Writers' Corner: A Road Less Traveled

Last week, three friends and I set out on a grand adventure. We plotted a course across the country via Historic Route 66: The scenic route to America the beautiful. And once upon a time, it was.

The old highway, known simply as Route 66, originally transversed America from just outside Chicago, Illinois, all the way to sunny Los Angeles, California. The countryside was on full display for any and all travelers willing to make the journey. Charming small towns and majestic vistas shared the stage with unique attractions ranging from the quirky to the awe-inspiring.

Did you hope to walk where pioneers trod? Or maybe you always dreamt of spine-tingling treks through a ghost town. You might have wanted to go white-water rafting in the morning and camp in the desert that night. The thing is, you had options.

Camping used to be a family favorite pastime in America. Long before everyone became obsessed with Disney theme parks and fancy cruise lines, Mom and Dad would load the kiddos into the station wagon, hitch up the camper and hit the open road. Then it was off to see the country! Neither man nor machine feared for lack of sustenance because every crossroads was seemingly home to a quaint diner and nearby handy self-service station. The friendly locals always had directions to regional special attractions. And they were usually amazing sights, indeed.

Today, the countryside is still loaded with magical caverns and forgotten settlements. Much of the history lessons taught in school have left traces that can still be seen and touched. You only have to go out there and explore.

Sadly, sometime in the last fifty or so years, some government official thought it would be prudent, and probably personally very profitable, to create new "super highways" that cut through the great plains like a surgeon's scalpel. It was a brutal cut.

Gone are the quick and easy side routes and day trips to experience the kitschy, fun attractions that made Route 66 so magical. The famed Standing Cadillacs, located just outside Amarillo, Texas, can still be viewed. The cost is only the drive. Bring a can of spray paint and leave your autograph. Artistic flair is appreciated. Not too far away, on the other side of the city, one can see Volkswagen Bugs displayed similarly.

I have yet to see a giant yarn ball or to sleep in a cement tepee. I viewed the Grand Canyon in awed silence. I stood overlooking a meteor crater so massive the impact could have destroyed much of this country if it happened today. Again, I was left awed. I saw donkeys and birds, ancient lava flows and petrified trees, and sun: lots of sun.

Our trip ended in Las Vegas, a city of lights. I played a golden piggy bank in a casino and won a bit of cash. I explored the city and appreciated the wonder of it. I walked with friends. I learned who is a good traveling companion … and who isn't. I finished a screenplay and took some pictures. Trinkets were purchased and postcards were mailed. We all flew home on a delayed, red-eyed flight.

For most of our journey west, the new highway was shadowed by the old. The old Route 66 was visible, off to the right. It has become an access road. Sometimes it is well-used; other times it's covered in desert grasses. No matter, it was a memorable and amazing trip. Unfortunately for me, I never saw a single, sequined Elvis. Not one.

Tip: Find your kicks on Route 66; then write about it. It is a trip worth taking.

Bio: Christine Cox lives and works in SW Michigan. She can be contacted at [email protected].

— The Sturgis Writers’ Mill exists to create a community of writers who constructively encourage, support, and challenge each other as they discover their unique voices. Any opinion expressed is solely that of the author.