Adventure #91: Route 66

At the risk of offending everyone with this comparison, Route 66 is basically America's Paris. Once upon a time some really cool shit happened there that more or less defined the greater national identity, but nothing really has happened there for a while, hey look, a museum! (Also it's apparently the sort of place where people randomly and unexpectedly fall in love. But that's another story...) This is Pen Pen getting his kicks on Route 66.

These days, Route 66 is a mausoleum to itself. Bypassed and surpassed by the more efficient but way less interesting Interstate 40, the towns along Route 66, which survived entirely on the throngs of migrants and vacationers headed west, have shriveled up like a raisin in the microwave. It is America in microcosm, both good and bad. The possibilities presented by the open road. Our expansive beautiful landscape. The regional quirks that fly in the face of American monoculture. But also our bad habit of building something up long past the point of sustainability and then standing back and watching as it collapses in on itself. Nearly every town has a “Route 66” landmark. As if to say “This! This over here! This was a thing once!” This is Pen Pen at a thing once.

As I drive from Albuquerque to Amarillo, the roadside is pockmarked with the remains of towns. I can't help but wonder how long ago these gas stations were shuttered. Some look like they haven't seen use since the 70's. Others could have been open just last week. Teepee shaped hotels and gift shops trade in Native American exoticism, while the actual Reservations dotting the highway are a reminder of the cost of the open road; crimes for which no justice has yet been served. For all the fun and nostalgic kitsch of the 50's themed diners and diner themed gas stations and gas station themed book stores, there is a sadness here that no amount of chrome and Bill Haley jukeboxes can cover up. This is Pen Pen and existential crisis.

Amarillo's another story though. One of the towns that survived the Interstate 40 overpasses, Amarillo wears its Route 66 heritage proudly. Along 6^th Ave nearly every building is emblazoned with the iconic logo. Classic cars line the street. The hint of desperation behind the nostalgia in other towns is distinctly missing. The show that night is sparse, but it's one of those nights where the right people were there. Light and Ladder and Whim Grace are both really incredible. There's a level of sincere appreciation for each others' work as we each take the stage. When the show finally ends at midnight, none of us want to go home. We end up heading over to one of the manager's houses for a bit to hang out and eat fajitas and then Whim and I head to Merri's to pass out. This is Pen Pen just thankful we're not staying at this hotel; it doesn't even look like they have wi-fi.

The next day, I reluctantly hit the road towards Oklahoma. The remainder of the tour is now measured in days. Soon it'll be measured in hours. I'm tired and a little homesick, but I'm not ready to go home yet. But Afropunk Festival waits for no man, and I'm not about to NOT abuse my all-access pass to The Coup. This is Pen Pen assuring Boots Riley that he's really not that kind of creepy obsessive fan.

In the expanse between Amarillo and Oklahoma City, the remains of Route 66 towns seem to have given up trying. But not Shamrock, Texas. Good ol' Shamrock. With their proud “as seen in the movies!” billboards hyping their iconic Conoco station. With all of the gusto and charisma of a local furniture store TV ad, Shamrock Texas paints itself green, sticks its fingers in its ears, and shouts "Come See World Famous Shamrock, Texas!" And you kind of can't help but admire them for trying. Because that's also part of the character of America; the guy who against all odds and logic refuses to give up. The lovable indefatigable hopeless. Shamrock, Texas is the clerk at Radioshack who asks if you want to also buy batteries even though you just came in to buy a replacement charger for your phone. Shamrock, Texas is the perennial long-shot third party presidential candidate who tells everyone within earshot that the media is too scared of her to give her equal coverage. Shamrock, Texas is the old folk singer still singing his Barry McGuire covers at the open mic hoping he'll be “discovered.” Shamrock, Texas is America. This is Pen Pen pointing out that now the Conoco station has also been seen in a penguin blog; please adjust your billboards accordingly.

This a song I recorded one time. You should download it and share it with your friends.