Route 66 at 100: The Retro Road Trip Film Guide
Most Route 66 videos open the same way. A neon sign at dusk, a slow push toward a tail fin, a guitar track that sounds like it came free with the editing software. The sign gets the best light in the frame, and the people get whatever is left.
The road turned 100 on November 11, 2026. It was pulled from the US highway system back in 1985, so what you’re filming is mostly a memory with a speed limit.
That’s the problem and the opportunity. Shoot it as a postcard and you add to the pile. Shoot it as a road movie, with someone trying to get somewhere, and you have a film.
Is the centennial year actually a good time to film Route 66?
Yes, with a catch — and the catch has changed now that the anniversary has passed. The centennial gave you events, vintage cars, and a ready-made reason for your film to exist. What’s left is the quieter version: fewer crowds, the same road, and a story you have to supply yourself. Treat any remaining local events as set pieces you plan around, and shoot the empty road in the margins.
Route 66 was commissioned on November 11, 1926. It runs 2,448 miles from Chicago to Santa Monica through eight states: Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California.
Towns along the route spent 2026 building a calendar around the anniversary. On November 11 itself, Illinois held a statewide conference and centennial celebration at Motorheads in Springfield, while Tulsa threw a multi-venue birthday party that included a free screening of the documentary Crossroads of America: Oklahoma’s Route 66 and a Centennial Crawl downtown. El Reno marked the day with a flag installation honoring all eight Mother Road states, live music, and its signature onion burgers. Earlier in the month, Route 66 State Park in Eureka, Missouri held its own centennial event on November 7, and Barstow, California closed out the run on November 14 with a time capsule and the opening of Main Street Heritage Park.
That calendar is behind us now, but the road it celebrated isn’t going anywhere. Shooting after the anniversary has one real advantage: the crowds thin out, the motels open up, and the light doesn’t care what year it is. The trade-off is that you’ve lost the ready-made peg, so the reason your film exists has to come from your story rather than the date. Check with your state byway association before you travel — some towns are still running centennial programming past the anniversary itself, and a local event you didn’t plan around is a better set piece than one you did.
Everyone with a phone posted a centennial video this year. The ones that stood out were about a person, not a number.
Common Beginner Mistake: Collecting signs. A drive-in, a diner, a giant fiberglass something, repeat for 2,448 miles. Signs are punctuation. Without a sentence around them, your edit is a slide show with a soundtrack.
I made a version of that mistake at the end of the line in Santa Monica. I spent twenty minutes trying to frame the “End of the Trail” sign on the pier without catching the scaffolding and construction barriers from the ongoing pier repairs in the background. While I was obsessing over a clean postcard shot, a couple who had clearly just finished the drive walked up, hugged, and stood looking out at the Pacific in total silence. They were the actual ending of the road, and I missed the whole thing because I was busy dodging orange fencing.
Which movies built the Route 66 look, and what can you steal from them?
Six films do most of the work: The Grapes of Wrath, Easy Rider, Two-Lane Blacktop, The Hitcher, Bagdad Cafe, and Cars. Each one treats the road as a different character, and that choice, not the neon, is what you should copy.
I worked at a video rental store for years, and I still sort movies by shelf in my head. The road movie shelf is one of the few where the location is the lead.
| Film | Year | The Road Is… | What to Borrow |
|---|---|---|---|
| The Grapes of Wrath | 1940 | An escape that costs everything | Hard shadows and faces held longer than the scenery. Gregg Toland shot it in black and white, and the contrast does the emotional work |
| Easy Rider | 1969 | Freedom with a bill coming | Natural light, motion from the bike, and music carrying the montage until a hard cut ends it |
| Two-Lane Blacktop | 1971 | A strip to race on and nothing else | Dialogue starvation. Let the cars and the silence be the cast |
| The Hitcher | 1986 | A threat | Empty frame as dread. Leave space around your subject and let the road feel too big |
| Bagdad Cafe | 1987 | A place people end up | One location, saturated color, off-kilter framing. A single café can carry a whole film |
| Cars | 2006 | A town the interstate forgot | A composite built from real places. Shoot eight states, cut it as one town |
The Cars row is the most useful one for a working filmmaker. Pixar’s film was reportedly titled Route 66 before it became Cars, and Radiator Springs blends real stops, including Baxter Springs in Kansas, Peach Springs and Seligman in Arizona. Seligman fits the premise: the interstate bypassed it and took the visitors with it.
