Today marks one week since we began this journey. In seven days we’ve traveled through nine states, three time zones, and a number of unique landscapes. Everything leading up to Oklahoma felt familiar in some way, shape or form. The temperature increased the further south we went, and the horizon certainly got flatter once we hit Oklahoma, but the environment didn’t feel all too different from what I’ve seen and experienced before.
That all changed three hours west of Oklahoma. Trees disappeared and red rock emerged from the earth. Intricate layers of painted copper and bronze surrounded our winding road. I imagined I was on Mars. Mountains of rock, dry grass, and desert plant life swallowed the horizon. Earth met sky and patches of cloud revealed the breadth and depth of the elaborate landscape. Aside from I-40 and the vehicles that traveled along it, there was no sign of life for miles. For the first time since we left 7 days ago, I felt like a wandering foreigner. I smirk at the thought. You’ve come a long way, Brittany.
Last night was spent in 1950. We left I-40 and entered the Mother Road, historic Route 66. We drove down a cluttered street of abandoned motels, gas stations and restaurants. It was a dying town breathing its last breaths. A handful of motels and eateries now stand as memories of what was once a colorful, vibrant, and bustling pit stop. Driving down the empty street I envisioned old Cadillacs with their rounded features and flashing headlights. I imagined young couples in poodle skirts and leather jackets walking hand in hand to a nearby shake shack. I imagined gas station attendants wearing bow ties and pointed hats waving hello to passing travelers, and motel neon signs flashing a sign of welcome to oncoming guests. I imagined music playing on every part of the street, Elvis Presley, Bill Haley, Doris Day, Johnny Mathis, and Dean Martin, and the smell of burgers and sweet barbecue wafting from the town’s many diners. This used to be Route 66, a lively oasis in the middle of a desolate desert.
Although it only stands as a shadow of what it once was, Andrew and I paid homage to its history and stayed at the Blue Swallow Motel. The motel takes us back in time with it’s original neon sign, blue Cadillac displayed proudly out front, vintage rotary push dial phones, and old radios as big as a mini refrigerator. Hello 1950, we’ve heard great things about you.
Before we settled into our room, Andrew and I decided to grab some dinner at one of the working restaurants on the strip. We could tell a storm was brewing and thought it best to eat before it hit. The restaurant was a quaint little place. The waitresses all wore the same yellow smock dress and there was a jukebox in the corner. Most of the people in the restaurant were travelers passing through, but a few others (most of them were over the age of 60) were clearly “regulars”. It was endearing.
Shortly after Andrew and I ordered dinner, the storm picked up and the entire town lost power. “This is an adventure,” Andrew said. I looked out our window and saw giant lightning bolts light up the sky like I had never seen before. I looked back at him. “Yeah,” I said. I assumed this meant we would have to leave the restaurant. How were we going to be served our food? Other people were now entering the restaurant to seek shelter from the wind and rain. Despite the power outage, the group was immediately seated. Moments later, our waitress arrived with our entrees. “You guys were lucky,” she said smiling. The place was dark, but alive. Music played, families gathered, and people laughed. Perhaps Route 66 isn’t as historic as we think.
We Do Roam 