The recent huge floods in the northwest corner of our country, reminded me of the turbulent floods that troubled the Biggest Little City in the past. As I mentioned before in this space, one of the favorite disciplines of journalists is the use of alliteration. Below is an example that was written long ago about how the Truckee flooding literally cut Reno in half.
The tributary that tumbles out of Tahoe and traverses the Truckee Meadows has a tempo that travels from tweety treble to thunderous timpani. Trying to tame this tyrannical tumult of water is tantamount to the efforts of the tiny tyke who stuck his thumb in the dike.
Like some thoughtless trespasser, the troubled waters trampled through our town and tore at the tenancies of town folk, tourists and transient alike. Transportation was temporarily terminated on thoroughfares, thruways and tarmacs. Two timeworn and trusty towers to tourism – the Mapes and the Riverside – that have been thrice threatened by the tigerish torrents, turned their tired tiers of terra-cotta to the tides and trembled not a tick.
True, the Truckee can trickle and tease, be tranquil and tempting or turn treacherously terrifying; this time the turbulent torrents tested the testicular tenacity of a town that has tolerated these travails three times in recent memory. Television teams trudged to the tumbling waters to tell of the tragedy through tear stained eyes, tired tongues and throaty tones to tens of thousands of transfixed TV-viewers throughout the day today and tonight. Tossing and turning tall trees, timbers and tons of trash, the Truckee throttled the very town to which think-tankers and theorists tout it will tempt travelers.
ROUTE 66. The local daily newspaper had a big story last week about the “Mother Road”, Route 66. This road, which opened in 1926, traveled from Chicago to LA, more than 2,000 miles all the way. The original intent was to open up the western part of the country to the eastern part. As noted in the daily press, the road actually served another purpose and that was to provide an economic engine for small towns along the way. In doing so it became known as “America’s Main Street”.
The RGJ article focused mainly on the road as it passed through the state of Arizona. This is probably due to the fact that one Angel Delgadillo formed the Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona – the first of its kind. This inspired other states to do the same. The bulk of the RGJ article was devoted to establishments in Arizona, where members of the Delgadillo still maintain businesses.
For me, Route 66 has a special meaning, for I once traveled the entire distance from east to west. The trip occurred when three of us were returning to the University of Nevada following WWII. The trip started a little after midnight in the city of New York, after a hearty meal at a famous Italian restaurant.
The travel plan was to have each of us take the wheel for four hours, with one passenger acting as co-pilot and the third asleep in the back seat. The rotation would continue every four hours. I don’t know what time we reached Chicago, but I do remember turning on to 66. The road was a two-laner most of the way with numerous detours. We were fortunate enough to be driving a brand new two-door Ford sedan. So naturally each guy tried to make the most mileage when it was his turn at the wheel.
By pushing the car to the limit we managed to blow the water pump and had a four hour layover in Kingman, Arizona. All told, the trip took 48 hours with 44 of them as drive time. We pulled into Pasadena, California where the owner of the car, Bill Geohegan lived.
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