You can borrow the method. Shoot the diner in one state, the gas pumps in another, the main street in a third, and cut them together as one place with one story.
The 1960s TV series Route 66 gets name-checked in every article about this road, and it wandered far from the actual highway. That’s a useful reminder that the road works as a premise as much as a location.
What Audiences Actually Feel: At the 2024 Soho International Film Festival screening of Going Home, a quiet, patient reaction shot held the room better than rapid dialogue cuts. Road movies work the same way. Nobody feels distance in a montage of mile markers. They feel it in a held shot of someone looking at a road that doesn’t end.
How do you get a retro look without a film crew budget?
Build the look in the camera and the lens, then grade lightly. Three choices carry most of it: a gentler contrast curve, a filter that blooms the highlights, and a lens with some character. Skip the one-click LUT that promises old Kodak film.
Here’s the short version of what I’d do on this road:
Frame: Shoot 4:3 or 1.37:1 if your camera allows it. That’s close to the proportions of mid-century travel footage. If it doesn’t, crop in post from a wider frame and never stretch.
Motion: 24 fps with a 180-degree shutter. Save slow motion for one shot per day, not every shot.
Highlights: A 1/8 Black Mist stacked on a fast prime is my default. It blooms neon and sun glints on chrome the way old lenses did.
Lenses: Vintage glass adds the softness and flare you can’t fake well. I shoot Canon FD 50mm f/1.8, Helios 44-2 on M42, and a Pentax Super Takumar 50mm f/1.4.
Color: Warm the highlights, leave skin alone, and add one layer of grain at the very end.
The Black Mist is not for everyone. It lifts shadows and softens contrast, and you can’t take it back out in the grade. If you’re shooting product details or text on signs that must stay crisp, leave it off.
Vintage glass is a bad fit for solo drivers shooting from a moving car. Manual focus on a moving subject without a second person is a good way to bring home soft footage.
Road trips leave no time to grade. On a weekend project with a Fujifilm X-M5 and zero time in post, I shot in the Classic Neg film simulation and the footage looked finished straight out of camera. That’s the right mindset for a motel at 11 PM.
Production Reality: I bought an adapted M42 prime online that looked clean on the outside. On location, a phone flashlight shone through the rear element showed a web of internal fungus softening the contrast. Separately, cheap EF-to-E and FD adapters have developed play or missed hard infinity on night exteriors. Test any vintage lens with a flashlight before you pack it, and check the adapter at infinity before you leave home.
What gear do you actually need for 2,448 miles?
A phone or one small camera, a tripod that fits in a car footwell, a mic with a wind cover, and two ways to back up your footage. Everything past that costs setup time, and you’ll spend that time on the road you came to film.
| Gear | Best For | Honest Drawback | Skip It If | Cheaper Route |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Ulanzi MT-08 phone tripod | Cramped surfaces like a dash or a diner counter. Holds a phone rock-solid, and the cold shoe takes a mic | Top-heavy at full extension with a heavier mic | You shoot on a mirrorless. It’s a phone tripod | A cheap plastic clamp, which I don’t recommend. See below |
| RØDE VideoMicro II with HELIX mount | Directional pickup on a cold shoe, reduces handling noise and rejects room tone | Needs a proper wind cover on any open shoulder | You record moving walk-and-talks | BOYA BY-M1, a wired lav I keep as a budget backup |
| Hollyland Lark M2 | Wireless lav for walk-and-talks. It’s the one I keep in my bag | Every clip-on mic loses to wind unless you cover it | You only shoot silent scenic B-roll | BOYA BY-M1 for a phone |
| DJI Osmo Pocket 3 | B-roll, motion tracking, and behind-the-scenes from the car | Fixed wide lens, so no long-lens compression for mirages | You need a telephoto look | Your phone on a gimbal |
| Sony ZV-E10 II | A light B-camera for tight car interiors. Active stabilization smooths handheld | No viewfinder, so the rear screen washes out in direct desert sun | You shoot long takes in bright exteriors | Your phone and a hand shade |
| Sony FE 50mm f/1.8 | A sharp, affordable prime for E-mount, good for portraits at motels | Clean and modern, so it won’t give you a vintage look on its own | You want a period look without a filter | Stack a Black Mist on it |
Compatibility is the part people skip. Check which port your phone uses before you buy any mic, and confirm any lens fits your mount. The FE 50mm is native to E-mount, which is what the ZV-E10 II uses.
A few things I’d leave at home. I bought a motorized slider for a trip to Italy expecting smooth moves. It took about 20 minutes to rig for a five-second clip, ate batteries, and drew attention. I used it twice and it has sat in a closet on every trip since.
For a lighter pack, my one-bag camera kit guide covers the weight side. If you’re shooting on a phone, the $300 smartphone rig is the base I’d start from, and the DJI roundup covers the Pocket 3 in more detail.
Budget Reality: Two Brothers, One Sister cost $218 total, and $20 of that was pizza for the actors. Film money goes to feeding people and moving them around. On Route 66 that translates to fuel, beds, and time. A cheap rig you pack beats an expensive one that stays in the trunk.
How do you plan the days so you’re not chasing light?
Plan by sun position and story beat, not by mileage. Most of the route runs east to west, so if you’re driving west, morning sun is behind you and lights the road ahead, and by mid-afternoon it’s in your windshield. Shoot driving scenes early and save the late hours for stops.
If you’re driving east, flip all of that. The principle holds either way: the sun decides when you drive and when you park.
- Morning: driving shots and road-facing B-roll.
- Midday: interiors. Diners, motels, gas stations, anything with a roof.
- Golden hour: your stops, portraits, and the shot you drove 400 miles for.
- Night: neon, and the motel-room offload.
Season matters more than people plan for. Arizona’s monsoon runs late summer, the Mojave stretch gets hot enough to cook batteries in a dashboard, and Flagstaff sits at high elevation and gets real winter. Spring and fall are the safe bets.
For the shot list, I’d skip a list by landmark and build one by character. Give yourself the car, the road, the people, and the place, and shoot at least one frame for each every day. That keeps your edit from turning into a landmark inventory.
| State | A Stop Worth the Footage | What It Gives Your Frame |
|---|---|---|
| Illinois | Gemini Giant, Wilmington | A roadside figure that reads instantly at any distance |
| Missouri | Route 66 Drive-In, Carthage | Period cinema architecture, and a link to Radiator Springs |
| Kansas | Galena | A short stretch of road with a Cars connection |
| Oklahoma | Blue Whale of Catoosa; Sandhills Curiosity Shop, Erick | A roadside absurdity and a cluttered interior |
| Texas | Cadillac Ranch, Amarillo | Cars as sculpture, graffiti, and wide open sky |
| New Mexico | Tucumcari | A neon strip that comes alive after dark |
| Arizona | Seligman; Hackberry General Store; Oatman | Small-town texture, shelves of props, wild donkeys |
| California | Amboy; Newberry Springs; Santa Monica | Desert emptiness, a café with film history, and the end of the road |
Patience is also a plan. On a trip to Edinburgh I set a locked-off wide shot on a stone wall near a street corner and walked off to buy coffee. Fog rolled in and a local passed through with two dogs in silhouette. That became the hero opening shot of the edit.
I also left over $2,000 of gear on that wall with only a line of sight from the café window. Don’t copy that part.
For the broader craft side of travel B-roll, this guide to travel B-roll that actually works goes deeper than I will here. Beyond the camera, build your daily schedule around fuel stops, motel check-ins, and realistic driving windows so you aren’t burning golden hour on the interstate.
