New book tells the story of America's First Highways

What did highways look like 100 years ago?

It’s hard to tell these days. But one thing’s for sure, they didn’t look a thing like today’s interstates.

You can still see vestiges of what highways looked like in the middle of the 20th century. If you drive down Highway 99 in California, you can cruise along old segments like Golden State Boulevard in the San Joaquin Valley or San Fernando Road south of the Tehachapi Mountains. You can see old U.S. Highway 101 on the Avenue of Giants through the Redwoods or along the coast south of Oceanside.

Then, of course, there’s Route 66. Traces of the iconic road from Chicago to Santa Monica are slowly disappearing, but road trips are still on every highway enthusiast’s bucket list. I crossed it off mine in 2019, but I’d gladly do it all over again. The excursion helped form the basis for my book Yesterday’s Highways, a look at the federal highway system founded in 1926: the roads, filling stations, diners, motels and the legacy of our nation’s first official road network.

But what about the roads that came before that?

There’s not nearly as much left of them to find, in part because they were usually dirt or gravel paths— sometimes nothing more than rutted paths through sagebrush carved by narrow tires on Model T’s. (The Old Ridge Route south of Grapevine in California is one example on an early concrete route, which I featured in my book on Highway 99.)

These early roads gave birth to privately funded auto trails. Marked by paint on telephone poles and fence posts, they bore names like the Jefferson and Jackson highways, the Pike’s Peak Ocean to Ocean Highway, the Red Ball Route and the Yellowstone Trail. The most ambitious of these were coast-to-coast projects, intended to give early motorists an alternative to the railroad.

At the turn of the century, most country roads were built for horse-and-buggy outfits intended to travel just a few miles. They took you to or from the train station — and no farther. But as automobiles started to become more common (and more reliable), there was a growing clamor to drive them more than just “into town.” To hit the open road.

In response, a group visionaries, entrepreneurs and opportunists arose to create a chaotic network of trails that crisscrossed the country. Sometimes they shared the same road. Sometimes the road shifted from one route to another — more than once. Sometimes the only road was a line on a map that amounted to wishful thinking and hopes for the future.

America’s First Highways

A friend suggested that I focus on the history of these auto trails in Yesterday’s Highways, but I could tell they deserved a volume all their own. I was surprised to find that no one had written a comprehensive history of this period (at least as far as I could find). There were books about the Jefferson Highway, the Dixie Highway and, especially, multiple volumes on the most famous auto trail: the Lincoln Highway. But I couldn’t find anything that told the whole story: from the people who paved the way for the trails to the creation of the trails themselves and their ultimate demise.

So I decided to write one. The result is America’s First Highways, a companion volume to Yesterday’s Highways and, thus, the second in a series I’ve decided to call America’s Historic Highways.

You’ll read about the first person to drive from coast to coast in an automobile (with a goggle-wearing bulldog) and the around-the-world contest that inspired the movie The Great Race. And about the man who built a road of wooden plants in Southern California across the kind of sand dunes you’d find in the Sahara Desert.

You’ll also find stories of Dwight Eisenhower’s 1919 cross-country trip that helped convince him of the need for an interstate highway system; and the auto camping craze that led to the first motels.

Did you know Henry Ford once set the land speed record ... on a frozen lake? Or that the National Football League was founded in an auto dealership? Or that the man behind the Lincoln Highway built the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and made Miami Beach a winter resort?

I uncovered stories like these. Then, I scoured the internet for historic photos in the public domain, retrieved few pictures from my own cross-country journeys and took a few more for good measure. Then I contacted the Boca Raton Historical Society & Museum for permission to use a classic photo of a camel-shaped highway arch, and the University of Michigan Library, which graciously granted me permission to use a number of Lincoln Highway photos from the Transportation History Collection in its Special Collections Research Center.

The result is a volume packed with details and more than 200 historic and modern images. It’s my fourth book on the nation’s highways and my 30th book overall, and I’m pleased to present it for sale at Amazon.com and look forward to displaying it at fairs and book shows here on the East Coast in the coming year.

What’s next? My book on U.S. Highway 101 is due out May 19, and I’ve already got an idea for another highway-themed book. It’s in the conceptual stage now, but stay tuned for details in the coming months.

