We hit the road and I mentioned that I'd seen a number of signs for old US Route 66, the fabled transcontinental two lane (and sometimes one lane) highway. I determined to go have a look see and we found ourselves on one of the longest remaining and storied stretches of two-lane blacktop you've ever seen.
Being out there completely made my day. The romance of the old road hit me deeply and when we got out to read the historic info signs, I swore there was no sound, nothing at all - it was dead quiet except for the ghosts on that old road, haunting it, to borrow a phrase from one American poet, "in the skeleton frames of burned out Chevrolets".
The highway would have taken us a couple of hours out of our way, up to Kingman and then back down on I-40, which had strangled that particular part of Route 66, the town of Oatman, and so many highway dreams of lost main streets, through which 66 was once the lifeblood.
I determined that someday I will return and drive that stretch through the desert, stopping often to listen to the ghosts.