Breezewood

The drive between my house and Michigan takes me through a certain little town in Pennsylvania. Nestled between Interstate 70 going west out of Baltimore and Exit 161 of the Pennsylvania Turnpike is Breezewood. It has to be the most vile, execrable, nasty place in these 50 United States. Breezewood is a place totally devoid of charm. Saturday early-returning traffic caused a massive tie-up here giving me ample oppurtunity to see what Breezewood has to offer.

The reason for its existence, I suppose, is that Interstate 70 from Baltimore ends in Breezewood forcing all drivers to drive through Breezewood to the Pennsylvania Turnpike if they wish to continue on west. Breezewood is nothing but gas stations, truck stops, fast food restaurants, and motels. In fact, billboards leading up to Breezewood proudly proclaim it as The Town of Motels.

Nothing above base quality exists here: whether it's Fat Jimmy's Outfitters, 50 States Souvenirs, or what must be the last Stuckey's in America.

Normally, Breezewood is a blur as I blast through it on my way to anywhere else. Yesterday it took me 45 minutes to get through the 4 traffic lights along the main drag of this wretched little place. The longest time I'll ever want to spend in The Town of Motels.
K-