Do you need a permit to film on Route 66?
For a tourist-level phone shoot from public roadsides, usually no. For a crew, a commercial client, a drone, or anything inside a national park, national forest, tribal land, or on a city’s property, yes, and approval can take weeks. Ask before you set up, not after.
I’m not a lawyer, and permit rules change. Treat this as production experience, and confirm with the agency before you travel.
Arizona is the example worth reading because so much of the route’s best scenery crosses protected land. The state’s film office lists federal permits for national parks, national forests, and other agencies, and notes that processing times can run from weeks to a couple of months — Flagstaff’s film office, for example, asks for a minimum of two weeks and says complex projects may need four to six weeks of review. National Forest Service land can need a permit even when you’re only filming on a road that passes through it. Their permit overview is the place to start, and Petrified Forest National Park publishes its own filming and photography page. In Flagstaff, productions on city property need a permit through the city film office.
Permit rules vary by state, and a single national standard does not exist. Missouri, for instance, does not require a specific statewide filming permit for most shoots, but municipalities and state or federal agencies may require one for certain locations such as parks. New Mexico’s Santa Fe Film Office requires permits regardless of whether you’re on public or private property, with application fees and per-day shooting fees. California routes many productions through local film offices such as FilmLA, and Illinois productions often coordinate through the Illinois Film Office and local authorities. The pattern is consistent: the more protected, private, or iconic the location, the more likely you need permission, and the longer it will take.
Here is a compact reference for the states you’ll cross:
| State | Key Permit Authority | What Triggers a Permit | Typical Lead Time |
|---|---|---|---|
| Illinois | Illinois Film Office / local film offices | Crew, commercial, state property | Varies by county and city |
| Missouri | Missouri Film Office / local municipalities | State or federal parks, some city property | Check locally; no statewide general permit |
| Kansas | Kansas Film Commission / local authorities | Crew, state property, some towns | Varies |
| Oklahoma | Oklahoma Film + Music Office / local film offices | Crew, state parks, city property | 1–3 weeks depending on location |
| Texas | Texas Film Commission / local film offices | Crew, state parks, city property | Varies; some cities require 2+ weeks |
| New Mexico | New Mexico Film Office / tribal governments | Commercial, tribal land, Santa Fe city property | Santa Fe: permit required, fees apply |
| Arizona | Arizona Commerce Authority / local film offices | National parks, national forests, city property | 2 weeks to 2 months depending on agency |
| California | FilmLA / local film offices / state parks | LA County, Santa Monica, state parks | 1–3 weeks; longer for complex shoots |
Drones deserve their own warning. The National Park Service bans launching drones in national parks. In the US, commercial flights need an FAA Part 107 certificate, and recreational flyers need to pass the TRUST test, so check the FAA’s drone page before you pack one.
Tribal land adds another layer that most guides ignore. Much of Route 66 crosses or borders tribal land in Arizona and New Mexico, and those are separate governments with their own rules. Navajo Nation Parks and Recreation prohibits drones in its tribal parks outright, and drones flown inside park boundaries can be confiscated. Some pueblos prohibit photography entirely, and others require a permit from the tribal office before you enter. This is not a permitting gap waiting for a workaround; it is another government’s law on another government’s land. Contact the tribal government directly before you film or fly anywhere near reservation boundaries.
On Going Home I made two drone attempts that failed, one on restricted airspace near Victoria International Airport and one on downtown foot traffic. No drone footage made the final cut. On Blood Buddies, a drone overview of a school bus did make the screen, and that worked because it was one planned reveal. Bring a drone for one specific shot, not as a habit.
Private businesses are a different kind of permission. In Istanbul, a merchant in a covered bazaar stepped into my lens path and waved me off from filming near his textile booth. I powered down and put the camera away, then had a ten-minute unrecorded conversation with him instead. That conversation was worth more than the shot.
Anyone who works a front door or a desk, as I do at a hotel, learns to read a stranger with a camera pointed at the building. Walking in first and saying what you’re doing changes the whole exchange. Motel owners and diner staff along this road are no different. If you don’t have Part 107 certification, aren’t willing to check airspace, or plan to launch inside a national park or on tribal land without permission, leave the drone at home.
How do you record usable sound on an open road?
Treat wind as the main enemy and the car as the second. Put a wind cover on every mic outdoors, record at least 30 seconds of ambient sound at each stop, and check a take before you leave the location. A mic that sounds fine in a parking lot can fall apart on a highway shoulder.
In coastal Croatia, a deadcat wind muff slipped off the lavalier mic in my jacket pocket during an afternoon of piece-to-camera commentary. Every take had low-frequency wind rumble and none of it was usable.
I’ve also tested wireless lavs on a coastal trail above Cattle Point with a Sony FX3, with no gear supplied by manufacturers. The Hollyland Lark M2 is the one that stayed in my bag. An open desert shoulder is rougher than that trail, so cover whatever you use and check the take.
The other habit is room tone. On In The End, a mic wasn’t seated properly and nearly all the dialogue needed ADR. I hadn’t captured 30 seconds of clean room tone on location, which made smoothing the ADR edits very hard. On a road trip, wild sound at every stop is how you stitch your edit together later.
Car interiors are small and hard-surfaced, so a close mic matters more than a nice one. For the details, see my guides to phone audio, lavalier mics, and shotgun mics.
How do you turn miles of footage into an actual film?
Pick one person, one want, and one deadline before you leave. Everything you shoot either pushes that story or slows it down. The road gives you scenery for free, so you have to supply the reason anyone would sit through it.
Try a simple spine for a three-to-six-minute film. Someone leaves with a reason. Each stop puts something in their way. The last frame either arrives or admits it won’t.
The Cars idea works here too. The best road films are about places that were left behind, and a bypassed town is a better story than a landmark.
Performing for the camera is the quickest way to lose an audience. In Reykjavik I caught myself stiffly resetting shots every time someone walked into frame. Watching a 10-second clip back showed my body language was visibly performing. After that I treated the camera as a quiet observer.
On a solo drive down the Pacific Northwest coast, I recorded the same piece-to-camera twice. The tripod version near the coastline, in an exaggerated vlogger voice, felt hollow. The unscripted late-night version, recorded in the rental car during heavy rain, felt like a confession. Use the second one as your model.
Pacing works the same way. Hold a shot a beat longer than feels comfortable, then cut. If you use music, pay for licensed or library tracks, because the famous songs about this road are not free to use. For more on solo, on-camera work, see my vlogging guide. When you sit down to edit, sort your footage by story beat rather than by state — that’s the fastest way to find a narrative when you’re doing every job yourself.
What goes wrong on the road, and what do you pack against it?
Heat, power, and storage fail first, in that order. Keep batteries out of the dashboard, charge in the car and in the motel, and offload every night to two drives before you sleep. Footage that exists in only one place hasn’t been shot yet.
In Thailand, condensation fogged the internal optics and heat drained the spare batteries during a humid, rainy stretch. I was also burned out from trying to film every meal and every walk, so the camera stayed packed away for two straight days. The desert version of that is moving between an air-conditioned car and hot air, so give a lens a few minutes before you shoot.
On Noelle’s Package, a hard drive failed two weeks into editing. I had three backup copies, one of those was also corrupted, and the third held. I’ve also lost an entire weekend of footage editing off a slow external drive that corrupted mid-render.
My nightly routine is short:
Offload cards to a fast SSD. I use 1TB and 2TB Samsung T9s.
Clone to a second drive before you do anything else.
Spot-check three clips to confirm they play.
Charge everything, and clean your lens.
Write down tomorrow’s three must-have shots.
A compact failure checklist for the road:
Heat: Batteries out of the dashboard; camera in the footwell or a shaded seat, not the trunk.
