[Sketch Trip America] Episode 14: Drive to any place in life, 1966 Ford Pickup Truck

Before we left Sinclair, I looked at some old automobiles strewn on the station ground. I sure remember seeing few of them in American movies or photographs. They certainly looked different from the ones at the museums which had shiny coat of bright colored paints. These here must have been driven on the road around this area until they ran no longer. One of them was looking down on a fallen headlight in front of it. Perhaps, old things that hadn't been thrown away get even older and become antiques. These cars that surpass one or two generations before me were as romantic as they can get and were whispering to me to reminisce the memories that did not exist in me. I was a blank sheet. I've never spent time in these before. So I wondered what they could ever mean to me.

As we were leaving Sinclair, I found another old Ford truck someone had driven here parked on the side of the road. A Missouri plate, must belong to someone from around here. I don't know about cars much, but looked like it ran for several decades. Is everything, even the trucks that people drive around here antique? I thought briefly, but that is just a nonsense a city person thinks up. It is just that the things around here exist longer than those in the cities. They are stronger and healthier, and there are plenty of apt care and maintenance around for them, so they thrive without the worries of getting thrown out or stopped working. I could not start calling these antiques simply because they are thriving longer than the others. So I did some research online. They were 1966 Ford F-Series pickup trucks. If it was bought the first year it came out, it is running in its 49th year between the cornfields in the Midwestern United States. Now I knew the model of the car, but that didn't mean that I had particular feelings toward it. Staring at it certainly wouldn't bring out any emotions, either, however, I looked around and around at it. I looked at the back of suspensions of rear wheels and underneath the oil pan as if the non-exsistant sentiment is hiding under the car. Then a couple of men wearing blue jeans hopped in the car, noticing me looking at their car, talked to me,

"Where are you from?"

"New York… no, Korea."

I almost said the word that would get myself killed the next scene.

"Are you traveling?"

"Yes, your car is very nice."

"Thanks, it got a lot of work done on it."

"Does it run well?"

"Good enough to pass onto my son."

"It looks like it"

Two men in jeans drove away bidding me a good travel in the truck that looked older than themselves. Heavy metal sound and dirt cloud from the disappearing 1966 Ford truck again told me to go search for the memories. So I decided to think of the memories of past few days driving through the Midwestern states.

It's a crack of dawn. Sleepy eyed, I'm driving my 1966 Ford pickup through the cornfields. Twenty years had passed since I was able to drive by myself. Loading and unloading this truck countless times. I went to the large corn contest and county fair with this guy every year. Baseball games and football games were with him always. We went to Indiana for the Popcorn Festival and dodged tornadoes. It was beautiful and exhilarating looking at lightning strikes out front of the windshield. Numerous camping trips with friends and looking at star studded night sky with my girlfriend next to me on the hood of the truck. My young son sat in the seat next to me smiling at me. Looking back, this truck was my best buddy that was with me at any time and any place in my life, a part of me. Once again, I'm driving through the cornfields toward the sunset.

This was what 1966 Ford F100 meant for me.

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[Sketch Trip America] Episode 13: Road Guide on Route 66

At a remote gas station in southern Missouri.

The battle between the meter gauge cheat dragon and the straight edge of justice had ended and a peace came upon this dry desolate place at last.

 

Rest in Peace, you wicked dragon!

Don't ever wake up again.

While this straight edge of justice keep shining, you'll sleep forever.

We knew the reality wasn't exactly so, and we wished that day would soon arrive.

Since we had fought with a dragon, naturally we got very hungry. Then we saw an old lady who seems to be the owner of the establishment selling some donuts and drinks. Hurriedly, we went over and grabbed some donuts and coffee. When we were getting ready to pay, she said we don't need to pay for them. Wow, This must be the southern hospitality that we heard so much about!

Ray's Donuts.

This must be a local donut shop. I saw the packaging and there were three of them around. Donut tasted great. Sweet bread was rolled up in a spiral shape and it was soft and chewy when I bit into it. It was better than all of donut flavors in Dunkin Donuts combined. Sort of like the donuts in traditional markets in Korea.

