For my eighth installment of Road Royalty, I offer a shot of the RV at Florida’s Pass-a-Grille Beach:
The Grammy Awards are tonight, so let’s talk music. There is a road in California that plays a 20-second snippet of the “William Tell Overture” as cars pass over it. It involves a sound generator installed in the roadway (originally for a Honda commercial). Specifically, it’s in the westbound left lane of West Avenue, between 32nd and 40th streets, in the desert town of Lancaster.
Now, the “William Tell Overture” is an inspiring piece of music, particularly when you’re winding your way toward Yosemite or cruising through Monument Valley. That kind of sound can supplement the sights in a big way. But you don’t have to go to the trouble of heading for a particular lane in Lancaster to get some good driving tunes. Just make yourself an American Soundtrack.
About 18 months ago, I offered up a great collection of songs for an American road trip. These were my 15 choices:
“America the Beautiful” (Ray Charles version)
“On the Road Again” (Willie Nelson)
“Ramblin’ Man” (Allman Brothers)
“Thunder Road” (Bruce Springsteen)
“Big Yellow Taxi” (Joni Mitchell)
“Turn the Page” (Bob Seger)
“Love the One You’re With” (Stephen Stills)
“Gotta Travel On” (Bob Dylan)
“Watchin’ the Wheels” (John Lennon)
“American Girl” (Tom Petty)
“Take it Easy” (Eagles)
“LaGrange” (ZZ Top)
“I’m Gonna Be” (The Proclaimers)
“The Way” (Fastball)
“Breakdown” (Jack Johnson)
Well, I could probably choose 150 songs that work, but here are another 15 that conjure up visions of the open road, no matter where I happen to be when I hear them:
“Homeward Bound” (Simon & Garfunkel)
“Me and Bobby McGee” (Janis Joplin)
“On the Road to Find Out” (Cat Stevens)
“Life is a Highway” (Tom Cochrane)
“Radar Love” (Golden Earring)
“Slow Ride” (Foghat)
“Roll On Down the Highway” (Bachman Turner Drive)
“Running on Empty” (Jackson Browne)
“Truckin’” (Grateful Dead)
“Up Around the Bend” (Creedence Clearwater Revival)
“Ventura Highway” (America)
“Backstreets” (Bruce Springsteen)
“Here I Go Again” (Whitesnake)
“Hotel California” (The Eagles)
“Jersey to O.C.” (Sam Shaber)
Never heard of Sam Shaber? She now fronts an L.A.-based punk band called The Happy Problem, but she’s also a heck of a singer-songwriter. I hope to use that particular song as the soundtrack to a soon-to-be-released “book trailer” (a book version of a movie preview) for my upcoming travel memoir. More on that in a few months…
Anyone have a favorite on this list? Or other suggestions?
A few months ago, I wrote about the dozen or so people out there roaming around with the exact same first and last name as mine. I related it to towns that share a name and discussed how places that sound similar can offer completely distinct experiences.
Certainly, you can’t judge something by name alone. Again, to return to my narcissistic tendencies, consider my first name. Maybe it’s just my paranoia, but it seems like every time I turn on some B movie, the unlikeable character (i.e. the jerk bully or ex-boyfriend) is always named Brad. Seriously, it’s uncanny.
I don’t want some B-movie buffoon named after me. I want a town.
I know what you’re thinking. What arrogance! Who does he think he is? But that’s just it. There are a great many American communities named after relative nobodies. In fact, if you’re too well-known, you’re probably out of luck.
As far as I know, there isn’t a single town named after, say, John Quincy Adams or Alexander Graham Bell. But William Epperson Justice? Yep. I’ve been to Justice, West Virginia (it happens to be populated primarily by direct descendants of the infamous Hatfields and McCoys). What did ol’ Epp Justice do? Well, he simply cleared out some land in an Appalachian hollow.
All you really have to do to lend your name to a town is be in the right place at the right time.
The Texas community of Ben Arnold was named after a three-year-old who traveled on the first train to arrive in town. Another community in Houston County (Abe, Texas) was named after an early postmaster. In California, there is town called Lee Vining. It turns out that Lee was a rather unlucky fellow who bled to death in Nevada when he accidentally shot himself in the groin. Really, I’m not making that up.
I mean, if that’s all it takes, my name could grace a bunch of places. How about that curve along Georgia’s Chattahoochee River where I tipped my canoe moments after shoving off. Or how about that section of rural New York where my misplaced wallet eventually fell off the top of my car. Or maybe that stretch of country road in Oregon where I accidentally started driving with the RV’s slideout extended.
Brad, Oregon. I like the sound of it.
There are hundreds of similar examples out there – from Arnold (Minnesota) to Zachary (Louisiana). Okay, sure. It’s not easy to get your name on a town these days – what with the demise of the American frontier and all. But think of the lasting glory. How many hundreds of millions of Americans have existed? And the names of only a tiny percentage grace the most basic element of U.S. civilization. So think about that the next time you snicker through Ralph, Arkansas.
Meanwhile, I continue to be flummoxed by pop culture’s disdain for my name. Now, even my mother-in-law is in on it. Each December, she gives us a themed calendar to hang in our kitchen. A couple of years ago, the theme was The Hobbit. Last year, it was a calendar about the world’s magnificent castles.
This year? Modern art. And here’s what I found in April:
