I gave you all I had
I gave you good and bad
I gave but you just threw it back

—Sometimes Always, The Jesus & Mary Chain

I can't claim I took to thirty easily. Compared to road-tripping with friendly strangers in Syria on my twenty-ninth birthday, turning thirty was rather anti-climactic. I wasn't sure how I'd gone from the freedom of travel to working 12-hour days without a shred of appreciation. Thirty felt like the beginning of the end.

Thirty-one sent me into a downward spiral.

With thirty-one, I was forced to comprehend I was a fully-formed adult. And I didn't want to be one. The boy who'd sworn we'd spend our lives together should have eased the transition, but his abrupt realization that he wanted a life entirely different than the one he'd promised me came at a shitty time. My birthday was no cause for celebration. I refused to let my friends acknowledge it.

I walked away from you
I hurt you through and through
Aw honey, give me one more chance

There were logical reasons why Brian was wrong for me, but I'd been so happy regardless. I had rarely been so intrigued with one person before, and had never felt so massively stung by a betrayal. As I barreled down Route 66, the beauty of New Mexico faded into the background. All I wanted to do was dwell on my achingly unhealthy emotional suckfest.

I wasn't sure what I wanted out of Route 66. Simple nostalgia from an era not mine? I pulled off I-40 every time I saw a sign for "historic Route 66," hoping the legendary road would guide me somewhere amazing. Instead, I found it usually ran alongside the highway, providing the exact same scenery. Sometimes it immediately reconnected with the highway, requiring a few redos. Signage was quite unclear and the drive frustrating.

Oh, you're a lucky son
Lucky son of a gun
You went away but now you're back

How long does it take to forget? Weeks? Months? When you discover the lies, when you see he's not a fraction of the man you believed him to be, when he tells you daily you're fucking amazing then shows you that you're completely disposable...is a year even long enough?

Fingers crossed.

In one particularly lovely spot near Laguna Pueblo, Route 66 finally disentangled from the highway and wound around gorgeous red mountains. I saw decaying homes and gas stations, and a real cargo train chugging across the flaxen landscape.

My goal had been Grants—for no reason in particular—but as the light turned crimson I realized I had to give up.

The reverse route proved confusing, however; construction at the Mesita exit meant I couldn't simply hop back on I-40. The next entrance required a long detour, and somehow I ended up on the opposite side of I-40, still on Route 66 but with the highway growing small behind me. It turned out there were several different sections that were all legitimately Route 66 at some point in history.

Unsure if this section would lead me back to Albuquerque, I opted to turn around. Of course, I STILL couldn't get back onto I-40 at Mesita so I drove through Laguna Pueblo a second time before I could find my roundabout way onto the highway back to Albuquerque.

I got down on my knees
And then I begged you please
I always knew you'd take me back

After this final turnaround, I conceded I had not gone very far. But I'd seen the red glowing sunset and felt I'd sufficiently "done" Route 66. What else was I expecting to see? The ghost of Jack Kerouac along the road, thumb outstretched? Wild horses stampeding through the golden grass? Migrants in search of a better life out west? Motorcycle gangs? It was enough to know that the great Mother Road, the lifeblood of small-town America, was a simple 2-lane trail. It was enough to see the impersonal monster highway that coursed straight from point A to B and wonder about how things changed...and if people really notice change while it's happening.

It was time to try reaching point B myself. I was ready to go home.

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