A Journey with Old Rosie

The car coughed, sputtered, and proceeded to pour copious amounts of steam into the hot air from the vicinity of the radiator. Not good. Not good at all. I steered to the edge of the desert-hot road and looked around.

There wasn’t a whole lot to see. Sand. Cactus. Red rocks. It looked exactly the same as the landscape I’d been driving through for the last hour. Or was it the last day? A very long time.

“Let’s take a trip!” I’d said. “Let’s hit the road! The Mother Road! Let’s get our kicks on Route 66!”

My cousin Carrie, who was game for any kind of adventure, enthusiastically agreed. “Yeah! It’ll be great!”

Route 66 is an iconic historic highway, stretching nearly 2,500 miles from Chicago to California, traveling through 8 states: Illinois, Missouri, 13 miles of Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and California. Born in 1926, it was one of the original numbered highways when America built roads. Songs and movies were made about it. Novels - of particular note, John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath,” - were written on it and about it. Roadside attractions and oddities have kept it famous to this day.

It’s one of those must-travel, bucket-list road trips that makes every list of lists. So much to see! The Gateway Arch. Meramec Caverns. The Wagon Wheel Motel. The Munger Moss Restaurant. Galena, Kansas, said to be the inspiration for the Disney Pixar movie “Cars,” where one can meet one of the voices of the movie, and see the tow truck that inspired Tow Mater. The Will Rogers museum and a Totem Pole Park. The Blue Whale of Catoosa, Oklahoma, where one can walk through a gigantic blue whale, complete with a slide that would land one in a rather questionable pond. The Cadillac Ranch, a tribute to Cadillacs and graffiti. The Big Texan Steak Ranch and motel, where a Texas-shaped pool invites one to “swim across Texas.”

We had spent last night at the Big Texan. Overdone cowboy chic at its best. After a massive breakfast, we had set our sights on Arizona, determined to “stand on a corner in Winslow Arizona,” as the song directs.

Only now, here we were, overheating on the side of the road somewhere in New Mexico.

What the songs and stories don’t tell you is that, for most of the drive through the Southern states of Oklahoma through California, the road runs through featureless desert. It’s the land of “used to be”: there used to be a famous gas station, a famous giant statue, a famous diner, a famous motel. Attractions gone to dust and sand years ago. A whole lot of nothing.

“Look,” said Carrie, pointing up the road, “there’s a gas station.”

I peered in the direction she was pointing. I could see a building shimmering in waves of heat that rose from the asphalt. Gas station? Mirage? Hard to tell. But, since it was our only option, I pasted a smile on my face and said, “Great! How lucky is that?”

I limped the car along the Mother Road’s shoulder, spewing steam and coolant all the way, and rolled into the gas station. Sure enough, it was solid, not mirage, and - miracle of miracles! - it was open.

An ancient attendant sauntered out to our car.

“Help you?” he asked.

“I sure hope so,” I replied. “My car - er - seems to be having a problem. Is there someone here who could fix it?”

“Sure, sure,” he assured us. “My grandson can fix anything. He’ll be in tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” I gasped.

Carrie, always less socially awkward than me, punched me in the shoulder. “Be nice!” she hissed. I rubbed my arm and gaped at her. She turned to the old man.

“That would be great!” she smiled. The old man turned his rather disapproving gaze from me to my charming cousin, his expression brightening at the sight of her sweet face. She looked around at this little oasis of civilization, and her smile slipped slightly. “Um - is there a place we could stay until then?”

It looked like pretty slim pickings to me. Ancient gas station with one bay, and a sign - missing the “i” - that helpfully offered “repa rs.” A tiny, dirty office. A cheap tourist “gift shop.”

And a car.

My eye latched on to that car like a drowning man discovering a life preserver. What a car! She was a classic beauty: a mile long, sparkling red-and-white convertible that had “power” written all over her. I was drawn to that car like a moth to a flame. I climbed out of my hissing, steaming wreck and reverently approached this vision.

“Whose car is this?” I asked, in an awed whisper.

The old man smiled. “Oh, that? That’s my Rosie.” He shuffled over to the car and patted her fondly. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

“She’s gorgeous!” I gasped. I, too, caressed her adoringly. I walked admiringly around her. When I finished my circuit and looked up at the old man, he was gazing at me intently.