 

Even with the notion of southern hospitality, this seemed too much. There must be many people who pass here. We already see several people in front of us. In a day, there should be dozens, even a hundred. We looked around for some tip jar with no avail. Again, we tried to pay something for it, but the lady declined, again. Then she pointed to a direction with her chin and said, "If you want, you can buy a book, or some other souvenirs over there." Puwahahaha-. It was a marketing gimmick hidden behind the country hospitality. Sumi and I decided to buy a book about Route 66.

 

It was a book of photographs from all points along Route 66. This may serve as a good reference guide. The price was $35. Once we paid for the book, the kind old lady told us to go inside the office where we can get the book signed. She said the book was made by a friend of his. We weren't sure why we should get it signed by the author's friend, but we decided to go in anyway. There seemed to be lots of interesting stuffs in the office.

 

Inside the office was well-preserved from the time the gas station was in full operation. All four sides of wall had shelves that are filled with old stuff that even a tiny mouse would have hard time to roam about. Inside this  gap, there was an old gentleman sitting like one of the antique collections. He was signing a book brought to him by another party of tourists. While we wait for our turn, I decided to look around the shelves. Just when I thought he might be done signing the book, he started to turn the pages and explained at length which seemed to span the entire book. I looked around and around the shelves, but the story did not end. So I looked some more. Then, I started to notice something inside this seemingly random pile of antiques on the shelves--layers depicting generations and places. Different kinds of motor oils and automobile products from the time gas station was in operation were one layer. Another layer had nothing to do with gas station but things brought in to remind of Route 66. They were all old, of course. Then, there were this last layer that looked mostly like souvenirs, waiting for people looking to buy memories of old times' sake. This souvenir layer could've left bitter taste in my mouth, but being on Rt 66, this actually brought me certain warm nostalgia.

Each layers sang to me,

We were part of gas station and we were popular once

Everyone going east and west stopped here

Got gas and cared for their cars

A noble woman and Hollywood stars were no exception

It was time that we were the hipsters

Then the antiques said,

We are not from the gas station

but were popular else where in the same time period

Original Coca-Cola bottle, hand-stitched baseball, peanut vending machine...

If there is anyone on earth that lived without us, show us your face

It was souvenir's turn,

I won't say much, I'm just here to sell you memory

If you want to remember anything from the old Route 66, you'd better buy me

Who knows, after many years, I will also become an original

You'd better take me home with you

Then there was a chorus,

How about it? Isn't it beautiful?

Anything with glorious past still holds value

Everything old is beautiful

Even with a little bit of extraneous things

The last line was the souvenir's solo.

 

Speaking of the extraneous things, there were more of that in the places that had Route 66 museum signs on than Gary's Gay Parita. And those places also collected entrance fees. At least Sinclair still stands where it used to be and receives the test of time, along with Gary and Lena.

 

 

It is our turn finally. The old gentleman's name is Gary Turner.

Just like the lady told us, the book is by his friend and Gary is selling it for him. A strange system that a seller signs in place of the author. However, Gary's signature is very unique, it definitely added to the value of the book.

After signing our book with shaky hands, Gary said, "I'm not the age that I can travel. Instead, I meet folks from all over the world here on route 66. Then, he told us stories from old days, about his son's website, the friend's book, even though it wasn't his, and most of all, about the town. He told us we must stop at nearby town of Spencer and Red Oak 2. He even drew us a map in detail on a piece of paper. He then came out to the front of Sinclair gas station with us and had us hold a Route 66 flag and take picture at a pre-determined spot. I'm a bit sorry to say, but all this seemed quite manneristic. With this, we bid good-bye with self-claimed Route 66 guide, Gary Turner. As we move away in our car, watching Gary and Lena waving at us, I thought that they know very well that they are the best and most valuable collectibles and souvenirs for the travelers on Route 66. In other words, they were the professionals. They knew how to spread the message and the atmosphere of the old Route 66 more than any of the museums along the way. I was glad we stopped here. Sinclair led us into the world of the old Route 66 from being the tourists merely looking in from outside. A whole new world was about to open up in front of our eyes.

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