Highway author's top 10 road trips (plus 2)

I’ve spent bits and pieces of the past few years traveling around the country on various highways, and now, here I am, confined to quarters by the coronavirus outbreak. Fortunately, I’ve got my memories and a few photos to keep me company, so I thought I’d share a few of those with you in the form of my favorite stretches of highway ... so far. (I’ve still got a lot of road trips ahead of me, once this thing lifts.)

So far, I’ve produced three highway books: on Highway 99 and Highway 101 in California, and a tome called Yesterday’s Highways about the federal highway system founded in 1926. Next up: America’s First Highways, a look at America’s auto trails, the privately run hodgepodge of half-built highways that crisscrossed the country in the early days of the automobile.

So, without further ado, here are my top 10 stretches of highway, in reverse order, and certainly subject to change once I’m back on the road again.

12. Old Plank Road, California

This isn’t exactly a trip on a highway, it’s more a trip to a highway. The Old Plank Road is a stop along Interstate 8 in Imperial County, Southern California, heading east toward Arizona. There’s not much left of it today, but you can still see some of the original wood planks from the roadway, as well as a reconstruction of what it once looked like, The wooden road was built in 1915 to help cars traverse the shifting sands of the Algodones Dunes, then rebuilt a year later. There’s a fascinating story behind it all, including a road race to establish the best route for the road, which you’ll find in Highway 99: The History of California’s Main Street, as well as in America’s First Highways.

11. National Old Trails Road, California

This stretch of highway was known as Route 66 for four decades, and there are still highway shield signs stenciled into the road along the way, but these days, street signs (and Google Maps) call it the National Trails Highway. It’s a variation on its earlier name, the National Old Trails Road — a series of “old trails” pieced together to provide a way across the continent. Some were little more than rutted wagon-wheel paths, and there’s that same feeling of loneliness to this stretch of highway that there must have been back then. It almost feels like you’re driving on the moon, until you come to an old, abandoned filling station or Roy’s Motel and Café (pictured above), which is still open in the otherwise abandoned hamlet of Amboy. It was 114 degrees when I was passing through on this section of road in a car without air conditioning. Needless to say, I bought a lot of water at Roy’s. You’ll find more about this trip in Yesterday’s Highways.

10. Lincoln Highway, Pennsylvania

I got a chance to explore this section of what’s now called U.S. 30 but started out as the Lincoln Highway, the early 20th century’s most ambitious cross-country route. Planned by Carl Fisher, the same man who built the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and transformed Miami Beach from a backwater hamlet into a booming resort, the Lincoln Highway ran from New York to San Francisco. There’s a lot to see on many sections of the road, but Pennsylvania was my favorite. You’ll pass through historic Gettysburg — and past the site of the historic battle (pictured above) — and you’ll cross one of the most impressive Columbia-Wrightsville Bridge. When it was dedicated in 1930, it was the world’s longest multiple-arch concrete bridge, and the fifth built at that location. The old Lincoln Highway will also take you past Latrobe, childhood home of Arnold Palmer and Fred Rogers, and birthplace of pro football and the banana split. But the highlight for me was the beautiful Allegheny Mountains, rolling hills that find the perfect balance between repose and majesty. For more on the Lincoln Highway, check out Yesterday’s Highways and my forthcoming book, America’s First Highways.

9. Old Ridge Route, California

You can drive some of the way along the first highway to span the Tehachapi Mountains, linking Northern and Southern California, although part of it’s blocked off by the U.S. Forest Service. What you can see is fascinating. When it was established back in 1915, a number of local businesses set up shop along this narrow, winding path at the top of the world. Most of them abandoned it when an alternate route went in at a lower elevation to the west in the early 1930s, and only a very few remnants of that first era remain visible. Still, you can imagine what it must have been like to drive along the concrete road at 15 mph (the speed limit) and hope you didn’t run into a truck coming the other way around Dead Man’s Curve, which you can still see from above if you take a detour through Lebec. You can travel portions of the 1930s-era alternate route, too, although it was eventually bypassed itself by Interstate 5. Part of it’s down at the bottom of manmade Pyramid Lake. For more details on the Old Ridge Route, check out Highway 99: The History of California’s Main Street.

