America is suffering. The novel coronavirus has torn through the country, leaving us to rattle along numbly on a road we've never before traveled. No one knows what the next mile will bring—only that we must find a new path forward together.
For that reason, we've decided to dedicate this issue to Route 66. The Mother Road—as The Grapes of Wrath author John Steinbeck first called it—has seen our nation overcome much in its storied history. And that makes it a nostalgic comfort to many. Route 66 represents an America that beat back the Great Depression, won World War II, and then happily set out to help us find ourselves. It taught us how to vacation, let us sleep in teepee motels, took us to Petrified Forest and Onondaga Cave. It invited us to picnic at Baxter Springs, Kansas; tempted us to take a dip at the Blue Whale swimming hole of Catoosa, Oklahoma; and introduced us to the real American West at Gallup, New Mexico. Neon signs of every kind painted its skies warmly night after night. And it still teaches
