ROUTE 66 RAMBLE, PART THE LAST We’re often prompted by leisure-travel marketers to think of our journeys as “making memories,” and this must indeed be a strong urge for families planning vacations, couples designing destination weddings, school groups deciding where to go for the senior class trip.
But for my money the most valuable aspect of the Route 66 drive are the future musings. What does our past, experienced and considered in the present, signal about our future as a nation? Such ideas can be cultivated piecemeal, of course, over years; our summer 2024 trip was layered onto the cross-country drive in 2003 that incorporated much of Route 66, and many, many day trips to states like Oklahoma and New Mexico in between.
The singular opportunity for one continuous drive at an unhurried pace is like reading a novel—or, maybe more accurately, a volume of history—from cover to cover, rather than picking up a collection of short stories and dipping in from time to time. Or like watching a classic movie in a theater rather than sitting down to the TV for an hour-long drama once a week.
The result is a panorama of the westering impulse that helps to place the centuries of American migration into some perspective. From the arrival of newcomers on the continent’s shores with a sense of wonder and conquest, to the continual push of indigenous inhabitants out of their homelands into ever more arid landscapes, to the establishment of industry and agriculture across the continent, the story unfolds in one sitting.
It isn’t always a noble history. We traversed locations where slave or migrant labor built the rails and later roads, cultivated the fields, worked in the lodgings and eateries—or were often refused service in them. We’ve seen urban sprawl, blight, crime, poverty, greed. (One need only contrast the multitudes of roofless sleepers along Albuquerque’s sidewalks against the thousands of lightbulbs beckoning gamblers’ wallets to the nearby casino.)
But it is a living one. If we’ve “all come to look for America,” no matter who we are, from this country or outside it, we’ll find something of ourselves along the Mother Road. The two-lane generously gives back our respect for it, and all our efforts to protect it will be rewarded for generations to come.
All along the Route, from Illinois to California, the people we met were generous, interesting and helpful. From Bill Thomas in Atlanta, Ill., who helped us gain perspective on The Road Ahead, to Donna Miller in Joplin, to Brenda in Adrian, to the tire guy in Kingman, our way was made smooth by those who’ve gone before us.
It didn’t take long, after pulling into the driveway in Spur again, to unpack suitcases and wash the bugs from the radiator grille. It didn’t take long to settle back into the regular seven-day cycle of news coverage, or the habits of householding. But I’ll be spending the cooler months unpacking observations recorded in a handful of journals, processing photos and uploading them (www.flickr.com/photos/barbarabrannon), and putting down on paper an extended record of the journey.
These essays over the past ten weeks have been a good start on that. Thank you for sticking with me from Texas to Chicago to Los Angeles and back. I welcome your feedback, and your own memories, at www.barbarabrannon.com/blog
And may your own journeys always be as fruitful as this one was for us. Stay safe, make friends, and keep your camera and journal always ready.
DEPARTING SPUR, BOUND FOR CHICAGO, ILLINOIS | 7 AM, JULY 3, 2024
THE END OF THE TRAIL, SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA | AT DUSK, JULY 18, 2024
HOME IN SPUR, TEXAS | AT DUSK, JULY 24, 2024