US Route 20 is the longest highway in the United States. It is an east-west, trans-continental road running from Boston, Massachusetts, near the Atlantic Ocean, to Newport, Oregon, ending at an intersection within one mile of the Pacific Ocean.
Interstate 90 is the longest interstate highway in the United States. For most of its route, I-90 swiftly and aloofly parallels the slower and less modern US 20, while the older 20 with its fewer lanes wanders alongside, meandering through the centers of small towns, rather than by and around in fancy over-and-under passes and merging-and-surging lanes reserved for the fast cars and their forward-focused interstate travelers. I-90 also starts in Boston but ends in the big city of Seattle, Washington, rather than an intersection somewhere in Oregon.
From start to finish, US 20 is 3,365 miles (5,415 kilometers). From beginning to end, I-90 is 3,101.13 miles (4,990.78 kilometers). Though close in length, the two highways are worlds apart. One is a way to view the countryside, wave to the people and enjoy the trip to Grandma’s house. The other is a hurry-and-get their machine that largely ignores where you’re at, while getting you from here to a pre-determined and closely calculated there. Although both have their advantages and disadvantages, the concepts they present are markedly different.
The first Italian autostrada opened in 1924 and the first German autobahn in 1932. These two roadways started the zip-and-go craze of modern travel, and our US interstates continue that hurried and rushed tradition.
On the Italian autostrada of my student days, the lighting-bolt cars of Lamborghini, Maserati and Ferrari occupied the middle lane, which was reserved for these ultra-fast projectiles of travel. In our puttering student Volkswagen, we broke our bread and munched our calamari as we watched in awe the passing of these mechanical marvels. The hurtling engines of the fast lane were required to keep their left blinkers on, which helped because you had a chance to see the flashing light before the technological wonders hurtled past, the shock wave launching our smaller wagon to the side in mid-crunch of our lunch. Calamari is still a favorite. The shape is round and the surface breaded like an onion ring, except of course the surprise is squid, pulling a bit like a deep-fried rubber band when you bite in and chew, likely tasteless if not for the breading and salt, but still a mainstay on our wander down the autostrada. I now order the calamari in fancy restaurants and save the interstate for our more determined conquests of the miles. Back then, we probably should have been on the slower country roads, but we were kids on an adventure with food in our mouths and wonder in our eyes. Back then, there seemed to be fewer cars and fewer distinctions between those who traveled and the foods they ate.
Take a trip down your favorite byway, interstate or highway, stop for a break and grab a sampling of your favorite treats. Then, hit the road again and munch the miles away. In some ways, things really haven’t changed that much, have they? Life in the fast lane doesn’t really have to be that fast, does it? Just move on over and watch the fancy cars go by. You know, I’m getting hungry for some calamari. Must be time for a road trip.
Grandpa Jim