Route 66

Lucas and his sister Martina are from Rosario, Argentina. Last summer they flew to Chicago with one plan: Route 66, from Chicago to Los Angeles. They rented an old blue car from a small company near the airport. The man at the desk gave them the keys and said, "She's old, but she's a good car."

On the first day they drove through Illinois and Missouri. The road was long and straight, and the sky was enormous. Martina took hundreds of photos. Lucas drove and sang. That night they slept in a cheap motel with a huge neon sign.

On the second day they got lost. The old car didn't have GPS, and Lucas read the map wrong. They drove for two hours in the wrong direction. "Did you check the map?" Martina asked. "Yes!" "Did you check it well?" Lucas didn't answer.

In Oklahoma they ate the biggest breakfast of their lives: eggs, bacon, pancakes, potatoes and a lot of coffee. "Did you eat all that?" the waitress asked with a big smile. They did.

In New Mexico the land changed. They saw the desert for the first time: red rocks, dry plants and a sky without a cloud. At night they stopped the car, sat on the roof and saw a million stars. Martina didn't say a word. Lucas didn't either.

In Arizona they met a dog. He was brown, thin and very friendly, and he waited next to their car outside a gas station. He had no collar. The owner of the station said, "He came last month. Nobody wants him." Lucas looked at Martina. Martina looked at Lucas.

Two weeks later, the old blue car arrived in Los Angeles with three passengers. The dog's name was Chicago. Did they see the Pacific? Yes, they did. Did they take the dog home to Argentina? That's another story.