When I travel about the USA, I like to taste the special foods that are typical of the region that I am visiting.  Many of the regional specialties that were once unique to certain places, are now available all over the USA.  You can find Philadelphia Cheesesteaks, New England Clam Chowder and Buffalo Wings in restaurants and fast food stands in every state.  Other items like Cinncinatti Chili are seldom found far from their home territory.  None the less, the best quality and most authentic regional food can usually be found only in its original home.

We have a type of sandwich that is popular all over the USA.  It typically comes on a large soft bun shaped like a small loaf of bread.  It is often called a Hoagie or an Italian Hoagie, but is also known in some cities as a Submarine Sandwich or simply a Sub.  In the New England States it is called a Grinder.  In many of the Southern States it is a Poor Boy or a Po Boy.  This sandwich comes in many different varieties with special regional adaptions.  As you travel from state to state, it is interesting to sample the local variety and compare it to all the other regional adaptions.

The most common Hoagie, Sub, or Grinder is the Italian.  It consists of a variety of luch meats and cheeses usually including ham, salami, capacola, provolone cheese and possibly pepperoni sausage.  Sometimes it is baked until the cheese melts.  It is typically dressed with some fresh tomato, shredded lettuce and a bit of oil and vinegar seasoned with a bit of dried oregano. Every city and town has many local shops and pizza parlors that serve Italian Hoagies or Subs, Each shop has its own way of adding a touch of variety to this old standard.  The local residents all have their opinion on who makes the best Italian Sub in town.

Another common variety of Hoagie is the Philadelphia Chees Steak or Pilly Cheese Steak.  This too is served in towns and cities in every state with many variations and local enhancements.  The best place to find the original authentic Cheese Steak is in Philadelphia.  Pat's and Geno's in South Philadelphia are the two most authentic cheese steak restaurants in the USA.  Pat's reputedly invented this sandwich, but Geno's has also been making them for almost as many years.  There are dozens of other restaurants all over Philadelphia that make similar Philadelpia Steak Sandwiches with Cheese, and each one offers its own slight improvement on the recipe.

A regional specialty that has become very popular across the USA is the Buffalo Wing.  No, it is not something made from Bison meat.  It consists of fried chicken wings spiced with a fiery hot pepper sauce, and it was invented at the Anchor Bar and Grill in Buffalo New York  History tells us that the Anchor Bar ran out of snack foods to serve to its customers one busy evening, and all that was left in its refrigerator were some chicken wings.  The cook decided to fry the chicken wings, then douse them with some hot pepper sauce and serve them to the customers.  It became an immediate success.  The Anchor Bar has been serving them ever since.

Now, Hot Wings or Buffalo Wings are served as snack foods in bars and restaurants across the USA.  They are a favorite snack for sports fans watching football games or hockey matches.  There are endless varieties of Buffalo Wings served in various eateries.  The original Buffalo Wings are still the fiery hot ones, but restaurants typically offer Mild, MNedium, Hot or Super Hot wings.  They offer Honey Mustard flavored wings, Pamesan flavored or Barbeque wings.  The traditional accompanyment with hot wings is typically celery sticks with ranch style salad dressing.  This was originally designed to cool off your burning tongue after you eat some of those fiery hot original Buffalo Wings.

When I travel about in the USA, I like to find these regional specialties and sample them in their home territory.  When in Cincinatti, I search for Skyline Chili, served over spaghetti and topped with onions, cheese and diced tomato.  In Chicago, I love the deep dish pizza and the loaded hot dogs.  In New York, I sample the thin crust brick oven pizza, Nathan's hot dogs, bagels, cheesecake, and the myriad of foods served from sidewalk carts.  In New England, it is the clam chowder, fried clams and lobster.  In Baltimore, the crab cakes.  In florida, key lime pie.  Barbeque comes in so many varieties, that one must taste it in North Carolina, in Texas, in St. Lous, in Memphis and in Kansas City to appreciate some of the many culinary possibilities. Tacos, Burritos, and other border Mexican specialties are best in the border states of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California.  The USA is so large, and there are so many regional foods, that one could devote a lifetime to tasting them all.

 

I happened to be in Miami, Florida a few months ago.  It clearly has the most Latin American atmosphere of any city in North America.  As you walk down the streets in the entertainment districts, you constantly hear the fiery throb of salsa beats emanating from the nightclubs and restaurants. Spanish is spoken almost as frequently as English.  Cuban cuisine is served in many of the local eateries.

Miami Beach is situated on a narrow spit of land bordering the Atlantic Ocean.  It's broad sand beaches are fringed with an array of high-rise hotels and condominiums.  These upscale resorts draw an international array of vacationers as well as the jet-set party crowd.  The southern portion is known as South Beach,  It has many smaller boutique hotels with art-deco architecture, classy restaurants, trendy bars and exclusive shops. On a Saturday night, the cars are backed up bumper to bumper along the main beachfront drive.  The sidewalks are jammed with well-dressed young people seeking food, drink and entertainment.  At least half of them are speaking Spanish.  And the throbbing Miami beat permeates the air.

The Intracoastal Waterway separates Miami Beach from the mainland and downtown Miami.  Along the convoluted channels and bays, one sees lavish yachts and high-speed motorboats.  It looks like a scene taken out of the Miami Vice movie set. 

Downtown is a bit more sedate.  Amidst the lofty office buildings are an assortment of hotels and condominiums.  They attract the more budget minded tourists expecially those awaiting departure of the cruise ships parked in the nearby harbor basin.  Inland from that commercial center, a vast array of lower buidings spreads westward into miles of suburban bedroom communities, shopping complexes and business parks. Beyond that, begins the jungles and wetlands of the great Everglades.

South from Eighth Avenue, also known as "Calle Ocho", is the area commonly called "Little Havana" because of its huge population of Cuban immigrants.  In the neighborhood, there are two famous restaurants, "La Carreta" and "Versaille" known for their authentic Cuban cuisine.  I ate lunch at Versaille.  I was one of the few customers that spoke any English.  Even the waitresses spoke amost exculusively in Spanish. Families with Children all chattering in Spanish were seated at many of the tables.  This was definitely a Cuban hangout.

 Across the room, I saw a middle-aged gentleman impecccibly dressed in a white linen jacket, with a black silk shirt, black necktie and black handkerchief in his lapel pocket.  He sat quetly sipping his coffee and staring directly ahead through dark colored glasses.  He looked like Al Pacino playing Carlito or Scarface.  Ahh, this was Miami.