8. Highway 101, San DIego County

If you want a look at what the first federal highway system was like, before the age of the interstates, this section of highway is a great example. Sure, you can continue down Interstate 5 if you’re traveling from L.A. to San Diego, but why not take your time and drive south from Oceanside through, Carlsbad, Encinitas and Del Mar on a section of road that’s still signed as U.S. 101. The 10-mile Oceanside-Carlsbad Freeway at the north end of the route was started in 1950 to improve the flow of traffic and was the first modern highway in the San Diego area. Still, it passes directly through both cities’ downtown area and, farther south, offers beautiful views of the ocean. The section through Del Mar and past the historic racetrack/fairgrounds is gorgeous, and you’ll pass iconic businesses like the 1928 La Paloma Theatre in Encinitas and the 101 Café (pictured above), built that same year in Oceanside. The latter is worth a stop to check out the cool ’50s-throwback mural on the side of the building. More: Highway 101: The History of El Camino Real.

7. Blue Ridge Parkway, Virginia

This 469-mile parkway through Virginia and North Carolina runs along the spine of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Most of what you’ll see is natural beauty, and boy, is there a lot of it. Green rolling hills, scenic overlooks, trees and wildflowers abound. Mountain ridges hug rolling meadows on this scenic drive. There’s aren’t many historic buildings along the way, but it’s worth stopping to check out Mabry Mill (pictured above), a site that features a sawmill, blacksmith shop and other buildings that date from the early 1900s. I haven’t driven the North Carolina section of this road yet, but I suspect it’s every bit as beautiful.

6. Highway 99, Dunsmuir, California

The town of Dunsmuir is a hidden gem, where you’ll find some of the cleanest water around. The old alignment of former U.S. Highway 99 takes down of Interstate 5 as you head north into town along Dunsmuir Avenue and past the historic California Theatre, which dates back to 1926. We stayed outside town at the Cave Springs Resort, a historic auto camp with cabins that date back to 1923 but that’s still running as a motel today. Railroad Park Resort, just south of Dunsmuir, offers lodging and eats inside refurbished railroad cars. Also south of town, you can check out the wild rock formations known as Castle Crags, which live up to their name. And the pine trees? They’re all around! More: Highway 99: The History of California’s Main Street.

5. U.S. 11 / Lee Highway, Virginia

This section of highway follows the course of an early cross-country auto trail called the Lee Highway, named for Confederate Gen. Robert E. Lee. But west of Wytheville, it doesn’t seem much like a highway at all. Long since bypassed by Interstate 81 just to the north, it’s one of the most enchanting two-lane country roads you’ll find. Out of the blue, you’ll pass an old drive-in theater like the Hiland in the aptly named Rural Retreat. It opened in 1952 and is still operating today. Or you’ll find yourself passing the 1832 Old Stone Tavern in Atkins, that dates back to the time when the highway was a stagecoach route. There’s another historic theater in Abingdon, the Moonlite, which opened in 1949 and was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 2007. Unfortunately, it closed six years later. Abingdon itself is a treasure trove of history, featuring an old theater, an 18th century tavern (foreground above), a grand 19th century women’s college and much more. This highway would make the list for Abingdon alone. More: America’s First Highways.

4. Pacific Coast Highway, California

It’s hard to pick a specific section of this highway, which is routinely rated as the nation’s most picturesque. The section through Malibu is plenty interesting, too. But this segment, which features Big Sur, the iconic Bixby Creek Bridge, an elephant seal rookery, and the ever-intriguing Hearst Castle (with zebras grazing by the side of the road!), is everyone’s favorite. I lived a couple of miles away from State Route 1, as it’s technically known, for about six years, so I got spoiled. While working as a journalist, I even covered the road’s reconstruction after a couple of big mudslides washed sections of it into the ocean. The road north of San Simeon is full of curves and hairpin turns that offer breathtaking views of the ocean. It will take you a lot longer to get up the coast than it will if you travel the inland route (U.S. 101), but the scenery you’ll see is worth the extra time. More: Highway 101: The History of El Camino Real.

