Route 66, We Miss You

Last week we visited our son in Los Angeles and on Sunday, just before we left for the airport, we drove out to the Santa Monica Pier. There are photos on display marking the Pier as the end of the line on the former Route 66, which began in Chicago and ended in Santa Monica. Oh, the memories.

I grew up an Air Force brat and we lived for awhile in Holbrook Arizona. Route 66 ran right smack through the middle of town and it was our highway of choice whenever we traveled back and forth to see my grandmother in Georgia. From Holbrook we stayed on the same road, traveling through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma before switching to another road to bring us on home to Grandma's.

I didn't realize it at the time, but we didn't have enough money to spend the night in a motel, so we just drove straight through. I sat in the back seat with my Pekingese puppy as we traveled all day and throughout the night, with Mama and Daddy stopping from time to time to switch seats so that one could drive and the other one could sleep. There was a strange comfort in the hum of the tires on the road, accompanied by the smell of coffee from the thermos that my parents shared and the sound of the radio, acting as a lifeline between us and the rest of the world. At night, the glow from the dashboard lit the otherwise black night, as we drifted in and out of radio frequencies, dissolving into static and emerging again in a stronger signal that assured us that we weren't alone - we were still in touch with the world.

We passed through larger cities and small towns, through mountains and into the desert. We traveled through towns with names like Miami, Oklahoma and Tucumcari, New Mexico. We saw the country up close and personal; a place where ordinary people in ordinary places went about the business of living their lives. And there were memories that burned their images on my mind, leaving mental snapshots that I review again and again like favorite pictures in a well worn photo album. One of my favorites was listening to Mason Williams' song, Classical Gas, playing on the radio as we drove through the New Mexico mountains, ending just as we descended into Albuquerque at sunset as the lights of the city began to twinkle. It was as though we had our own personal soundtrack for the moment.

As of June, 1985 Route 66 ceased to be, replaced by I-40, an interstate highway with exit signs, modern conveniences and complete lack of soul. I'm sure that the trip would now go faster, bringing us to our destination in record time. But, oh, what we would miss.

So long, Route 66 - you may be gone, but you aren't forgotten.