 

I was in Dallas this week and I finally had a chance to visit Dealy Plaza.  This is the place where president John F. Kennedy was assasinated. 

The young charismatic president of the USA was shot while visiting Dallas Texas in 1963.  He died in the Parkland Hospital a few miles from Dealy Plaza.  His alleged assasin, Lee Harvey Oswald, was arrested a few days later in a Dallas movie theater, and was subsequently shot and killed by Jack Ruby while in police custody at the Dallas police Station. Kennedy's death shocked the whole world.  The circumstances surrounding President Kennedy's murder and the subsequent murder of Oswald created a cloud of mystery and suspicion that fostered many conspiracy theories.

For the past forty years, there have been numerous investigations, hearings and reconstructions attempting to explain the exact circumstances of the shooting.  Many theories have been proposed that implicate other gunmen or accomplices in various conspiracies to assasinate the president.  Books, movies and television programs have presented the evidence and analyzed it in many ways to prove or disprove the various theories.

I remember the circumstances of the shooting.  I have seen many of the movies and television shows analyzing that incident.  I have read about and heard the various theories.  I know that President Kennedy was riding in an open car in a motorcade through Dealy Plaza in Dallas when three shots rang out.  Lee Harvey Oswald, was positioned in the sixth floor window of the Dallas School Board Book Repository Building overlooking Dealy Plaza.  He fired the shots that hit president Kennedy in the neck and shoulder. 

Afterwards,  conspiracy theorists speculated that Oswald alone could not have possibly accomplished this assasination.  They spoke of a mysterious second gunman positioned on the grassy knoll to the right front of the motorcade.  Numerous investigations and research could find no evidence to support those theories.  Nevertheless, I have seen images and reconstructions of this assasination portrayed over and over again. 

It was facinating to go to Dealy Plaza and see the exact spot where President Kennedy was shot.  I could see the Book Repository Building and its sixth floor window overlooking the street.  I could walk up the grassy knoll where the mysterious second gunman was supposedly positioned.  I was even able to enter the Book Repository Building and visit the Sixth Floor Museum, now preserved as a historic site.  The museum provided recorded audio tours of its exhibits featuring the presidency and the assasination of John F. Kennedy.  The most emotionally moving experience, for me, was just standing at that sixth floor window looking down on Dealy Plaza just as Lee Harvey Oswald must have viewed it though the telescopic sight of his rifle on November 22, 1963.

If you are old enough to remember John F. Kennedy and to remember the day he was assasinated, you should visit Dealy Plaza in Dallas.  It will bring back many old memories.

I know that the reputation of the USA has gotten a bit tarnished in the past few years.  Our political leaders have done some stupid things that have disappointed our international friends and have increased the discontent of our detractors.  I am not going to defend our national policies nor join in the criticism.  I just want to assure everyone around the world that the people living in the USA are still compassionate, caring and hospitable to foreign guests.

We are a nation of immigrants.  Our parents, grandparents or forefathers came from many nations.  Our society is composed of people of many races, many religions and many ethnic backgrounds.  We have learned to accept diversity.

When you come to the USA, I cannot promise you that you won't encounter a few rude people, but I can assure you that most of the US population will welcome you.  Friendship and hospitality are traits that can be readily found all across this land in every state. 

I often journey to New York City on business.  That crowded metropolis of teeming masses is noted for its assertive unfriendly inhabitants.  They walk down the sidewalks at a swift pace, speaking to no one, avoiding eye contacts and only offering curt retorts to anyone impeding their progress . 

Yet, I have seen a family of Japanese tourists, meekly intercept one of these truculent New Yorkers to ask for assistance in finding some destination. The stern visage of the New Yorker melts instantly as their concern and compassion takes over.  The stolid native may even deviate from his own destination to walk many blocks out of his way to assist the tourist family in finding the way.  This is a scene that I have seen repeated over and over again in New York City.

The Southern states are known for the polite gentility of their inhabitants.  Any and all visitors can expect to be greeted with excessive politeness and gracious hospitality.  That is the way of the South.  In the Midwest, the folks are friendly and accepting of all guests.  Friends and strangers alike are usually wecomed into the home and heart to be treated like members of the family.  On the West Coast, life and social intercource is very casual.  One can escalate from stranger to trusted friend in a matter of minutes.

If you come to visit the USA, I think you will be pleasantly suprised at how graciously you will be welcomed by the people.  I don't mean to imply that all of the government bureaucrats that you encounter in the airport will be so friendly and polite.  Nor, am I certain that all of the vendors trying to sell you tourist stuff will be so gracious.  Once you get away from the tourist traps and meet the people living in the towns and cities across the USA, you will see how wonderful they can treat a stranger from another land.

 

Last week, I drove from Baltimore Maryland to Pittsburgh Pennsylvania.  I used Interstate 68 across the Maryland Panhandle and Route 40 into Southwestern Pennsylvania.  I have driven this route many times.  Occasionally, I deviate off of the new Interstate 68 and drive along the old Route 40 that still parallels 68 across the Appalachian Mountain Chain, known locally as the Allegheny Mountains.

 Unlike the newer Interstate 68 that sweeps through the mountain ridges on spectacular road cuts and soars over the valleys on lofty bridges, Route 40 labors its way deep into the valley bottoms, crosses the mountain streams on narrow bridges and snakes its way up the slopes of the mountains.  It takes much longer to drive along route 40, but the scenery is beautiful.

As I slowly wend my way through these beautiful mountains, I always recall that Route 40 used to be called the National Road.  Before that, it was known as the Wilderness Road or Braddock's Road.  Even earlier, it was known as Nemocolin's Trail or the Wilderness Trail.  This road has a great history that extends back to the mid 1700s and before.

The old Wilderness Trail, as it was called by the early English colonists in the 18th century, probably existed for hundreds of years before any European settlers came to the American Continent.  It was a warrior's trail that traversed the Appalachian Mountain Range from the Eastern Seabord to the Ohio Valley of the Great Mississippi Basin.  Indian hunters and warriors used it to traverse the mountain range.  Nomadic clans used it to migrate across the mountains.

In the early 1700s, British adventurers, fur trappers and traders used the Wilderness Trail to penetrate the Appalachian Mountains and enter the great Ohio River Basin beyond.  It was one of the main portals to the wilderness lands beyond the great mountains.  In 1752, a fur trader named Thomas Cressap along with a Delaware Indian Chief named Nemacolin, blazed a trail that followed the old warrior's path across the mountains.  This quickly became known as Nemacolin's Trail.

