How I feel in love with the Mother Road

When we take road trips, more often than not we are in search for something, whether it is a destination, people, or even ourselves. For me, I love traversing across the nation’s highways because it enables me to not only search for an answer to life’s problems, but gives me the chance to explore the beautiful landscapes of this nation. Although I have had a driver’s license for only 6 years, maps and roads always held a special place in my heart. When I was younger, I would give directions and act as my mom or godparents Captain Navigator; a superhero of sorts with the ability to not only get people to their destination without getting lost, but also discover new and mysterious roads. I am still determined to this day to find that road or portal. Additionally, for years I had an affinity towards the 1950’s and its popular culture. During which time, I did some things that could be perceived as abnormal. They included watching episodes of I Love Lucy, Leave it to Beaver and Back to the Future parts 1 and 2 about as many times as there are days in a year. That is no exaggeration. Furthermore, I would go to the bookstore, hide behind a shelf and wipe away drool from the pages that featured either a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible or a 1954 Buick Roadmaster. I always thought riding in vehicles such as these would transport me back in time (just like the Delorean) and enable me to search for answers while driving down that open road listening to Elvis and Hank. In 2005, I decided to board an airplane to New Mexico. After graduating from college two years earlier and doing nothing but temp work, it was time for an excursion. Earlier in the year, I began reading about historic roads such as Route 66. After reading more about it and seeing there was going to be a car show out in a part of the country I have never dreamed of going before, I figured this was a good time to cut loose from my daily activity of do-nothing-but memorize Marty McFly’s dialogue with his parents. So, I booked rooms in Tucumcari and Albuquerque and told myself to “head west, young man.” The flight from New York to Amarillo, Texas via Dallas was not very eventful. However, I did meet a gentleman from Carlsbad, New Mexico who resided in Amarillo. He was one of the nicest gentlemen I encountered in any place I had traveled to. Not only did he drive me into town from the airport, but he gave me my first taste of Route 66. As we drove around, I felt a sense of ecstasy as I had never traveled down 66 as so many before me have. It felt as if I was in the 1950's traveling west to see what the next mile would bring.

After a nice burger at a place he recommended by the bus depot, I went over to the Greyhound station to pick up my ticket for Tucumcari. The station itself was rather parochial in size and not an ideal place to sit around and wait for a bus. Nevertheless, it was a new experience and I wanted to soak it all in. After picking up the ticket and sitting down to wait for the bus, I encountered various people from different locales and walks of life; some were traveling from Arkansas while others were going as far west as Stockton, California. Additionally, there were a few people going to just get away from their present situations, while others were going to meet some friends and family. At around 8 P.M., the bus arrived and picked all of us up and the journey began. A half-hour later, most of the passengers were either sleeping or lying comatose listening to their music like myself. As the apex of "Take it Easy" by the Eagles came about a huge boom took place. Thunder down 66! After riding past Vega, (25-30 miles west of Amarillo), I recall seeing lightning in a shade of orange one will not see in New York or anywhere for that matter. The remaining hour and a half is a blur, as I shut my eyes from the long day. As we hit the depot in Tucumcari, the driver hollered “Everybody for Tucumcari, get off.” If possible, the driver would have loved to thrown us off as he had a long drive to Flagstaff, Arizona awaiting him. I would get off and take a cab ride over to the motel I was staying at. After all the thunder from jet engines, Mother Nature and a grumpy older bus driver, wouldn't you know that the place where I would be staying at would be called the Pow Wow Inn. The next morning, I asked the front desk lady where the Route 66 Festival was going to take place. Since I did not have my driver’s license (despite my interest in roads the New York City public transportation system as well as high insurance rates precluded any chance of owning an automobile), I had to walk several blocks down the Mother Road to get to the car show and festivities. As I walked in my tank-top, shorts and running shoes in the vastly dry heat of the Southwest, I encountered two gentlemen at the Buckaroo Motel. One was grey-haired with pale blue eyes that hailed from Wisconsin and had been a resident of Tucumcari for about 15 years, while the other was another local from Arkansas. As a person who does not normally just talk to people from out-of-the-blue, this was a pleasant surprise. From guns to roads to our hometowns, we all were able to converse and enjoy the clear blue sky on Route 66 while soaking in the wonderful odor of asphalt. The experience showed me that as an American, no matter what the person’s background was, everyone has a story to share about their journey. Whenever I walked onto 66 after glaring at some of the auto beauties, I felt an aura. It felt as if I was reliving an experience from another lifetime. As for that Saturday afternoon, I enjoyed myself so much that later on, I painfully realized that I forgot to put sunscreen on. Consequently, my legs and arms were as burnt as a hamburger sitting on the grill for hours at a backyard shindig. After the festivities, I walked down 66 in the soaking sun looking for a supermarket to find a cure to this painful ailment.

Alas, I hit an Alco’s and bought some aloe. (How about that Mr. Kerouac another verse to your poetic ride, aloe at Alco’s.) It did not help much, but in my mind it did the trick. A couple of days later it was time to get back on the bus. However, before I left, I met a couple of people at the depot. One was a gentleman in his early 30’s with blonde hair who was heading back to Oregon, while the other was a young lady with brown hair and blue eyes from Missouri (or “Misery”) who was heading to an unknown destination. What impressed me most was the fact that she seemed to find herself even though she did not know where the bus would leave her. This faith in the unknown and in God forced me to start reevaluating my lot in life. I started to believe that life is all about the journey and that the road is not merely asphalt or concrete macadam; it is a path that will cause one’s self to see and experience things like never before. While my first experience on 66 in New Mexico was special, it would be the second time around that completed my love affair with 66. The biggest difference, this time I was finally able to drive on the Mother Road! In September 2006, I flew to Arizona for a 10-day vacation. While sitting on the plane from Houston, all I can think of was “Boy, I get to feel the excitement of being on 66, my dream road.” This was an exciting moment, as it was my first journey on 66, in which I was able to drive. (I had recently moved to Houston, Texas from Brooklyn, New York during which time I did not own a driver’s license until July of 2005) After staying in Phoenix for a couple of days, I trucked across Interstate 17. While it had its moments, all I was thinking about was what it will be like traveling on a road that so many before me had. As I reached Flagstaff, as Hank Williams softly stated “I Saw the Light;” a sign that said “Historic Route 66.” When I made the right to reach my motel, America’s Best Value Inn (granted it was not the El Pueblo Motel, but still), it felt as if I came back to visit an old friend. Shortly after unpacking, I got back into the 2006 Chevy Cobalt rental and coasted thirty miles west on Interstate 40 to Williams. As I drove through downtown Williams, I witnessed a town that clearly had seen its better days. Nevertheless, seeing the coal mines and small businesses that run today, I got a chance to feel the aura that Williams offers a roadie or a newbie. For me, being able to not only see the 66 signs but admire all the structures and businesses that Michael Wallis gently explains in his ode to the Mother Road was quite a thrill.