3. Route 66, Desert Southwest

It’s about 500 miles from Glenrio, Texas to Winslow, Ariz., and you can make the trip in about a day. If you don’t stop. But you’ll want to stop many times along the way to check out what’s left the heart of Route 66. Glenrio’s a ghost town at the Texas-New Mexico state line, where you can find dozens of abandoned businesses: motels, diners and homes. It was an entire town, but virtually no one lives there now that Interstate 40 made Route 66 an afterthought – except to nostalgia buffs. Just a few miles west in Tucumcari, you’ll find plenty of old motels and service stations, some of them refurbished and plastered with colorful murals. The highlight here: the still operating Blue Swallow motel, with its distinctive neon sign, that opened in 1940. You’ll see plenty of other old Route 66 businesses along this stretch of highway, including several of the now-abandoned Whiting Bros. service stations that once dominated this section of road. The chain was once based in Holbrooke, and just west, in Winslow, you’ll find a statue inspired by the Eagles’ song Take It Easy, with its reference to “standin’ on the corner in Winslow, Arizona.” More: Yesterday’s Highways.

2. Redwood Highway, California

There’s simply nothing like the 140-mile section of U.S. 101 through Northern California known as the Redwood Highway. Starting at the south end of this segment in Ukiah, you’ll pass by the historic art deco Regal Ukiah Stadium 6 cinema, built in 1948, and the World’s Largest Redwood Tree Filling Station, carved out of a tree felled in 1936, when the station started pumping gas. Then, in Willits, you’ll pass beneath the distinctive neon arch. But the real attractions are the trees themselves, which line a section of the older U.S. 101 (now State Route 254) called the Avenue of the Giants. It parallels the current 101 from Phillipsville north to just short of Stafford. Before you get there, stop at the Benbow Inn in Garberville which dates back to the 1920s and offers some high-class atmosphere and the best hamburger you’ve ever eaten. Trust me. Other stops along the way include the drive-through Chandelier Tree and Confusion Hill, a 1949 tourist stop in Piercy. There’s too much to mention here, but there’s plenty in my book Highway 101. More: Highway 101: The History of El Camino Real.

1. Road to Hana, Maui

This will always be my favorite. I’ve driven it three times, at three different times of my life, and it never fails to disappoint. Yes, you have to make your way carefully over nearly four-dozen one-lane bridges and around more than 600 curves, but that’s part of the road’s charm. It will take you four hours to get to Hana, which might take you an hour if you could take a straight shot. The thing is, you can’t. Besides, Hana Highway is about the best evidence ever that it’s about the journey, not the destination. There’s not really much in Hana, a sleepy town of barely 1,200 people, but along the way you’ll pass through the nation’s only true rain forest. Along the way are gorgeous seasonal waterfalls, eye-popping ocean overlooks, bamboo forests, black sand beaches and lava tubes. Plus, it’s just fun to drive. It’s almost like a roller-coaster: Merchants even sell T-shirts that proclaim you’ve driven the Road to Hana. This one should be on everyone’s bucket list. (For a bonus trip, drive up the crater road to Haleakala, Maui’s extinct volcano. You’ll view the island and surrounding ocean from above the clouds. But take a jacket. It’s cold up there!)

All photos © Stephen H. Provost, 2015-2020

The Story Behind "Fresno Growing Up"

"Fresno Growing Up" was, like most books we authors write, a proverbial labor of love, and all the more so than most because of its subject matter. It's about the place where I grew up, a city that happened to be growing up itself at the same time (hence the title). The postwar Baby Boom era defined the Fresno for tens of thousands - even hundreds of thousands - of residents. It was what many consider the city's golden age, when it was growing not only up but also out, stretching its wings northward and learning to fly along new freeways and buy at new shopping malls.

As I write this, Fresno may well be entering a new golden age, with downtown redevelopment proceeding at a pace not seen in decades and the city reclaiming some of the vibrancy that marked the era covered in my book, roughly from 1945 to 1985. 

I no longer live in Fresno, and in fact, it was my departure from the city that planted the idea for this book in my head. In 2011, I found myself without a job due to downsizing within print journalism: For the first time in more than 25 years (all in the San Joaquin Valley and 14 of them at The Fresno Bee), I wasn't working at a newspaper. Ironically, I'd chosen journalism so I could write for a steady paycheck - something a career as an author couldn't promise - and I had spent the majority of my career in newspapers as an editor rather than a writer.