Power: Car charger, motel outlet, and a power bank for the phone; charge everything every night.
Storage: Two SSDs, nightly offload, spot-check three clips before you format a card.
Wind: Wind cover on every outdoor mic, and a take checked on location, not in the edit.
Condensation: Let a cold lens acclimatize before you shoot in heat or humidity; carry a microfiber cloth.
Permits: Screenshot or download confirmations before you lose signal; keep a paper copy in the glovebox.
A sample 14-day filming itinerary
This is a rhythm, not a route order. You can drive it east to west or west to east; the sun-direction rule in the planning section flips, but the shape holds. The point is to build in light, weather, and one unplanned shot per day.
| Day | Rough Stretch | What You’re Shooting | Why It’s Here |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1–2 | Chicago to Springfield, IL | Urban start, Gemini Giant, first driving scenes in morning light | Establishes the person and the car before the road opens up |
| 3–4 | St. Louis to Springfield, MO | Route 66 Drive-In, Ozarks curves, a diner interior | Gives you period architecture and a contained location |
| 5–6 | Kansas and Oklahoma | Galena, Blue Whale, Tulsa neon, El Reno | Small-town texture and a centennial set piece |
| 7–8 | Texas and New Mexico | Cadillac Ranch at golden hour, Tucumcari after dark | Wide-open sky and a neon strip that rewards patience |
| 9–10 | Arizona | Seligman, Hackberry, Oatman; permit-check window for Petrified Forest | The densest stretch of roadside texture on the route |
| 11–12 | Mojave and Southern California | Amboy, Newberry Springs, Santa Monica | Desert emptiness and the end-of-road frame |
| 13–14 | Buffer / pickups | The shot you missed, the person you met, the weather day | This is where the film usually reveals itself |
Key Takeaways
- Shoot Route 66 as a road movie with one person, one want, and one deadline, not as a list of landmarks.
- Build your retro look in the camera with 4:3 framing, a Black Mist filter, and a lens with some character.
- Plan driving scenes for the morning and save stops for golden hour.
- Check permits before you shoot with a crew or a drone, especially in national parks, national forests, and tribal land.
- Cover every mic outdoors and record 30 seconds of ambient sound at each stop.
- Back up to two drives every night before you sleep.
- Use the Route 66 Navigation app or the EZ66 Guide to find drivable alignments; standard GPS will route you onto the interstate.
FAQ
Can you still drive all of Route 66?
Mostly, but not as one continuous road. About 85% of the original route is still drivable as state highways, county roads, business loops, and frontage roads. Some sections were absorbed into interstates or are closed, so you’ll jump between original alignments. The 42-mile Oatman Road over Sitgreaves Pass in Arizona is drivable but winding, and the National Trails Highway across the Mojave is partly closed east of Amboy. Use the Route 66 Navigation app, which notes closures and detours, or Jerry McClanahan’s EZ66 Guide, and cross-check with a current map before each day. Expect to film some of your driving on a modern highway.
How long should you plan to film Route 66?
Plan two weeks if you intend to film, and a long week if you only want to drive. The extra days buy you light, weather, and the unplanned shot, and that’s where the footage worth keeping tends to come from.
What is the best time of year to film Route 66?
Spring and fall. Summer heat in the Mojave and Arizona monsoon season are hard on batteries and schedules, and winter snow around Flagstaff can close the stretch you came for.
Can I fly a drone on Route 66?
Sometimes, but not in national parks, not on tribal land without permission, and not without checking the rules for each stop. Commercial flights need an FAA Part 107 certificate. Navajo Nation tribal parks prohibit drones outright, and some pueblos restrict photography and filming entirely. Fly only for a shot you’ve planned, because the permits and airspace checks cost more time than most people expect.
Conclusion
Filming Route 66 in its centennial year works when you stop trying to film the whole road. Pick a person, a want, and a deadline, build one retro look in the camera, and let the road be the obstacle.
