From the editor: Roads well traveled

I’ve never been inside a Ford Mustang—never driven one, never caught a ride in the passenger seat.

It hardly seems possible, I know. The iconic muscle car turns 50 on Thursday, the anniversary of its appearance at the New York World’s Fair. Ford sold an astonishing 400,000 plus of the pony when the half year model debuted back in 1964 and more than 9 million in all. My sister owned one, but tumbled it down an embankment before I had a chance to slide in. A friend also had one, but he gutted it for use on the track.

About a decade ago I knew a dull, humorless, button down executive who drove his 1966 convertible version every day in Dallas rush hour traffic. Once in a while I caught a glimpse of him, propped tall and stiff in his bright red Mustang, crisp white dress shirt and tie rippling in the breeze.

American car culture even captures the imagination of those who never otherwise dream of things outside their cubicle walls.

I’ve owned cars as enviable as a 1970 Dodge Challenger, painted “plum crazy” and packing an asphalt melting 340. But I’ve also tottered along in forgettable boxes, like a beige Renault or a cheap Pontiac in faded yellow. In the first I once took a summer cruise through Tennessee and Kentucky. But even the Renault trekked—barely—over the  Appalachians.

There is something compelling in the possibility created by a vehicle and the open road. We think of Jack Kerouac and Bobby Troup, the one who penned the hit song “Route 66.” We savor the memory of Howard Johnson’s or Stuckey’s. We hear the rumble of the awesome 426 hemi installed in a classic ‘Cuda or the clatter of the humble Model T.  The color and noise is what awed Sylvia Plath when she jotted “the swift colored motion of the 20th Century” into her diary.

Great distances had already been conquered by horse and wagon over the Oregon Trail, and by the engines rolling along the Transcontinental Railroad. Cars as quick as the Mustang and stretches of asphalt like the Lincoln Highway and I-80 defeated time.

To me, Sidney and the panhandle is the best place in this state—perhaps in the country—to see distance and time beaten by technology and the human spirit. The first popular routes west from the horse and wagon era angle just to the north of town. A few miles to the east once stood a station on the short-lived Pony Express. A cattle trail from Texas churned dust to the west. Most people also know about the Sidney to Deadwood stage line, which brought bad men and adventurers into the area.

Indeed, during America’s Wild West days, Sidney was known as the “wickedest” town in America.

The stagecoach line ran to Sidney because of the Transcontinental Railroad, the first such line connecting east and west, completed in 1869. It passes through town parallel to Illinois St.—otherwise known as the Lincoln Highway, completed in 1913 as the first coast to coast auto route.

That’s pretty impressive: America’s desire to move, to seek new challenges, to find new purposes are all represented here, from wagon trail to the Interstate. Trails used by Native Americans cut through the area, as well.

As travel season approaches, it is time to consider a road trip through time, into this country’s long-held notions of expansion, enterprise and restless motion. The good thing is, we don’t have to go too far.

Detroit will celebrate the Mustang as just one part of that cultural tradition. But it comes to mind that the state of Nebraska should mark the spirit by establishing a transportation museum in Sidney.

It may not be a pressing issue, obviously. But it makes sense. And if it ever happens, I may just head into a dealership and ask to test drive the newest pony car.

So I’ll likely never sit behind the wheel of a Mustang.