“Want to take ‘er for a spin?” he asked unexpectedly.

I jumped back, withdrawing my hand from its caress of her sparkling fender, and tucking both hands behind me. “I couldn’t!” I breathed. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. “Could I?” I asked in a tiny, unbelieving voice.

“Can ya drive a stick?” he asked.

I nodded. “I learned on one.”

“Can ya read a tach? Her speedometer’s broken.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve had cars like that,”

“Then she’s yours,” he said. “For 24 hours.”

“What?!” I gasped, sure he was pulling my leg.

“For 24 hours,” he repeated. “You can borrow her. Keep goin’ on your Mother Road trip. While you’re gone, my grandson will fix your car. Have Rosie back here in 24 hours.”

“Gee, thanks!” Carrie cooed. “This is so nice of you! We’ll take real good care of her.” She turned back to the wreck we had rolled in with and pulled her purse and suitcase out of the back seat. “Come on!” she urged me. “Before he changes his mind!” she added in a whisper.

Dazed, I retrieved my own purse and suitcase. We stored our things in the massive trunk. Still half in a daze, I returned to our original vehicle to grab our maps and road atlas, and the “Route 66” guide book we’d been more or less following.

Rosie stood before an old Spanish-style building that was now a convenience store/gift shop/real estate office. We stepped inside, out of the heat, to gather our thoughts and make plans. There was a bench just inside the door, and we sat and pulled out the map and book. Down the road from here, there wasn’t much to choose from. It was one of the lesser-preserved sections of the old road, and a lot of the “attractions” no longer existed. A lot of “used to be’s.” This used to be a hotel, that used to be a diner, and there were several “filling stations,” as they used to call gas stations. We had to stick close, too, if we were to get Rosie back in time. Even Carrie’s sweetest smile wasn’t going to get us out of trouble if we were late returning the old girl.

I sighed and closed the book. “Guess our best bet is just to drive,” I told Carrie. “See what we can see. Hopefully find a Motel 6 or a Holiday Inn to spend the night. Unless you want to sleep in the car.”

We stocked up on snacks and drinks and headed back outside. I double-checked with the old man. “Are you sure you want us to take your car?”

He smiled. “The old girl wants to go for a ride,” he assured us. “She misses cruising the Mother Road. You kids have fun, and bring her back safe and sound tomorrow.”

We climbed into the venerable beauty, and I took a few minutes to familiarize myself with the controls. She was as beautiful inside as she was outside, with leather seats, lots of chrome, and style in spades. The top was down, and it was going to stay down, so we could cruise Route 66 with the wind in our hair. Besides, I wasn’t sure if the top would work if I tried to close it, and I wasn’t going to try.

With a wave and a smile to the mysteriously generous old man, we were off. Carrie snapped on the radio, but no sound emerged, even when she cranked up the volume. “Oh, it must be broken,” she said ruefully.

When she made to turn it off, though, I stopped her. “Maybe it just needs to warm up,” I said.

“Yeah, right,” she responded sarcastically. “Warm up. Sure. Cause radios are like that”

Rather than trying to explain to her about tubes, I took a wait-and-see attitude. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the radio came to life, the crooning of “The Great Pretender” filling the car.

“Ooh, must be an Oldies station,” Carrie said, delighted.

“Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?” I smiled. Another oldie soon followed, and another, and we enjoyed our step back in time.

Up ahead, I spotted a building. It looked like an old-fashioned burger joint, something you might see in “American Graffiti." Carrie and I exchanged excited smiles, hoping it was open. Sure enough, when we pulled in, it was open. The space we pulled into had a speaker hanging on a post beside it. “Do you think it works?” Carrie whispered.

“Welcome to Carrol’s Burgers!” a tinny voice proclaimed. “May I take your order?”

“Two cheeseburgers, please,” I said, “and two fries. And Diet Cokes.”

“Diet - what?” The voice sounded confused now.

“Diet Coke,” I repeated, a little confused myself at their confusion.

“Um - I don’t think we have that,” the voice said.

“Diet Pepsi?” Carrie tried.

“We - we have grape and orange Nehi, root beer, and Coca-cola. And milkshakes. What can I get you?”

“Nehi?” Carrie asked, trying out the unfamiliar word.

“Ma’am?” the voice asked.

“We’ll have one grape Nehi and one Coca-cola,” I ordered.

