Mother Road, Monster Bike: Running Route 66 on the Hayabusa

The Plan: One Hawk, Eight States, No Hurry

When I told my riding group I was taking the Hayabusa down Route 66, the reactions split cleanly in two. Half said "that bike will eat that road alive." The other half asked if I'd be able to find premium gas between Fillmore and Amarillo.

Both camps had a point. Route 66 isn't a hypersport's natural habitat — it's a museum you ride through. But here's what nobody tells you: the Busa might be the best-kept secret on the Mother Road. The 2022-and-newer generation is genuinely comfortable at 75 mph all day, the wind protection is superb, and that engine's low-end manners make two-lane cruising feel effortless.

Here's the week-long breakdown, with the practical notes I wish I'd had before I left Chicago.

Days 1–2: Chicago to St. Louis

Skip the interstate as long as you can. Illinois 53 south out of the city drops you onto the historic alignment near Joliet, where the Route 66 sign-painting starts and the two-lanes begin.

The Hayabusa feels almost comically overqualified here — 35 mph through Pontiac and Atlanta, Illinois, past murals and old gas stations. But that's the fun. The Busa's light clutch and smooth fueling make slow-speed touring a non-event, and you'll want that patience for the good stuff later.

Fuel note: Premium is a non-issue through Illinois and Missouri. Every town of any size has a Casey's or a QuikTrip, and both reliably stock 91+ octane. Range anxiety doesn't exist with the Busa's tank until you hit West Texas.

Don't miss the Chain of Rocks Bridge at the Missouri line — and yes, this is your first great photo opportunity. Park the Hawk at the bridge approach with the river behind it and you'll get shots that look like a magazine spread.

Days 3–4: Missouri and Oklahoma — Where the Busa Starts to Shine

Missouri's stretch between Lebanon and Carthage is some of the best riding on the entire route: rolling curves, decent pavement, light traffic. This is where I stopped apologizing for the bike I brought. Open a few of these sweepers up to a responsible-but-enthusiastic pace and the Hayabusa reminds you why it exists.

Oklahoma is long and flat, and honestly, this is where the Busa's touring side earns its keep. The seat, the screen, the stable high-speed manners — Oklahoma's straightaways disappear under you without the wrist pain a true sportbike would charge you.

Fuel note: Oklahoma and the Texas Panhandle get sparse. Fill at half a tank, not a quarter. Most stations along the historic alignment are small-town independents, and a surprising number top out at 87. The rule I settled on: when you see a Love's, a Flying J, or a Walmart-anchored town, top off. Those almost always have 91 or 93.

Day 5: The Texas Panhandle and New Mexico

Midpoint Café in Adrian, Texas, is exactly halfway between Chicago and Santa Monica — 1,139 miles each way. It's a mandatory stop, and the pie is legitimately good.

This is also where the wind becomes a character in your trip. The Panhandle crosswinds are no joke, and while the Hayabusa is one of the more planted bikes in a blow, keep a light grip and use the bike's mass rather than fighting it.

Photo stop of the trip: the Blue Swallow Motel in Tucumcari, New Mexico, at golden hour. Neon, vintage signage, and a pearl-flame Busa parked under it — I have never had so many strangers ask me about a motorcycle. Expect a crowd. The Hawk attracts more attention at the retro landmarks than the landmarks do.

Day 6: Arizona — The Stretch That Justifies the Whole Trip

Between Seligman and Kingman, Route 66 stops being a novelty and becomes genuinely great motorcycling. Curves, elevation changes, and pavement that ranges from smooth to... character-building.

This is hypersport territory in spirit even if the speeds stay sane. The Hayabusa's chassis is at its happiest here — stable, precise, and forgiving on the rough bits. Stop in Oatman if you've never done it; the burros don't care about your motorcycle, but every tourist will.

Day 7: Into Santa Monica

The final run through San Bernardino and into Santa Monica is traffic, plain and simple. Filter your expectations accordingly. The pier-end "End of the Trail" sign is the finish line, and yes, you should get the photo with the Hawk next to it. Everyone does. That's the point.

Practical Route Notes for Busa Owners

• Fuel strategy: Carry the mental map of big-box and truck-stop chains. In Illinois, Missouri, Arizona, and California, premium is everywhere. Oklahoma, Texas, and parts of New Mexico require planning. Fill at half a tank west of Tulsa.
• Best stretches for the Hawk: Seligman-to-Kingman (Arizona), Lebanon-to-Carthage (Missouri), and honestly the open Panhandle if you enjoy covering ground.
• Skip or save time: The Chicago suburbs and the LA approach. Get through them early in the day.
• Luggage: A tail bag and tank bag handle a week fine. The Busa's rear seat cowl swaps for a pad in about a minute if you're two-upping.
• Photo staging: Chain of Rocks (St. Louis), the Blue Swallow (Tucumcari), Seligman's main drag, and the pier at Santa Monica. Golden hour, always.

Is the Hayabusa a Route 66 Bike?

It's not the obvious one, and that's exactly why the trip works. The Mother Road rewards comfort and patience; the Hawk just happens to deliver both while being ready to absolutely fly the moment the road opens up. A week on 66 covers a fraction of what this motorcycle can do — but it might be the most fun fraction there is.

If you've been waiting for a sign to take the long way somewhere, this is it. Point the Hawk west.