In 1754, a young Lt Col. George Washington led a small army of Virginia Militia across Nemacolin's Trail to force the French forces to abandon their Fort at the Forks of the Ohio, the present site of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania.  An incident involving the killing of a French officer precipitated an attack on Washington's forces at the Great Meadow where he had constructed his tiny Fort Necessity.  The subsequent defeat of the Virginia Militia was a great embarassment to young George Washington and is considered the incident that precipitated the Seven Years War, known also as the French and Indian War.

The following year, 1755, General Braddock was dispatched from England with two regiments of British soldiers and a detachment of artillery.   His assignment was to construct a military road accross the Allegheny Mountains and to sieze the French Fort Duquesne at the Forks of the Ohio.  He was accompanied by George Washington and a company of Virgina Militia as well as Thomas Cressap, Daniel Boone and many other renown frontier explorers.  They began to expand Nemacolin's Trail into a full road capable of transporting wagons, cannons and troops across the mountains.  It took a great deal of effort, but Braddock succeeded in completing the road all the way from Maryland to the Ohio Valley Basin.

On July 9 General Braddock, with over 900 British army regulars, several cannons and several hundred colonial militia approached the French Fort Duquesne at the Forks of the Ohio.  Nine miles to the east of the fort, he encountered a small French force of less than 100 soldiers accompanied by nearly 700 local Indian warriors.  In the ensuing battle, the British forces attempted to use standard military tactics, while the Indians fired upon them from concealed positions in the forest.  It was a catastrophic defeat for the British.  General Braddock was mortally wounded and nearly 500 Britsh soldiers were lost.

The remains of the British forces retreated along their newly constructed road, and General Braddock died near the site of the ruins of old Fort Necessity in the mountains.  He was buried in the middle of the Wilderness Road where wagon tracks would obliterate all trace of his grave, to prevent the Indians from digging up and mutilating his corpse.  Thereafter, Nemacolin's Trail become known as Braddock's Road.  It was later improved and became known as the National Road and finally as Route 40.

As I travel Route 40 today, I can see the route taken by Braddock, by Washington, by Nemacolin and by countless Indian warriors over the ages.  I follow their footsteps.  I pass Fort Necessity and Braddock's grave.  There are historical markers at the various camps where Braddock's army paused during their road building forray.  This old road is a history lesson of the early colonization of the North American continent.

 

The great circus is returning.  2008 is the year of the grand presidential circus.  In the USA, we hold state and local elections every year, and national elections every two years.  Presidential elections occur only every fourth year.  The last one was in 2004 when president Bush amazingly won his second four-year term in office.  This year, we once again choose a new president.  It is shaping up to be a very interesting circus.

President Bush is not allowed to run for another term. Even if he could, his popularity is so low that even Mickey Mouse could garner more votes.  The majority of the people in the USA are tired of this unpopular war,  they are concerned about the state of the economy, they are disappointed with president Bush's performance and they have no confidence in his policies.   They thirst for a change.

The Republicans Party has a bit of a problem.  Half of them would like to disavow themselves from President Bush's policies and promise to bring about changes, but they cannot appear too disloyal to a president that came from their own Republican Party.  The more conservative half would like to continue this unpopular war and the unpopular policies of our president, but that would probably guarantee certain defeat.  They need to heal this schism within before they can take on their Democratic rivals.

The Democratic party is making history.  They are about to nominate the first woman presidential candidate in the history of the USA, or the first Afro-American presidential candidate in the history of the USA.  Either way, this will prove to be a historic milestone in the progress of our country.  Since they are unencumbered by loyalty to President Bush, they can both promise to bring about drastic change.  This historic president and this enthusiastic rally for change has invigorated masses of young people to join the political process in record numbers.

The actual elections will take place in November.  The chosen Republican candidate with compete against the chosen Democratic candidate to see who can win the presidency for the next four years.  Between now and then, the circus will become very interesting as the various cadidates will be positioning themselves and trying to convince the voters that they are the best choice as their party's candidate.  The republicans will be attempting to heal the schism between the conservative wing and the moderate wing of their party.  The Democrats will be determining if they want to make history with the first black candidate or with the first woman candidate.

 Meanwhile, all of us voters will be bombarded with countless television and radio advertisements.  We will see the same candidates interviewed over and over again.  We will hear the charges and the counter charges as they each try to discredit their opponents.  We have an old joke that says,  "How do you know which political candidate is lying?"  The answer is: "The candidate whose lips are moving is lying!"

 Actually, I am not that cynical.  I believe this is one of the most positive elections in many years.  Usually, we have several tired old political candidates to choose from, and we try to decide which one is the least objectionable.  This time, I think all of the candidates are intelligent, articulate and pragmatic.  Each of them offers certain strengths.  Each of them exhibits certain weaknesses.  Any one of them could probably become a decent president.

 

I have been to Las Vegas in the winter, and I know that the weather is usually cool and pleasant, but I have also seen it rain in the desert at this time of year.  I was not suprised when our pilot said that the weather in Las Vegas was overcast with rain showers.  As we decended through the clouds, Henderson and the southern suburbs of Vegas became visible.  I was puzzled to see a sizable river flowing through the community.  There is no river in Las Vegas?  I slowly realized that the dry riverbed that wends its way through these suburbs with little or no water in it for most of the year, was now a full-sized river.

 Las Vegas only receives a few inches of rain every year.  It had just gotten about one fourth of its year's allotment of precipitation within the past 24 hours.  The mountain peaks surrounding the desert valley in which Las Vegas is situated were sugar coated with white snow cover.  This beautiful phenomena typically lasts only a short while before the desert sun returns to make it evaporate.

Building cranes punctuate the horizon of the fabulous Las Vegas Strip.  Old casinos and hotels are constantly being torn down and newer, bigger, more spectacular casinos are incessantly replacing them.  High-rise condos along the Strip are the latest fad.  Just behind the giant casinos, tall buildings housing expensive luxury condominiums are sprouting like weeds. 

The Monte Carlo Casino just suffered from a roof-top fire that devastated its top floors.  Fortunately, no one was injured, but the guests from its 6,000 rooms were evacuated and the hotel was closed.  Smoke stains still soiled its top rim.  The local newspapers reported that every guest in the hotel was relocated to other hotels within hours,  All reservations for incoming guests were diverted to other properties before the fire was completely extinguished.  Only in Las Vegas with its 150,000 hotel rooms would such a feat be possible.

