You Can’t See Their Faces on Route 66

The Blurry Allure of the Open Road

Years ago, I was eating lunch with one of my oldest friends, Tom, at Kiwanis Club. The Travelogue Chairman was passing out packets to all the members. We took ours and looked at the cheap brochure that described the 2000–2001 “Travel and Adventure Series,” a series of six shows featuring speakers who come to our local auditorium and show us a video of a particular geographical area while offering live narration.

Most of the programs looked pretty lame: The British Isles, Ontario, BFE.

But there was the fourth show, “Route 66: The Path West.”

I saw that and looked up at Tom, pointing to it with my eyebrows raised. Tom immediately nodded.

“Wanna check it out?” I asked.

“Heck yeah, Route 66? I’m not really into travelogues, but hey, you can’t pass that up.”

“Maybe we’ll grab a few beers after work, then stumble over to it,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s worth a buzz.”

Those Misty Images

I’ll give 10-to-1 odds that many guys our age — then, mid-thirties; now, mid-fifties — would’ve had that same reaction: Route 66? Oh yeah!