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In the 1920s, someone had a great idea. Connect Chicago to Los Angeles with a ribbon of asphalt. Route 66 was born, and with it so too was America's latest incarnation of Manifest Destiny. Long, lonesome stretches of highway, void of the bland of eastern living. Tourist traps soon lit up the golden highway. As such, cities grew and decayed by its path. What a great idea it was, at least for a while. Just as the towns, those bypassed by its rich stream of traffic, were swallowed up yet again by the plains, so too did this once grand idea vanish. It survives, now, only as a memory. A testament to our nation's will to tame the land, to inch ever closer to ambition.