The Alladin Casino on the Strip has now become the Planet Hollywood Casino.  The old San Remo just off the Strip has been refurbished and resurrected as the new Hooters Casino.  The frontier has been demolished and construction will soon begin on another new mega-casino.  Near the heart of the strip, a huge swath of businesses and hotels have been cleared and construction begun on the new City Center business/hotel/casino complex.  This city of Las Vegas never stops re-inventing itself,

I drove out to Summerlin for dinner at the Red Rock Resort.  It is only 14 miles from the strip to this suburban bedroom community in the Northwestern quadrant of Sin City.  You can even take the new six lane freeway most of the way.  It should take no more than 20 minutes to get there.  Yet, if you go during rush hour, and there is any sort of auto mishap along the way, you can get stuck in traffic for an hour or more.

The Red Rock Casino is one of the newest off-the-Strip properties.  It was completed only a year ago.  Like its couterparts on the Strip, it is huge.  Unlike the on-the-Strip casinos, it is surrounded by vast landscaped grounds and beautiful golf courses.  It only offers 800 rooms, but they are suposed to be spacious.  The casino is gorgeous.  Every one of the thousand or more slot machines has a high-backed padded leather chair in front of it.  The restaurants are excellent.  There are no crowds of tourists at this casino.  It is quiet and somewhat empty.  Local Las Vegas Natives have learned to avoid the Strip and its crowds of tourists, so they come here to gamble.  Visitors from surrounding states that wish to avoid those same tourist crowds, book accommodations in this hotel and enjoy the relatively quiet atmosphere.

There are a thousand or more restaurants in Las Vegas, including some of the finest dining establishments in the USA.  Sure, Vegas is known for the all-you-can-eat buffet, but that is no longer the only option available.  Today, some of the great chefs from around the world have opened restaurants along the strip.  You can get every type of food immaginable from Japanese sushi to French haut cuisine.  You can even get gourmet foods at some of the buffets.  No, not at the all-you-can eat-for-$8.95 buffet.  Those inexpensive buffets are usually located in the less popular casinos or the out of the way casinos off of the Strip.  They provide copious quatities of food for cheap prices just to entice you into their gambling establishment.

The buffet at Bellagio costs a bit more ($27 for dinner) but it offers a plethora of gourmet cuisine.  More than you can comfortably eat even if you only take a very small portion of each.  The buffet at Paris provides a sampling of French cuisine from various regions of France.  It is one of the better buffets.  If you are a seafood lover, the buffet at Rio offers a magnificent spread of various foods from the world's oceans.  (It cost about $30 but is well worth it to a seafood lover.)

 

The Navajo Nation is larger than some European countries.  It encompasses 27,000 Square miles (70,000 sq. kms.)  in the states of Arizona, New Mexico and Utah.  It is the largest Indian reservation in the USA, but to the Navajo people it is their homeland and their own sovereign nation. 

When you visit the land of the Navajo Nation, you can see why it was allocated to them by the US government.  Most of it is arid, barren desert country useless for agriculture and only marginally useful for grazing cattle or sheep. The early European colonists to this area ceded the Navajo tribe the lands that they considered worthless.  Yet, this area contains some of the most unusual and beautiful natural scenery in North America. 

As you drive across the arid plains of the Nation, you typically see only a few scattered cattle and sheep grazing on the sparse vegetation.  Occasionally, you spot an isolated mobile home set far back from the highway.  An old water tank on stilts towers above its roof.  Abandoned cars, appliances and debris are often scatterd about.  Sometimes, the igloo shape of a traditional Navajo hogan stands near the mobile home.

 I asked Harold why there were so few modern homes constructed on the Navajo lands,  He explained that only the tribe can communally own the land.  Individual Navajo residents can lease land for 99 years, but cannot own it or sell it.  The banks will not loan money for the construction of a home that they cannot repossess or sell, so they do not finance houses.  Since they can repossess mobile homes, they are willing to finance them.

Of all the beautiful natural scenery on the Navajo Nation, perhaps the most spectacular lies near the border of Arizona and Utah in Monument Valley.  Here, massive red sandstone mesas and delicate pinnacles rise hundreds of feet straight up from the vast plains.  Monument Valley is one of the great natural wonders of our planet and it all belongs to the Navajo Nation. 

Many local Navajos work as tourist guides in Monument Valley or as merchants selling crafts and souvenirs to the many visitors.  Some of them are employed by the tribal council while others are independant operators.  Harold Simpson is both an independant guide and an entrepreneur owner of his own Trail Handler Tours business. 

We spent several days visiting Harold.  He proudly showed us his spectacular homeland in Monument Valley.  We spent the night in the traditional Navajo hogan that was used by his father, a local shaman or medicine man, for various religious ceremonies.  The next day, he took us on a backcountry jeep tour of nearby mystery valley and its many ancient cliffside ruins.

As the sun was setting, Harold parked the jeep before a great natural alcove rising a hudred feet or more up the side of a rock wall.  He disappeared into the shrubs at the base of the wall.  Moments later, we heard the steady throbbing of a drum and the lilting sonorous chant of an Indian song echoing from the natural acoustic amplifier.  The sound of this ancient traditional music echoing from the rock wall as the sun set on the spectacular natural scenery created a sense of reverence and awe that cannot be described.  Harold, an accomplished drummer and singer, was serenading us.

 

We visited Yosemite Valley in the early spring.  The waterfalls were magnificent as the meltwaters of a record accumulation of winter snow filled them to capacity.  We were headed east to the lands across the Sierra Nevada Mountains and ultimately to Death Valley.  Tuolome Pass was still closed and not expected to open for several weeks, so we drove north in search of an open pass across the mountains.  Along the way, we heard that the snow plows had recently opened the road through the Sonoran Pass. We decided to try it.

The roads to the Sierra Nevada passes all have long approaches from the western side.  They struggle through miles of foothills before they begin to snake their way up the slopes of the mountains.  We spent the better part of the afternoon driving through those sparsley populated foothills and into the dense pine tree forests on the mountain slopes.  The sun set behind us and the shadows grew denser beneath the giant trees.  We began searching for a refuge where we could find accommodations and a good meal.