The production reality is plain. You’ll lose light to the wrong driving direction, lose audio to wind, and lose footage to a drive you didn’t back up. The fixes cost almost nothing: a wind cover, a second SSD, and a permit email sent three weeks early.
If you’re just starting, pack a phone, a tripod, and a small mic, and write your one-sentence story before you leave home. If you’ve already made the classic mistake and come back with 2,000 miles of signs and no film, go back through your footage and find the person in it. The road was built to get people somewhere else, and the best Route 66 films are the ones where getting there is the problem — and where you’re looking at the couple on the pier instead of the scaffolding.
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PeekAtThis.com participates in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and other affiliate programs, including B&H Photo, Adorama, CJ, and ClickBank. If you purchase through links on this site, we may earn a small commission at no additional cost to you. These commissions help support the site and allow us to continue creating free content, reviews, and tutorials.
If this article helped you avoid an expensive mistake, discover a better piece of gear, or learn something new, consider sharing it with someone who might benefit from it too.
📌 Don’t forget to bookmark PeekAtThis.com and save any useful guides for future reference.
About the Author
Trent Peek is a filmmaker, writer, and producer based in Victoria, BC, and the founder of PeekAtThis.com. His production credits include set decoration on Netflix’s Maid, and writing/directing Going Home (2024 Soho International Film Festival) and Noelle’s Package (48-hour festival winner, shot on smartphone). He’s also a former President of Cinevic, Victoria’s Society of Independent Filmmakers, and works as a doorman at a four-star hotel — a job that’s taught him as much about reading people under pressure as any film set has.
When he’s not writing articles, testing gear, or working on film projects, Trent enjoys traveling, reading, exploring new technology, and developing future film ideas — many of which may never leave the notebook stage.
P.S. Writing in the third person still feels weird.
Trent recently appeared on the Pushin Podcast — listen to the full episode — where he discussed independent filmmaking, directing actors, production challenges, and lessons learned from working in film.
Conclusion
Filming Route 66 in its centennial year works when you stop trying to film the whole road. Pick a person, a want, and a deadline, build one retro look in the camera, and let the road be the obstacle.
The production reality is plain. You’ll lose light to the wrong driving direction, lose audio to wind, and lose footage to a drive you didn’t back up. The fixes cost almost nothing: a wind cover, a second SSD, and a permit email sent three weeks early.
If you’re just starting, pack a phone, a tripod, and a small mic, and write your one-sentence story before you leave home. If you’ve already made the classic mistake and come back with 2,000 miles of signs and no film, go back through your footage and find the person in it. The road was built to get people somewhere else, and the best Route 66 films are the ones where getting there is the problem — and where you’re looking at the couple on the pier instead of the scaffolding.
📌 Affiliate Disclosure
PeekAtThis.com participates in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and other affiliate programs, including B&H Photo, Adorama, CJ, and ClickBank. If you purchase through links on this site, we may earn a small commission at no additional cost to you. These commissions help support the site and allow us to continue creating free content, reviews, and tutorials.
If this article helped you avoid an expensive mistake, discover a better piece of gear, or learn something new, consider sharing it with someone who might benefit from it too.
📌 Don’t forget to bookmark PeekAtThis.com and save any useful guides for future reference.
About the Author
Trent Peek is a filmmaker, writer, and producer based in Victoria, BC, and the founder of PeekAtThis.com. His production credits include set decoration on Netflix’s Maid, and writing/directing Going Home (2024 Soho International Film Festival) and Noelle’s Package (48-hour festival winner, shot on smartphone). He’s also a former President of Cinevic, Victoria’s Society of Independent Filmmakers, and works as a doorman at a four-star hotel — a job that’s taught him as much about reading people under pressure as any film set has.
When he’s not writing articles, testing gear, or working on film projects, Trent enjoys traveling, reading, exploring new technology, and developing future film ideas — many of which may never leave the notebook stage.
P.S. Writing in the third person still feels weird.
Trent recently appeared on the Pushin Podcast — listen to the full episode — where he discussed independent filmmaking, directing actors, production challenges, and lessons learned from working in film.