“Thank you!” the voice responded. “We’ll have your order right out!”

In a very few minutes, a blonde girl who looked no more than 15 came racing out of the place, carrying a loaded tray in her hands. She raced to the car, a big smile on her face. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail, with a big red bow. She wore a red-and-white striped uniform. “Thank you for stopping at Carrol’s Burgers,” she said perkily. She began to offer us the tray, then paused. “Roll your window up, please,” she said. We gaped cluelessly at her, so she repeated herself. “Roll your window up, please. For the tray.”

I obediently cranked the window up a few inches, and she hooked the tray onto the glass. “Thank you for stopping at Carrol’s Burgers. Seventy cents, please,” she said brightly.

“What?”

“That will be seventy cents, please, Ma’am.”

I pulled a dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to her. She took it, then counted out my change from a change dispenser she wore around her waist. She handed it to me, said an enthusiastic “Enjoy your meal!” and raced back into the building.

“Huh,” Carrie said.

“Weird,” I said. We shook our heads, then turned our attention to our meal. Our burgers were piping hot, wrapped in aluminum foil, and the fries were in a cardboard box. Our drinks were in real glass bottles. We exchanged delighted smiles and dug in. Everything was delicious.

When we finished, we put the wrappers and the empty bottles back on the tray, then looked around for a place to dispose of it. Before I could open the door, the perky blonde was back, removing the tray and racing back inside with a big smile and a wave.

“Okaay,” I said. “That was ... odd.” I pulled back out onto Route 66 to continue our journey.

I took a look at the gas gauge, which was dropping alarmingly. I hoped there would be a gas station where I could fill up before we ran out of gas. No sooner did I think of it than one appeared in the near distance. It was an Esso station, something I had only seen in history books. But it appeared to be open, so I pulled in.

A loud “Ding!” sounded when I drove over some sort of hose. As I drove up to the pump, four young men came bursting out of the station. They swarmed over the car, offering all manner of services.

“Good morning, Ma’am! Fill ‘er up?”

“Check your oil?”

“Check your tires?”

One man began industriously cleaning the windshield while another did the same for the rear window. One opened the hood and checked the oil while another checked the air pressure in all four tires. I sat, stunned, nodding to all their questions. The man who filled the tank appeared at my window.

“That’ll be $3.75,” he said. I numbly handed him a five, and he quickly made change. Then he handed me a fuzzy striped object, about 6 inches long. “Put a tiger in your tank!” he exclaimed. “And have a nice day!” All the men raced back inside.

We sat for a moment, stunned. I fingered the fluffy tiger tail and stared at my cousin. “What is going on?” I wondered as I tucked it behind the visor.

“I don’t know,” Carrie replied. “It’s like we’ve gone back in time. Back to the 50’s.”

I caressed Rosie’s shiny wooden steering wheel. “Maybe … 1955?”

“Well, we can’t sit here too long,” she urged me. “They’re gonna come back out and want to help us some more. It’s creepy! Let’s go!”

I pulled back out onto the Mother Road. We were quiet for a few minutes, listening to the music from the 50’s pouring from the radio. No news, just radio. Just old songs.

We passed a few more outposts of civilization. Another Esso station. The Rancho Motor Lodge, looking like a stage set for an old Western film. The Bar-B-Q Inn, offering “Charcoal Broiled Steaks to Go!” Cactus Corners, a souvenir shop whose smiling giant cactus invited us to “Come In! And meet us Cactus!”

We passed a place called Tee Pee Curios, in a real teepee. Tables set up in the shade of a tree displayed Native American curios, being sold by what looked like real Native Americans. Carrie shot me a pleading look, so of course I had to go back. I pulled Rosie around in a giant U-turn to go back. We were the only car in the parking lot. Carrie browsed the “Indian-made” jewelry, an array of silver and turquoise. The vendors sat stone-faced and silent while she made her selection: a beautiful dream-catcher necklace with silver feathers and turquoise accents that cost her 85 cents.

We hit the road again and continued. But I was growing tired, and looking at my watch. We had to be back in 24 hours; we had better find a place to stop for the night, to be ready to return our borrowed ride on time. Night was setting in, a lightless, dark night, when we spotted the cheerful neon sign up ahead: Surf Motel. A giant neon palm tree flashed a cheery green, and “Vacancy” welcomed us in.

