If you’ve ever stood on a dusty stretch of Mother Road pavement in Seligman or Oatman, you’ve probably felt that wave of nostalgia. Neon signs. Chrome bumpers. The smell of burgers and diesel. But if you were traveling the paths that eventually became Route 66 back in the early 1900s, the "Main Street of America" smelled like something else entirely. It smelled like manure. Specifically, horseshit on Route 66 was a legitimate logistical nightmare that defined the transition from literal horsepower to the internal combustion engine.
Most people think Route 66 started in 1926 with pristine asphalt. It didn't. It was a patchwork of dirt, gravel, and "plank roads" that were still shared by buckboards, stagecoaches, and the occasional Model T. Because of that, the road was effectively a 2,400-mile long stable.
The Horse-to-Horsepower Crisis
We romanticize the "good old days" of travel, but the reality was messy. Really messy. Before Cyrus Avery helped map out the U.S. Highway System, many segments of what became the Chicago-to-LA route were local wagon trails. In places like Missouri and Illinois, farmers didn't just buy a tractor and ditch the horse overnight. They used the same roads as the new "automobilists."
Think about the sheer volume. A single horse produces about 15 to 30 pounds of manure a day. Now, multiply that by thousands of travelers, local farmers moving grain, and freight haulers. Before the highway was fully paved—which didn't happen until 1938—that waste didn't just disappear. It stayed there. It dried into dust that motorists breathed in. It turned into a slick, dangerous slurry when it rained. It was gross.
In the early 1920s, the "Good Roads Movement" wasn't just about smooth rides. It was a public health crusade. People were tired of the filth. Motorists in goggles and duster coats weren't wearing those outfits just to look cool; they were protecting themselves from flying bits of dried horse manure kicked up by their skinny tires.
Why Horseshit on Route 66 Stayed a Problem for Decades
You’d think once the signs went up in '26, the horses would vanish. Nope. Especially in the Ozarks and the rural Southwest, horses remained the primary mode of transport for the poor well into the Great Depression. While the "Dust Bowl" refugees were piling into overloaded Hudson Super Sixes, plenty of local traffic on the 66 was still equine.
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Take the stretch through the Black Mountains of Arizona. The Sitgreaves Pass is brutal. Even today, it’s a series of hairpins that make modern drivers sweat. In the early days, cars frequently overheated or their vacuum-fed fuel pumps failed on the steep grades. What did the locals do? They made a business out of it. They used teams of horses to tow "modern" cars over the pass.
Each of those rescue missions left behind a trail of manure. It was a weird, transitional era where the cutting edge of technology was literally being pulled out of the mud by the tail end of the 19th century.
The Oatman Exception
If you want to see the modern legacy of this, you go to Oatman, Arizona. It’s the most famous "living" example of the animal impact on the Mother Road. While the gold mines dried up and the highway was eventually bypassed by I-40, the burros stayed. These aren't horses, technically, but they’re the descendants of the pack animals used by miners.
Today, tourists flock there to feed them "burro chow." And yes, the pavement is still covered in droppings. It is probably the only place left on the entire 2,448-mile stretch where you can experience the authentic, 1920s-era olfactory experience of Route 66. It’s pungent. It’s gritty. It’s real.
Sanitation and the Death of the Roadside Stable
As the 1930s progressed, the "Auto Camp" replaced the traditional livery stable. This was a massive shift in American architecture and town planning. Towns like Springfield, Missouri, or Amarillo, Texas, had to pivot. They went from managing "horse infrastructure"—which meant dealing with tons of waste—to managing "car infrastructure."
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This shift actually changed the way we eat on the road. Ever wonder why the "diner" became so popular? It was partly about speed, but also about hygiene. Traditional roadside inns were often attached to stables. They were fly-blown and smelled like, well, you know. The "modern" 1940s diner, with its stainless steel and white tile, was a visual promise to the traveler: We are clean. There is no manure here. We are the future.
The Environmental Footprint Nobody Talks About
We talk a lot about carbon emissions today. But at the turn of the century, the "Great Horse Manure Crisis" was the environmental disaster of the age. When Route 66 was being planned, urban planners genuinely saw the automobile as the "green" savior. To them, a car that leaked a little oil was infinitely cleaner than a horse that dropped thirty pounds of waste.
It’s a bit ironic now. We look back at the mid-century gas guzzlers as the villains of the environment, but for the person living in 1926, that Buick was a miracle of sanitation. It didn't attract clouds of typhoid-carrying flies.
Navigating the "Organic" Side of the Mother Road Today
If you are planning a trip down Route 66 and want to see where this history actually happened, you have to look beyond the neon. You have to look at the old "unpaved" alignments.
- The Jericho Gap in Texas: This was a notorious stretch of unpaved road that turned into a bog when it rained. Local farmers made a killing using horse teams to pull stuck cars out. The "waste" left behind in the mud was just part of the toll.
- The Devil’s Elbow in Missouri: A beautiful, rugged area where the transition from timber hauling (horses) to tourism (cars) was incredibly slow.
- Galena, Kansas: Look at the width of the old streets. They were designed for the turning radius of wagons, not just the straight lines of cars.
Practical Tips for the Modern Road Tripper
Don't let the history of horseshit on Route 66 gross you out. Let it inform how you see the landscape. When you’re driving through the Mojave, realize that the people doing this 100 years ago were doing it at 15 miles per hour, likely behind a horse, in the blistering heat.
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- Visit Oatman early. If you want to see the burros (and their "contributions" to the road) without 5,000 other people, get there by 9:00 AM.
- Watch your step. Especially in the rural Arizona and New Mexico segments. Open range laws mean cattle and horses still roam near the road. A "cow pie" on the road can be a serious slickness hazard for motorcyclists.
- Check the alignments. Use a detailed map like the EZ-66 Guide to find the 1920s dirt alignments. You can still see the ruts from the wagon wheels in certain sections of the desert.
- Respect the animals. If you encounter horses or burros on the road, don't honk. Give them space. They were there first, historically speaking.
The history of Route 66 isn't just about the Grapes of Wrath or Mustang convertibles. It’s about the messy, smelly, complicated transition from an animal-powered world to a mechanical one. The manure was the friction of that change. It was the physical evidence of a country moving faster than its infrastructure could keep up with. Next time you see a stray burro in the Arizona hills, give it a nod. It’s the last remaining witness to the road's wildest, most organic days.
To truly experience this history, stop in at the various local museums in towns like Kingman or Clinton. Look at the photos from 1915. Don't just look at the people; look at the ground. You’ll see the mess. You’ll see the reality of the road. And you'll probably be a lot more thankful for your air-conditioned SUV and its cabin air filter.
Actionable Insights for Your Next Trip:
- Research the 1921 Federal Aid Highway Act: It’s the boring legal stuff that actually started the cleanup of American roads.
- Support the Burros: If you go to Oatman, buy the "official" pellets. Don't feed them human snacks; it makes their behavior (and their digestion) much worse for the locals.
- Look for Livery Signs: In older 66 towns, look for buildings with massive double doors that seem too tall for a car. Those were the original "gas stations" for horses.
- Drive the gravel: If your rental agreement allows, take a mile or two of a certified 1920s dirt alignment. It’ll change your perspective on what "travel" really meant to the pioneers of the pavement.
Route 66 is a layer cake of history. The top layer is the 1950s kitsch we all love, but the bottom layer is pure, unadulterated 19th-century grit. Embrace the smell. It's part of the story.