Imagine Utah back in 1935 when the construction of State Route 197 began. Roads were popping up faster than cucumbers in a politician's salad bowl, aiming to connect the bustling communities of South Jordan and Lehi. It meandered through the rural heartlands like a rebel without a cause. And like many things from that era, it eventually fizzled out, its purpose chewed up and spat out by progress by 2011. The story of Route 197 is a quintessential tale of American infrastructure, steeped in good old-fashioned ambition and characters with something to prove. Who needs a road when you can have a six-lane highway and a mall where you can buy overly priced organic smoothies, am I right?
Fast forward several decades, and Route 197 saw its glory days become a distant memory, much like the 'New Deal' programs its birth coincided with. Sadly for those who used to cruise down its lanes, it didn't stand a chance against the apocalyptic beast that is modern urban planning. A supersized Interstate 15 upgrade gobbled up all the traffic, rendering Route 197 an asphalt ghost town. It was a fight between David and Goliath, and let's just say, Route 197 forgot to sling its rock.
Now, let's address the elephant in the room: why do some want to keep harping about the lost glory of these state routes? Maybe it's the same group that insists train travel with a monopoly on misery is better than fueling your own freedom in a car. Allow me to remind you: these roads are relics from a time when the individual mattered, not some faceless committee dictating the exact number of square feet you can breathe in. But Route 197 didn't ask for your pity or nostalgia. It stands (or stood) as a testament to the American spirit that believes in building and rebuilding.
Cue the inevitable progress—the expansion of the suburbs, shopping malls, and roads with more lives than a cat. Route 197 had to be sacrificed for all the new residential developments and better connectivity in the area. Who's really to blame here? Certainly not the folks living close by who were probably more concerned with whether they could get their streaming service to work rather than the whims of an old road.
You'll often hear cries about preserving historical routes and landmarks. It's as if Route 197 shared the same historic cachet as Mount Rushmore. Maybe if roads could protest their own downfall with a catchy slogan, 'Keep Route 197 Great', it might have won a few social media aficionados. But let's be honest, nostalgia didn't keep anyone dry from the sudden downpour that occurred when supply couldn't meet demand. Enjoy a good laugh at all those liberal teasers longing for the good old gridlock of simpler traffic—Route 197 wasn’t cutting it.
Of course, speaking of cutting, let's talk about what really happened behind closed doors. Utah's Department of Transportation isn't exactly the shadowy deep state, but when Route 197 was finally erased from the books in 2011, you could almost hear the cry of efficiency trumping sentimentality. It's easy to say a road must go when the math doesn’t add up, but it takes a certain kind of logic to understand why it doesn’t even belong on the calculator.
As for the future—roads come, and roads go. Route 197 is a page in Utah's transportation scrapbook, forever accompanying you on scenic detours in old maps and older memories. While new highways of life sweep us off towards the horizon, we remember Route 197. Not as a thing to cling to, but as a stepping stone to progress—the true kind that builds futures and puts people ahead of paths.
So, if you find yourself yearning for the days of Route 197, remember its sense of adventure and potential, not its loss. After all, the highways are full of surprises, and every so often, you’ll find yourself on a road that's gone but not forgotten.