We parked - again, we were the only car in the lot - and went in. The middle-aged woman at the desk seemed inordinately pleased to see us, as if we were the first guests in a very long time. “Welcome to the Surf Motel!” she said. “We’re so glad you’re here!” She opened a large ledger book for me to sign. I signed at the top of the otherwise unmarked page while she chattered to herself about which room would be best for us. Curious, I flipped back a page in the ledger to check for other guests.

I gasped.

The woman turned, concerned. “Somethin’ wrong, hon?”

“No. No,” I forced out. “Everything’s fine. Just fine.” As she turned back to the keys on the board behind the counter, Carrie came over to me, a wary look on her face. Wordlessly, I pointed to the last entry on the page. “J. Smith. June 23, 1955.”

Her eyes widened and we gaped at each other. The hostess turned back to us with a smile on her face and an iron key in her hand. “Here we go,” she said cheerfully. “Let me show you to your room.”

We followed her outside and down the row of doors until we reached #24 on the end. She unlocked the door, showed us in, and handed me the heavy iron key. “The pool is open - it’s a real, heated pool! - if you want to cool off. If you’re hungry, there’s Johnnie’s Cafe, right next door. Can I get you anything else?” So looked hopefully from me to Carrie and back again.

“No, we’re fine,” Carrie answered. “Thank you.”

“Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me,” she said as she bustled out. “You have a nice night, now.” With a smile and a wave and what looked like a curtsy, she was gone.

Carrie and I stared at each other over the twin beds, straight out of the 50s, white chenille bedspreads and all. Looking around the room, all the decor matched. It felt like we had been transported to a 50s sitcom.

“What - ?” Carrie started. Then stopped, shaking her head. “This is too weird.”

I agreed, as I settled into the vinyl-covered bedside chair. “It’s like - we’ve gone back in time! Back to the 50s! When “old Rosie” was new. It’s like … that car is a time machine.”

Carrie shook herself and rose from her bed. “Well, time machine or not, it’s time for dinner. Let’s see what Johnnie’s Cafe has to offer.”

We locked the door behind us, pocketing the heavy key, and walked over to Johnnie’s. Sure enough, it looked like a typical 50s diner, right out of an old movie. We sat in a booth and studied a menu that could have been from a museum of American Life on the Mother Road. We ordered burgers and fries and shakes and paid a ridiculously small sum for them. They were delicious, full of fat and salt and sugar, and we reveled in every bite. We had apple pie ala mode for dessert - 15 cents a slice. Finally full, we headed back to our hotel and tucked ourselves in.

As I closed my eyes, I wondered what I would find in the morning. Would we still be stuck in the 50s? Would our historically accurate car still be parked outside this historically accurate motel? Or would we be back to the present day we had left behind when we began this day’s ride? Perhaps most importantly: did I want to go back? Or did I want to stay here in this gap in time?

All things considered, I slept remarkably well, and awoke refreshed. The room was unchanged. The car was still there. We checked out with the same woman who had been at the desk when we got here. She was still inordinately pleased that we had stayed with her.

We walked over to Johnnie’s for a delicious, ridiculously inexpensive breakfast and bottomless cups of the best coffee I had ever tasted. Then we climbed into the car and turned Old Rosie towards home.

At peace with our dream-world, we made a few stops on the way back. We stopped for lunch at the Paramount Cafe, all red-and-white booths and red-cushioned stools pulled up to a formica counter. We stopped at Harry’s Curios, Coffee, and Quick Lunches to pick out some postcards at a penny apiece. We stopped at Clines Corners Famous Travel Center to see if it really was “Worth Stopping For,” as the sign said. (It was.)

Finally we pulled into the garage where our journey with Rosie had begun. There in front of the station stood our car, all fixed and ready to go. I compared that “old reliable” with this magic chariot, and felt the weight of disappointment and the real world press down on me. The old man waved as I pulled in, and I carefully parked Rosie where we had found her. The old man came over to us.

“How was your trip?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“It was - “ I searched for the right words.

“Magical!” Carrie supplied.

I nodded. “Yes. Magical. That’s the word.” I studied the old man’s face, his knowing look, his mischievous smile. “It was - the best, most magical trip I’ve ever had. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He gravely shook my hand. “Yup,” he said, “Rosie has a way with her. I’m glad you liked the journey.”