The thrill of the refill. Twenty-four ounces of Scoutmaster juice.
This one is from Love’s Truck Stops. I’ve been using it now for probably six years, but will probably stop buying these for fear of eventually putting more plastic into a landfill. Something steel, like a Hydro Flask, will replace this.
Hovering near the top of my bucket list are a series of road trips I want to take that retrace the old US highway system. I even have a dream about writing a guidebook on the subject.
Of course, traveling Route 66 is on there, but there are at least a dozen overlooked byways that failed to inspire popular songs yet cut America into revealing cross-sections. One of those journeys is US Route 6, the Grand Army of the Republic Highway running from Provincetown, MA to Long Beach, CA.
Almost as much as any of our heritage roads, Route 6 captured my imagination. The short stretch of the old highway that I have driven so far – from San Fernando, California to Palmdale, California – evoked an epiphany. If you want to drive through America, do it on an Interstate. But if you want to drive to America, do it on a road less – or no longer much – traveled. The history, culture, and beauty wantonly bypassed by the brilliant but artless Interstate system begs for rediscovery, appreciation, and chronicling. Plus, the food is better, and the people more real.
Sitting in the heat of the summer at high altitude, I pulled out this picture I took eighteen moths ago of the West Glacier stop, formerly the Belton Station on the old Great Northern Line in Montana. It’s still hot outside, but this cooled me down.