Historical road

In eastern Ohio, we got off I-70 for our first gas stop and, by accident, discovered an interesting back road . There wasn't an on-ramp so we had to drive on Highway 40 for about eight parallel miles to return westward.

Signs billed it as a "historical highway," but the stretch we were on seemed more like it had become history years ago. A fading sign on a pole, "Texas Music Land," guarded a vacant, jungly lot, all that remained of the bar. Vines and plants covered an old brick farm house in front of a collapsed barn. Signs pointed the way to long-vanished motels. Even the liveliest spot, a large yard sale, was taking place in the parking lot of a defunct motel, next to a couple of derelict 1960s cars.

Woods and yards looked shaggy and overgrown, as if nature was gradually reclaiming the road. And then the highway itself disappeared, at a swamp after directing cars back onto I-70, its replacement and, by the looks of it, executioner.