Aside from a few isolated hunting cabins, we saw no signs of habitation in the wilderness. We grew tireder and hungrier as we climbed higher up the mountain.  At last, we came to an isolated lodge whose signs offered lodging and food.  Unfortunately, the place was fully occupied, and we found no refuge for the night.  Fortunately,  the owner directed us to an even more isolated hunting and fishing camp further up the slopes.  He said they might have some cabins that we could rent for the night.  We decided to press on, as it was already getting dark.

 We found the camp a few miles off of the main road beside a mountain stream.  It consisted of two main lodges surrounded by a dozen small cabins and an empty horse corral.  It looked deserted.  We were relieved to see two men seated on the veranda of the larger lodge. 

They wore faded jeans and well-worn work boots of the type favored by cowboys.  The larger dark-haired man with the bushy moustache wore a plaid flannel shirt.  The shorter, thinner man wore an old white "cowboy" shirt with black piping and pearl buttons.  He also wore a string tie with a turquois clasp.  Both men wore leather belts with large silver buckles and traditional "ten gallon" cowboy hats.

In response to our questions, they said that the camp was not yet open for the season.  In a few weeks, the horses would be brought up from the lowland pastures, kept in the corral, and rented as pack animals for hunters, fishermen and backpackers.  The proprietor of the camp was in the lodge, they added; and surely, he could provide us with some lodging as all the cabins were empty.  They were right.  We managed to secured a cabin for the night.

 We had eaten nothing since midday, and were quite famished.  We asked the proprietor if his restaurant was open.  No, he said, the cook had gone off fishing and he had no idea when he would return.  The older cowboy with the bushy mustache overheard our conversation and offered,  "We have some spaghetti left over from our dinner. If you would like some, we can heat it up for you." 

His name was Bob and he introduced his diminutive partner simply as "slim".  Bob owned a horse ranch in the foothills and slim was his hired hand.  They were here to do some repair work on the trails, he explained. They had a small camping trailer at the edge of the camp.  For dinner, he had made a large pot of spaghetti with venison sausage and mushrooms gathered in the surrounding forest.  It was more than they could eat, so they had plenty left.  He could go to the trailer, fetch the pot and return to heat it in the empty kitchen of the dining hall. 

 We readily agreed.  The proprietor opened the dining hall.  Bob brought his spaghetti, heated it on the gas stove and used a loaf of bread to make us some garlic toast.  Perhaps our ravenous hunger made it taste better, but it was some of the best spaghetti we ever ate.  The cowboys both seemed pleased that we were enjoying their meal.

We thanked them profusely for the chance meal, and offered to pay them for it, but they refused our money.  They agreed, however,  to our offer to buy them a beer.  We managed to inviegle the proprietor to open his small bar, and ordered bottles of beer for all.  Slim put several coins in the jukebox, and played some western music.  He offered to teach the ladies how to dance the Texas two step.  For the next hour, we danced, we sipped beer and we had a jovial time with our new cowboy friends.

We had a restful night after our suprise feast followed by the impromptu dance party.  The next morning, as we were driving out of the camp, we saw Bob operating a backhoe and Slim leaning on a shovel.  We stopped to bid them farewell and once again thank them for the dinner.  They seemed genuinely pleased that they could help us and sad to see us leave.  We will always fondly remember our two cowboy friends and their great spaghetti dinner.

I frequently receive e-mails from folks in other countries asking me if they can visit an Indian reservation to observe the natives, to see their lifestyle, and to experience their culture.  I am never sure how to answer such a question.  It often seems like the writer lacks understanding for people's basic right to privacy.

Suppose I wrote to someone in the UK asking, "Can I visit an English village, see how the natives live, and experience their culture?"  I believe the simple answer would be. "yes, as long as you don't peer through their bedroom windows and barge in on their church services popping flash photos."  The same principles apply to Native Americans.  Most reservations are open to the public, so you can go on them, and perhaps, see some of the residents.  You must, however, respect their privacy.

An Indian reservation is the home of a specific Indian tribe.  The members of that tribe have built their homes, their villages, their schools,their communal meeting places and their places of worship on their reservation.  They enjoy nearly full autonomy within that reservation.  They maintain their own government, their own code of laws, their own educational system, their own public services, and their own police force.  Some members of the tribe choose to live on the reservation. Others do not. Most reservations are open to visitors, some have even built facilities designed to attract tourists.  A few reservations are closed to uninvited visitors, because the residents value their privacy. 

Long ago, colonists from other countries drove the Indian tribes off of their historic homelands, and forced them to relocate to the reservations.  The lands reserved for the Indian tribes were typically unsuitable for agriculture and useless for economic development.  Nevertheless, many tribal members choose to remain on the reservations, because that has become the civic and cultural center of their tribe.  Other members of the tribe have chosen to relocate to areas where jobs are more plentiful or the lands are more fertile.

Most Indians are proud of their tribal heritage.  They strive to uphold their traditional family and tribal values, and to maintain their cultural integrity.  Unfortunately, some of the Indian reservations suffer from widespread unemployment and poverty.  In some cases, this has fostered alcoholism, drug abuse, depression and domestic violence. Other reservations are blessed with natural resources or economic advantages that provide sufficient jobs and good incomes for their tribal members.  On those reservations, the residents are able to afford a comfortable life with fewer social problems.

Some Indian reservations are strategically located near big cities in states that prohibit gambling.  Astute tribal councils have used their unique sovereignty status to permit gambling on those reservations, and have built gambling casinos.  These "Indian casinos"  have provided good economic resources for the tribes and significant monetary benefits for all of their tribal members.

I have been on many Indian reservations throughout the USA, and each has offered a different experience.

In New York and California, I visited Indian Casinos.  I met Native Americans in those casinos, but most of them were dealing cards at the blackjack tables or were mixing drinks at the bars.  I did not find much opportunity to experience Native American culture in the casinos.

In Florida and Washington, I visited tribal cultural centers that the governing councils had erected on their reservations.  Each offered many exhibits depicting the history and the cultural heritage of the local tribe.  I got the chance to meet a few members of the tribe.  They were the museum guides and the staff of the cultural center.  The interaction was brief and somewhat formal.

In New Mexico, I visited the Pueblo Cultural Center in Albuquerque.  It offered a great museum depicting the history and cultural heritage of the various tribes in that state.  It also offered traditional dance exhibitions, traditional foods prepared by Native American cooks, demonstrations of tribal crafts and a market for Indian made merchandise.  I was very favorably impressed by that experience.  I got to meet and speak with Native American craftsmen, musicians, dancers, storytellers and tribal representatives.

Two of the pueblos, or ancient adobe towns, that are preserved on Indian reservations in New Mexico are open to the public and tourists are welcome.  Some of the pueblos, on reservations in New Mexico, restrict the entry of uninvited guests.  Acoma, or "Sky Pueblo" is located atop a high butte, and has been preserved like an archeological site, but it is still inhabited by Indians of the Pueblo tribe. They welcome tourists and provide guided tours of their home in the sky.

In the USA, we have long referred to the lands of our West as the "wide open spaces".  By that, we mean they contain vast areas of open landscape with very few human inhabitants.  They are true wilderness country.

Visiting New York City, Philadelphia, Chicago or Los Angeles, you will see only very densely populated and congested areas.  Indeed, those parts of our country are not "wide open spaces".  Much of the East Coast, most of the Gulf Coast, parts of the West Coast and most areas surrounding our major cities are heavily populated with sprawling suburban communities.  Tourists that visit only those areas can easily believe that there are no longer any wide open spaces in the USA.  That would be a mistaken impression.

The Western states of Utah, Arizona, Wyoming, Montana, Texas and a few others contain some extremely vast areas with very minute populations.  The state of Wyoming has a landmass approximately the size of the United Kingdom with less than one percent of the population.  Most of Wyoming's inhabitants occupy a few widely-scattered cities and towns leaving huge areas of wide open spaces.

I have traveled across southern Utah driving along a major highway where I saw no more than one or two other vehicles every hour.  I passed many side roads that wandered into the surrounding hills. Their dirt surfaces were undisturbed by any signs of traffic other than a few animal tracks.  One could easily drive into the wilderness and not be found for weeks.  These are wide open spaces.

In Escalante Park, I traveled nearly thirty miles down a dirt track and saw not a single vehicle nor any trace of another human.  I recalled that a lone hiker was stranded while exploring one of the many slot canyons in this area.  His hand became trapped under a boulder, and he waited nearly a week te be rescued.  No one found him.  He finally managed to free himself by cutting off his own hand, then he had to hike nearly six miles before other hikers found him.  These are definitely wide open spaces.

Last October, Steve Fossett, the world renown aviator, baloonist and adventurer, took off in a small airplane from a ranch in Nevada.  He never returned.  It is assumed that his plane crashed, so an ariel search was quicly begun.  They never located him or the wreckage of his aircraft.  His friends mounted a massive volunteer reconnaisance using satellite images.  They managed to spot the wreckage of five aircraft never before seen.  None of them were Steve Fossett.  Some had been missing for thirty or forty years and were just discovered in the last few months!  Now, that is real wilderness!

How can a land be so wild that airplanes can disappear and not be found for forty years?  This part of the USA that lies in eastern California and Nevada is known as the basin and range country.  It is a geologically tortured landscape that has been twisted and fractured by seismic forces for millenia.  The area has nearly one thousand mountain ranges arrayed in nearly parellel lines running north and south.  Some of the ranges are only a few kilometes long.  Others stretch for hundreds of kilometers.

This mountainous landscape lies in the great rain-shadow desert east of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.  The peaks are typically composed of barren exposed rocks, devoid of trees, scantly covered with widely-scattered desert shrubbery and cactus.  The valleys between the mountains are filled with flat expanses of sand and gleaming white salt deposits.  Dry canyons, ravines and empty riverbeds carve its surfaces into barren labyrinths.

Las Vegas is situated in one of these flat desert valleys artificially made fertile via massive irrigation with imported water.  Death Valley is situated in another one of these valleys, that retains its original dry barren beauty.  There are a thousand more valleys similar to Death Valley throughout the basin and range country.  This is really the epitome of the wide open spaces. 

 

The cowboys of the old West are still a cherished legend in the USA.  Many books, movies and songs have been written about these rustic characters that populated the western parts of our country in the wild old days.  They reached their peak in the latter half of the ninteenth century.  After the great civil war, several million head of unmarked and unclaimed cattle roamed the grasslands of Texas.  There was a ready market for the beef in our eastern cities.  Early entrepreneurs hired herds of cowboys to round up that cattle and to transport it to the railroad terminals in Kansas, Missouri and Colorado via massive "trail drives". 

This era of the cowboy, was greatly diminished by the beginning of the twentieth century when the railroads were extended into the wilds of Texas, Oklahoma, Wyoming and Montana.  It was no longer necessary for cowboys to drive cattle long distances to market.  The railroads came to the west and were able to transport the cattle directly from the rangelands to the markets. Soon trucks, helicopters, ATVs and snowmobiles replaced the horses and the traditional cowboys in manging cattle on the ranches.

 Today, there are only a few old-fashioned cowboys who ride the range and tend to the cattle from atop a horse.  Many of them work on dude ranches escorting tourists on trail rides while tending a few cattle in the old manner as a live show for the visitors.  Most of the modern cowboys practice their skills of roping, riding and steer wrestling not to work with cattle, but to compete on the rodeo circuit for money and prizes.  Quite a few of them wear the fancy cowboy garb to the nightclubs and dance halls but never come close to cow.  Those are the "rhinestone cowboys".

Despite all of this, the cowboys are not gone.  They are still alive and well in many parts of the USA especially in the western states.  The modern cowboys may not be on a horse riding the range and herding cattle, but they have that same cowboy mentality as the old-time legendary breed.  They are the men, and a few women, that love the independance of working outdoors, that can't stand the confinement and the restrictions of civilization, that don't want the responsibilities of a traditional family or a career.

Many of these modern-age cowboys work at part-time, temporary or seasonal jobs so they can maintain their independance from the responsibilities and commitments of career positions.  Some of them become tour guides, ranch hands or loborers on dude ranches or other tourist resorts, as that allows them to work outdoors during the pleasant summer seasons.   In the fall and winter, they might work in construction, truck driving, stable maintenance or a myriad of other subsistence jobs. They seldom work in factories or indoor jobs that confines them.  They seldom stay in one place for a long time.

I was driving through Colorado with my wife, and we stopped in a small mountain town a hundred miles or so west of Denver.  She decided to go shopping in the quaint little "general store" near the edge of the single main shopping street.  I decided to wait out front enjoying the fantastic mountain vistas and the very pleasant summer weather.  "Take a load off a them feet and set a spell" came an invitation from the lone figure sitting on the long wooden bench in front of the store.

