An exit sign I always loved off I-90 in Western New York: “Leroy Rochester.” When I moved to the Bay Area I soon started to wonder if “Tracy Stockton,” whose name appeared on a lot of highway signs, was a friend of Leroy’s.
Tonight just before midnight, heading east on I-10 into the darkness, the best one yet: “Blythe Phoenix.”
We hit the road in search of dark and found it, fifty miles east and just inside Joshua Tree. We pulled off the road at 12:30 and breathed. Kangaroo rat in the headlights at roadside before we turned them off, let the engine cool. Stars stubborn through a light haze, still shining but indistinct and dancing. Another fifty miles of desert to the Colorado.
I’ve always liked “Carp Elgin” on I-15 going towards Utah.
I always thought Leroy was the first name of Jack Benny’s butler.
When I first moved to California in 1969, this sign over the Nimitz Freeway convinced me that California was indeed as laid-back as we in the East had heard:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ken_duffy/945049421/
=v= There are those who think The Hamptons is a family, who perhaps throw a lot of parties.
@Sherwood - You know Ken Duffy?
@=v= - No, I don’t—I just searched Flickr for “A Street Downtown Hayward” and up the photo popped. Is Ken Duffy someone I would be the better for knowing?
In north-central Indiana, all roads lead to Marion Anderson.