Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Generally speaking-which isofcoursealwaysadangerousthingtodo,generally speaking-
Americans revere the past only as long as there is some money in it somewhere and it
doesn't mean going without air-conditioning, free parking and other essential convenien-
ces. Preserving the past for its own sake doesn't come into it much. There is little room for
sentiment. When somebody comes along and offers a group of nuns good money for their
staircase, they don't say, “Certainly not, it is a hallowed shrine, built for us by a mysteri-
ous and rather hunky-looking courier of Jesus.” They say, “How much?” And if the offer
is good enough they sell it and use the money to build a new convent on a bigger site, with
air-conditioning,lotsofparkingspaceandagamesroom.Idon'tmeantosuggestforamo-
ment that nuns are worse than other Americans in this regard. They are simply behaving in
the customary American way. I find that very sad. It is no wonder that so few things last
for more than a generation in America.
I left Santa Fe and drove west along Interstate 40. This used to be Route 66. Everybody
loved Route 66. People used to write songs about it. But it was only two lanes wide, not
at all suitable for the space age, hopelessly inadequate for people in motor homes, and
every fifty miles or so it would pass through a little town where you might encounter a
stop sign or a traffic light—what a drag!-so they buried it under the desert and built a new
superhighway that shoots across the landscape like a four-lane laser and doesn't stop for
anything, even mountains. So something else that was nice and pleasant is gone forever
because it wasn't practical-like passenger trains and milk in bottles and corner shops and
Burma Shave signs. And now it's happening in England, too. They are taking away all the
nice things there because they are impractical, as if that were reason enough-the red phone
boxes, the pound note, those open London buses that you can leap on and off. There's al-
most no experience in life that makes you look and feel more suave than jumping on or off
a moving London bus. But they aren't practical. They require two men (one to drive and
onetostopthugsfromkickingthecrapoutofthePakistani gentleman attheback)andthat
is uneconomical, so they have to go. And before long there will be no more milk in bottles
delivered to the doorstep or sleepy rural pubs, and the countryside will be mostly shopping
centers and theme parks. Forgive me. I don't mean to get upset. But you are taking my
world away from me, piece by little piece, and sometimes it just pisses me off. Sorry.
IdrovewestalongInterstate40,throughanimpoverishedlandscape.Habitationswerefew.
Suchtownsasexistedweremostlyjustscatteringsoftrailerhomesdumpedalongtheroad-
side, as if dropped from a great height. They had no yards, no fences, nothing to separ-
ate them from the desert. Much of the land was given over to Indian reservations. Every
twenty or thirty miles I would pass a lone hitchhiker, sometimes an Indian but usually a
white person, laden with bags. I had seen hardly any hitchhikers before now, but here there
were many, the men looking dangerous, the women looking crazy. I was entering a land of