The man was of indeterminate age.  His face was weathered and wrinkled as if he had spent many years outdoors, but his eyes were as clear and bright as those of a young boy and his body seemed fit and strong.  He was dressed in a slightly-frayed flannel shirt and a pair of clean new jeans held up by a leather belt with a huge turquois encrusted silver buckle.  He wore a pair of cowboy boots.  Not those snake-skin polished boots you see on the dance-hall cowboys, but a scrufty pair of work boots with nearly worn-out soles.  Tilted back on the top of his head was a well-worn beige cowboy hat with a permanently sweat-stained ring around the base of its crown.  A large black dog slept at his feet while he carved on a chunk of wood with an old pocket knife. 

His name was Bob.  He worked off and on at one of the local ranches, taking care of the horses and guiding the tourists on trail rides up into the high country.  Sometimes, he worked for a few weeks with the local road crew doing manual labor.  He didn't think he could ever work in an office or a factory.  To him, that sounded too much like being in a jail.  He once spent nearly six months in jail in Oklahoma, and it nearly killed him.  No way, he wanted to do that again.  In the winters, he usually drove a school bus, and he liked that, because it only required him to work about four hours a day.  All in all, he made enough money to get by.  He had a small trailer parked behind Charlie Adam's barn.  He heated it with firwood he chopped himself.  He didn't need much money to get along.

That was his pickup truck parked in front of the store he pointed out.  It was an old beat-up Ford much in need of new paint.  In the back was a worn saddle and two mud-encrusted shovels.

I asked if he was born in the area.  He said that he was originally born in Nebraska, but had not returned since he went off to the army as a teenager.  He spent nearly ten years working on a ranch in Montana until the owner died and his widow sold it off to an easterner.  He came to Colorado nearly twenty years ago and worked for a small gold mine until he grew tired of it and moved on.  He was married in California and lived in a regular suburban home for four years until his wife could no longer put up with him and threw him out.  Fortunately, they did not have any children, so the divorce was a welcome relief for the both of them.  He returned to Colorado about six years ago, because he liked the country around here.

When he finished his work for the day, he liked to come sit by the general store with his dog blackie, because "you get to meet so many interesting people here."

My wife had finished her shopping, and it was time for us to continue our journey, so I bid Bob a farewell.  "Take it easy, pardner."  he cautioned me, and waved goodbye as we drove away.  I believe I had met a real cowboy.

Christmas began as a religious holiday celebrating the birth of Jesus.  In the USA, it has evolved into a grand year end holiday season that spans most of the month of December.  It has become a month of good cheer, a time of giving to others, a time to reflect on peace and charity.  It has also become a huge shopping event where people spend a significant part of their paycheck purchasing gifts for their children, for their family members, for their friends and for less fortunate strangers.

The shops and stores all across the USA capitalize on this "season of giving" by promoting the purchase of their merchandise.  This is most apparent in the numerous Christmas decorations that you can see in every store.  Some of them are very extravagant and rather beautiful.  Each shopping mall or large department store features its own Santa Claus dressed in fur-trimmed red suit and sporting a bushy white beard.  Children stand in a queue awaiting their turn to tell Santa what they wish to receive for Christmas.

On a less commercial but equally festive note, the Christmas decoration on private homes are quite a spectacle.  Most families in the suburban bedroom communities and in the small towns scattered across the country decorate their homes for the holiday season. This is especially popular in the northern states where winter typically produces beautiful white snow-clad landscapes.  It is also popular in some of the southern states, but colored lights on palm trees and on cactus plants do not produce the same atmoshere.

I live in a suburban "bedroom community" near a larger city.  In our neighborhood, about nine out of ten houses are decorated for the holiday season.  Some of the houses have a few simple pine wreaths adorning their windows.  Other houses have colored lights on their trees and shrubs or along the eves of their houses.  A few of them have lighted figures of Santa, reindeer, snowmen or other Christmas caracters on their front lawns.  At least half of the homes are decorated with multiple strings of colored lights with several thousand tiny bulbs.

 

As you drive down the streets of my neighborhood after dark, you are constantly entertained by this panoramic vista of decorated homes all sparkling with myriads of tiny colored lights.  When the ground is coverd with a blanket of pure white snow, the community becomes a fantastic wonderland of light and color. It is an awesome spectacle.

Most neighborhoods have at least one fanatic that goes over the top in decorating his home for the holidays.  We have one such fanatic living a few streets away from me.  His house, the trees around it, the shrubbery on his lawn, his fence, and his roof are all decorated with strings of colored lights.  There are at least twenty thousand tiny bulbs glowing around his home every night.  In addition, he has giant lighted figures of snowmen, reindeers, christmas carolers and assorted characters festooned about his lawn.  On his roof, he displays a full sized lighted replica of Santa complete with a sleigh filled with gifts and ten reindeer. From dusk until midnight, he blares christmas music from speakers.

His house has become a landmark for visitors from miles around.  Nearly every evening, there are cars of families with children parked along the street ogling this colorful extravaganza.  His electric bill for the month of December must be huge.

You might think that this is a unique phenomena.  Only one such fanatic could exist in any city.  Yet, I know of at least a half dozen similar houses scattered throughout various neighborhoods in the surrounding area.

I know this festival of lights has little to do with the birth of Jesus.  It can be tacky and over the top.  But I love this unique Christmas custom.  It is a beautiful phenomena that occurs for only a few weeks during the middle of winter, then disappears for another year. 

One of the things I enjoy when exploring the less-traveled roads in the USA is eating in the local diners. 

We have many fast food restaurants and chain restaurants all over the USA.  When traveling, they can be very trusted and convenient places to eat.  If you stop at a McDonald's restaurant in Montana, you are assured that you will get the same quality hamburger as you get at a McDonald's in New York City or in Miami Florida.  The cleanliness is assured, and the service is uniformly good.  These same standards hold true for most fast food restaurants and most chain restaurants.   Unfortunately, they offer very little culinary adventure or dining excitement.

I prefer the smaller diners, frequented by the local residents, and offering only "slow food".  These little restaurants are usually much more interesting than the fast food or chain restaurants.  They offer "home cooking" that a typical family in the USA would prepare at home.  The menu might include such favorites as: fried chicken, pot roast, meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, fish sandwiches, chili, and apple pie.  Most diners also serve regional favorites such as, chicken fried steak and grits in the South, barbeque beef and burritos in the West, clam chowder and fish cakes in the New England States or steaks and ribs in the Midwest. 

