to take a photo of us with the Route 66 sign and explained how much it meant to me. We got into an argument—I don’t remember why—and we didn’t take a photo. A little piece of my heart broke.
On November 18, 2024, my husband and I got married. After the ceremony, we went to the Santa Monica Pier—the very same place where Luzu Vlog ended his journey and where Route 66 ends, or begins, depending on how you look at it. That day, we took a photo with the Route 66 sign. To celebrate our wedding, I asked my husband to dance to the music a street performer was playing on his saxophone. He refused, afraid to dance in public. My heart broke just a little bit more.
In 2026, I moved to Los Angeles for six months to complete an internship as part of my Master’s program in Peace Studies. I secured an internship at Homeboy Industries, working with formerly incarcerated individuals who were in the process of healing and reintegrating into the workforce and society. I moved with my husband and our two little dogs, Milo and Zoey, and through the twists and turns of life, we ended up in a beautiful apartment in the West Hollywood area, just a short walk from Santa Monica Boulevard—or, as it’s also known in this part of the city, historic Route 66.
Every morning from July through December 2026, I’ll be taking Route 4 of the public transit system, which runs along Route 66 from Santa Monica to Downtown Los Angeles, passing through various neighborhoods and showing me—and reminding me—just how segregated the city is.
These notes chronicle my daily experiences using public transportation in Los Angeles—specifically Route 4—and my daily journey along the Mother Road in the United States, Route 66. In these notes, I reflect on my personal life, the sociopolitical context, and what I see and feel as I commute in my everyday life.
References:
Edwards, J. S. (2020). Evaluating Route 66 Properties: Three Case Studies. Kiva, 86(2), 194–202. https://www-jstor-org.proxy.library.nd.edu/stable/27361817
Racism on the road
As soon as I got on the bus, there was an argument between two passengers—a young African American man and an elderly white woman. I don’t know the context of what happened, because the argument was already underway when I got on the bus, but the young African American man was shouting about his rights and saying that slavery was over. Then he accuses the old white lady of being racist and asked her to get off the bus.
No other passenger said nothing else. The lady got off the bus. The commute continued. This is my first day commuting to work.
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My first day reminded me where I am living now. As a migrant in the U.S. it is easy to lose track of the cultural and social dynamics that rules everyday life in this country, being the identity based on your skin color one of the most determinant characteristics of your experience in society.
Luis Alvarado Bruzual
July 7, 2026
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