After a year as a substitute teacher at Fresno Unified, an opportunity arose to get back into journalism with The Tribune in San Luis Obispo, so I left the Valley for the first time since age 15. It was then that I started to write books. My wife, Samaire, can take a good deal of credit for this: She'd always wanted to be an author herself and had what seemed like a hundred stories swimming around in her very creative brain. I said to myself, "If she can do this, why can't I take a stab at it?" I'd gotten into journalism to be a writer, so why not write?

My primary job at The Tribune was as a copy editor, but I also started producing an occasional column on language and communication. Meanwhile, I was self-publishing a series of books under the name Stifyn Emrys (see the Works section of this website). I wrote about ancient history, mythology and philosophy; I produced a children's story, a dystopian novel and a companion novella. Then there was a book called "Undefeated," a series of stories about individuals who had overcome prejudice and bullying. 

This last project served to whet my appetite for delving into recent history, and Fresno seemed to be the ideal topic. Despite having moved to an area (California's Central Coast) that's pretty close to paradise, I was, in some ways, homesick for Fresno - not necessarily the city that it had become, but rather, the place where I grew up. According to the old saw, you can't go home again, but I decided to try anyway, and I chose writing as my means of transportation.

I'd read a few works on the early history of Fresno, but I hadn't seen a book dedicated primarily to the postwar years - the years I remembered from my youth - so I decided to write one.

Writing nonfiction is, for me, a process of exploration and discovery. I'm not the sort of author who sets up an outline, accumulates folders full of notes and gets "everything in order" before I start on the actual text. I research and write as I go, because it keeps things interesting. Each new revelation leads to another line of inquiry, pulling me along like the passenger on a scenic tour of some wondrous land who never quite knows what's around the next bend. As the journey continues, an outline takes shape on its own.

In the case of "Fresno Growing Up," the work evolved into a three-part project: the first part dealing with Fresno's postwar growth, the second revisiting the city's pop culture during the period, and the third focusing on sports and recreation. Plenty had been written on local government and civic leaders, so I turned my attention instead to the people who built Fresno's movie theaters and shopping malls, who scored the goals for the Fresno Falcons or the touchdowns for Jim Sweeney's Bulldogs, who made and played the records we all heard on KYNO and KKDJ.

Starting with my own experience as a base, I consulted books on Fresno and books the Baby Boom era, looked up hundreds of newspaper articles and conducted phone interviews with some of the folks who helped shape that era - people like Dean Opperman (who graciously agreed to write the foreword for the book), Roger Rocka and Dick Carr. Some of those I tried to contact didn't return my calls, and in a sense, I couldn't blame them: I hadn't written any books under my own name at that point, and my newspaper writing for the previous decade and a half had consisted largely of headlines and photo captions. Bylines? They were practically nonexistent. 

Besides, I didn't have a publisher. I didn't even considered looking for one until the book was finished, assuming that I'd just publish it myself through CreateSpace (Amazon's self-publishing platform), as I had done my previous works. But then, this project had something those earlier books hadn't: a large number of historical images, along with a collection of photos I'd taken myself. I'm a writer by profession, but I've always enjoyed photography, and to be honest, I got as big a kick out of taking pictures for "Fresno Growing Up" as I did writing the text.

Bottom line: I knew I couldn't create the kind of presentation I wanted for these images within the constraints of CreateSpace's platform, so I decided to test the waters with traditional publishing by contacting Linden. The Fresno-based publisher had a great track record (nearly four decades in the business) and had published just the sort of regional history book I was producing. Among its titles: Catherine Morison Rehart's series on "The Valley's Legends & Legacies," illustrated books by Pat Hunter and Janice Stevens, and volumes showcasing Pop Laval's vintage photos of Fresno.

I had heard one horror story after another about authors papering their walls with rejection notices and unagented authors not even being considered for publication, so I was ecstatic when I heard back from the folks at Linden that they were interested in publishing my book on their Craven Street label. Now, with the book scheduled to hit the shelves in just over two weeks, I'm just as excited as I was then - if not more so. The quality of the book's presentation not only met my high expectations, it exceeded them, and I believe provides a fitting tribute to Fresno during the era covered in the work. It's my hope that those who grew up in Fresno during the postwar period will agree with me, and will join me in the concluding that, contrary to that nettlesome old saying, sometimes you can go home again.