It is a bit more risky than eating in a chain restaurants or in a fast food establishment.  You never know if the quality of the food will be good or not so good.  On the other hand, you might just stumble into a local diner that serves some great "down home cooking"  with a local specialty that you have never tasted before. 

The atmosphere in these local diners can be quite interesting.  I stopped at a diner in small town in southern Utah and had some succulent barbeque ribs.  At the next table sat two cowboys dressed in their full working gear.  They wore scrufty high-heeled work boots, worn faded jeans held up by wide tooled-leather belts fastened with giant silver and turquoise buckles.  They both wore wide-brimmed "ten-gallon" cowboy hats that they did not remove during the entire meal.  At their waists, they both sported finely made and decorated leather holsters containing, not trusty colt revolvers, but the latest high-tech cell phones.

The waitresses tend to be matronly local housewives that work part time while the "kids" are in school.  They treat each and every customer with the warm familiarity of a close friend.  Terms of endearment like darling, honey or sugar are liberally granted to every stranger. Don't be suprised when you are greeted with: "What can I get for you darlin?" or "How about some coffee hun?"  or "Try the meatloaf sugah!".  Eating in a local diner can be like eating home-cooked food served to you by your own mother.

 We call it comfort food.  It is not haut cuisine, but it sure brings a lot of comfort.

 

We have a great highway system in the USA.  Modern interstate highways and multi-laned throughways cross our entire land providing quick convenient access to many cities and attractions.  It is hard to find any area of the USA that is not connected via good roads.  I certainly use those highways when I am traveling on business.  They get me to my destination quickly and safely.

When you travel the interstate highways, you can typically travel long distances with little wasted time.  You can stop in the conveniently spaced rest areas to purchase fuel, to use the clean restrooms, to eat decent quality food, to buy snacks or drinks and to purchase gifts or souvenirs.  All of this is available without ever having to exit the highway system.  Yet, it is all so monotonous.  A rest area in Florida looks and feels the same as a rest area in New York or a rest area in California. 

When I am traveling at my liesure and time is not critical, I prefer to avoid those convenient modern conveyances.  I prefer to take the "road less traveled" and to venture "off the beaten path".  Some of our scenic byways in the USA, are much more interesting than the big modern thruways. 

Route 66 was once such a road.  It was constructed in a time when access to the western part of the USA via auto was difficult.  Route 66 was the first great cross-country road connecting Chicago in the northern Midwest with California on the southern Pacific Coast.  It became the "mother road" for countless immigrants from the East Coast and the Midwest seeking a better life in sunny California.  It crossed mountains, plains, deserts and lands both forbidding and beautiful.  The little towns along Route 66 soon learned to take advantage of the continuous stream of travelers by offering food, lodging, groceries, amusements and diversions.  They built many unique and quirky structures along the road to entice travelers to stop and spend a bit of their cash.

Unfortunately, the original route 66 no longer exists.  It has been replaced by modern interstate highways such as route 55, route 44 and for much of way by route 40.  These new roads approximate the old route 66, but they have annihilated the original route 66 in many places and simply bypassed it in others.  Driving these new interstates is not as interesting.  There are a few surviving segments of route 66, and a few modern equivalents with that name, but you must search to find those surviving remnants along side of the new highways.

I prefer the lesser traveled roads that have not yet been replaced by modern highways.  On some of those roads, you can still find the spirit of old route 66.  Those roads pass through small towns, past farms and ranches and through spectacular scenery.  The local restaurants and shops are still housed in odd structures and still display quirky signs in order to entice travelers to pause and spend money.  You can meet many interesting people along those roads.

Highway 12 in Utah is one such road.  It is just a bit over 100 miles in length, but it travels through some of the most spectacular scenery in the USA.  It passses near Bryce Canyon National Park, through Escalante National Park and terminates just short of Capital Reef National Park.  Along the road, you might stop for fuel and find yourself parked next to  an Indian driving a pickup truck and towing a trailer with a pair of saddled horses.  You might stop at a local cafe and sit at a table next to a family where the father is wearing tooled leather boots, a wide belt with immense jeweled buckle and a broad brimmed "ten gallon" cowboy hat.  If you pause to chat with him, you will learn that he owns a cattle ranch nearby and works on it as a true cowboy.

There are still two old style roads of epic lengths that have not yet been annihilated by their modern counterparts. 

The old East Coast Highway 1 still exists.  It has largely been replaced by interstate 95 and other modern superhighways.  It begins at the Canadian border in Maine and wends its way south along the eastern seaboard for more than 2,000 miles until it finally ends at Key West 90 miles southwest of the Florida mainland.  Unlike its replacement, Highway One meanders through many seaport towns, beach resorts and smaller cities along its way.  I have driven segments of highway one in Main, near Baltimore and Washington DC, through the Carolinas and in Florida.  Driving it can be very slow and frustrating due to all of its meanders, its numerous traffic lights and its areas of congestion.

I fondly remember stopping at a "clam shacks" along highway one in Maine to sample succulent fried clams fresh from the nearby sandbars on the Atlantic beaches.  I remember the many "crab houses" along the same road in Maryland far to the south, and the barbeque pits along the route in South Carolina. 

I recently drove highway one south from Miami Florida as it crossed the ocean on bridges and causeways for nearly 100 miles to Key West.  The old road was populated with small neighborhood restaurants, each claiming to offer the best fish sandwich in the Keys,   Some sported giant seashells, elephant sized lobsers or cars adorned with rooftop shrimps.  All this simply to attract the attention of the passing motorists.  I saw hundreds of fishing charters, many dive shops, excursion boats and a place to swim with the dolphins.  As I drove through the keys, I remember thinking, "This is what route 66 must have been like in its days of glory". 

The West Coast of the USA has its own counterpart for highway one.  It has old Highway 101 that begins at the Canadian border near Vancouver and wends its way south all the way to Los Angeles.  It is supplemented by California highway one that diverts to some of the more scenic coastal attractions.  Like its East Coast counterpart, Highway 101 meanders through countless towns and cities and past many great scenic vistas.  It has been largely replaced but not obliterated by the modern interstate Highway 5. I have not found the opportunity to explore Highway 101 as much as I would like, but I am sure it too offers just as many adventures and nostalgic attractions.

Route 66 is now a legend that exists primarily in novels, films and history books.  Only scant pieces of the old highway are still existant, and those are largely immitation replicas created for the tourists.  Utah highway 12, Route One and route 101 are still very real, and still available to travelers that would like to take the longer, more authentic road less traveled.