It’s a Small, Small World

Highway 10, Route 66, the Appian Way: great roads of history. But no armies tromped down 10 to lay siege to Motley, Minnesota; no legions marched for days across 66 to conquer Barstow and bring its riches back to Caesar. The Appian Way is the mother road of Western civilization, and it shares something with the great roads of America. I don’t say all this just because I’m on vacation and have to weld my travel stories to the titular theme of the column.

I mean, I do, yes, but I’m not wrong. The Appian Way is just like Highway 10. Bear with me.

The many tombs and monuments that lined the Roman road are gone, carted off by gleaners who reused the elegant stone for churches or homes or perhaps a nice shed for the backyard. For all we know the most gifted author of his day, now forgotten, had a tomb that ended up as a horse trough. There’s one massive tomb for the wife of the son of the fabulously wealthy Crassus, but it survived because of its enormity. We visited it as part of a bike tour. You have to pay to get inside. Crassus would’ve approved of that.

There are graveyards along Highway 10 as well, but there are a few differences. Unlike Mrs. Crassus’ final resting place, there are no facilities for sacrificing cows and sheep in the boneyards by the rural churches. The stones are humble and weathered, and without tending the earth grows over the small shoebox-sized markers on the ground. Even with care, the elements erase the names and dates. To travel the Appian Way and Highway 10 is to realize—