If you were a kid in the 1970's and you grew up on the Main Line, then you are all too familiar with the stretch of highway that stood unfinished for over 30 years. There were two sections of highway that were left untouched, but my Blue Route ran along Ithan Avenue in Rosemont, PA. I was four years old when we moved into our house in Rosemont, and my first memories are standing at the top of what seemed to me the biggest hill in the world. The hill overlooked a beautiful landscape of farmhouses with horses in a corral, and a meticulous golf course separated from my neighborhood by a long white slab of unfinished road.
The Blue Route (called that for the desired route chosen from several proposed color-coded routes on planning maps), or Brue Loute which I distinctly remember calling it as a four-year-old child, was the brainchild of regional officers as early as 1929 but did not start construction until 1967. The highway was to run 100 miles through the suburbs of Philadelphia.
As a child, I had no idea why the highway was incomplete, but heard stories about Native Americans claiming the highway was in the path of Indian burial grounds. Or affluent Main Line residents put their noses up to such an eye-sore running through their community, but basically the project was halted due to environmental concerns.
It's hard to imagine an unfinished stretch of highway would play such a major part in a child's life but it was the source of hours of entertainment, adventure, and imagination for most of the kids in the neighborhood. It was the 1970s and the thought of locked doors, fenced in yards, and scheduled playdates were not invented yet. We were kicked out of the front door first thing in the morning and didn't come home until the dinner bell rang.
We would spend hours riding the mile long highway with our banana seat bikes complete with streamer's flags and playing card in the spokes. It was the ultimate playing field for roller-skaters and skateboarders. At nightfall, the teenagers took over the strip riding their motorcycles, drag racing and partying to all hours.
The Blue Route was not just about riding back and forth along on your chosen pedal-powered toy; there was a whole world of hidden adventures to be found along the perimeters, under the highway and at either end of a mile long strip.
Every unexplained object or place we came across had a tall tale. At one end of the Blue Route lay a pile of car parts, clothes and other things that people discarded. One story I remember was that the car parts were the remains of a fatal drag race. A shoe that lay in the trash heap belonged to the drivers girlfriend who insisted on racing with him, and like all good ghost stories the girl would wander the road at night looking for her lost shoe.
At the opposite end was a lush green opening in the woods with tall trees and a brook that looked something right out of a children's story. Of course in our minds there had to be a twist. A mental institution stood not too far from this spot that clearly meant there had to be some evil connection. There were train tracks leading nowhere which someone had taken the time to carve tiny pitchforks in the ties. The fact that no marine life lived in the clearest part of the creek only strengthened our theory. Inevitably something would spook one of us, and we would head for the hills as fast as our feet could take us.
