http://www.newgeography.com/content/003907-history-landscape-beauty-american-freeway
By Robert Bruegmann, September 7, 2013
Freeways, particularly urban freeways, have had a bad press for
several decades now. They are accused of despoiling scenery,
destroying habitat and causing urban sprawl. Many observers report
with glee on the latest news of a small segment of urban freeway being
dismantled.
This blanket condemnation makes it easy to overlook the remarkable
contribution that these freeways have made to the American economy and
to American culture. It is hard to imagine the growth in productivity
in the country during the postwar years without these roads, which
vastly increased the mobility of goods and people and connected parts
of the country together in ways that were unprecedented.
The constant criticism also makes it difficult to appreciate these
roads as cultural artifacts and a wonderful way to see the country.
This is all the more surprising since Americans in recent years have
been discovering the rich legacy of our nation’s highways. There has
been spate of books that celebrate travel on America’s pre-freeway-era
highways. Many authors wax eloquent over the remaining motels, fast
food restaurants and drive in theatres along US 66 or advise motorists
on finding abandoned segments of roadway by passed by later highway
alignments. There has also been a remarkable surge of interest in
America’s parkways, from the earliest parkways like the Bronx River
Parkway in Westchester County New York, started in 1907, to parkways at
the end of the parkway era in the years immediately before and after
World War II when they gradually became more like freeways, for example
the Arroyo Seco Parkway in Los Angeles, or the later segments of Lake
Shore Drive in Chicago, the Taconic Parkway in New York State or the
George Washington Parkway outside Washington.
America’s postwar freeways merit a similar rediscovery. I think
that one of the biggest obstacles to appreciating them has been a
question of scale. Driving along a two-lane roadway it is possible to
pull off the pavement and look at an historic courthouse or a
particularly interesting agricultural landscape or early gasoline
station. That is not possible on a freeway. It is also true that the
engineers who designed the nation’s postwar freeways were probably less
conscious of the aesthetic dimensions of the roadways than the
designers of the German autobahn, who set a standard for integration of
landscape and roadway never surpassed, or American designers like
landscape architect Gilmore Clarke who played important role in
designing the parkways of metropolitan New York. There is, moreover,
no doubt that the push to accommodate increasing traffic loads and to
make freeways safer in this country has led to a certain uniformity of
standards that some people find boring. Finally, the proliferation of
sound walls over the last few decades all too often makes driving
through urban areas like driving through a tunnel.
Still, there is no better way to get a good view of the larger
features of the American landscape or cityscape than looking through
the windshield of an automobile rolling along a freeway at 65 miles per
hour. At that speed it is often easier than on a slower road to
appreciate the changes that occur in plant species as the highway climbs
a steep ridge or to appreciate the way massive cuts to lower the
grades on the climb over a hill that provide a graphic illustration of
the underlying geology. It might be difficult for many people to
appreciate long stretches of flat country but, if a driver can put
herself into the proper frame of mind, this experience can have its own
rewards because of the way it accentuates the scale of the landscape.
Even the billboards, which many drivers consider simply objectionable
intrusions into the natural landscape, can, by their style and content,
illustrate a great many regional differences.
And fortunately, there has been over the last two decades a growing
recognition of the aesthetic dimensions of freeways. In some ways
this marks a reversion to ideas that were common in the parkway era
when there was almost always a conscious attempt to integrate road and
landscape into a successful composition reflecting the landscape and
culture of the region through which it passed.
A pioneer postwar example of this push to bring conscious aesthetic
design to the freeway can be seen in I-280, the Junipero Serra freeway,
which runs between San Francisco and San Jose. Here the engineers
worked with Lawrence Halprin, the landscape architect, and architect
Mario Ciampi to create a road that was widely considered the “most
beautiful freeway in the world” when the initial segment was opened in
the 1960s. This highway, with its careful alignment, minimizing cut
and fill, and the bold, sculptural concrete overpasses does little to
diminish the spectacular landscape of the San Francisco Peninsula. In
fact it affords a wonderful way to experience the golden hills on one
side of the roadway and the coastal range on the other, often seen in
the morning or late afternoon with fog pouring over the crest.
In recent years the highway departments in an increasing number of
American states have attempted to be more attuned to the aesthetic
dimensions of freeways and of the places through which the roads run.
Wildflowers now bloom in medians and margins of a great many American
freeways. In arid landscapes engineers and landscape architects have
worked to preserve native plants and use them as elements in a kind of
idealized desert landscape in the median and along the berms. In
one of the most impressive achievements, a twelve mile stretch of I-70
passing through the tortuously narrow Glenwood Canyon west of Denver,
opened in 1992, the designers went to great length to fit the roadway
into the landscape in the least obtrusive way possible. They
accomplished this by splitting the roadway alignments, reducing the
section of the roadway structure to a minimum, cantilevering both
alignments from the canyon walls to reduce their bulk, pushing tunnels
through the most difficult spurs of land and even treating the rocks
that were scarred by excavation so they would not produce jarring
juxtapositions.
Even the urban freeway, target of the most vociferous criticism,
offers interesting perspectives for those willing to look. Unlike the
case in much of Europe, where planners have often attempted to create a
parkway-like driving experience by providing a wide buffer between the
roadway and nearby urban areas and tightly restricting new development
along the highways, American freeways have become the new main streets
of many cities. Driving along the ring roads around American’s large
cities can offer some of the most compelling views of these
metropolitan areas. For the motorist driving along I-80, the Ohio
Turnpike, there is the view from the giant viaduct crossing the
Cuyahoga River. There, 20 miles to the north, up the heavily wooded
deep gash created by the river, the gleaming tip of the Key Bank
Building peaks out above the intervening ridges in clear weather,
unfortunately all too rare in Northeast Ohio. Likewise, very few urban
views can compare with the panorama that suddenly unfolds for motorists
as, emerging from I-376’s Fort Pitt Tunnel under Mount Washington,
they suddenly burst out onto a bridge over the Monongahela River and a
view of the Golden Triangle and the entire skyline of Pittsburgh.
A drive along a city’s freeways is often the best way to get a good
grasp of a region’s economic geography. It would be hard to miss the
contrast between the view from the Indiana Toll Road across the grimy
industrial landscape of steel mills and refineries just east of
Chicago, on the one hand, with the landscape of heavily planted berms
and expensive new houses along the Tri-State Expressway in the north
suburbs.
Many of the earliest freeways have crossed the 50 year threshold and
deserve a closer look as some of the country’s most important
historical and cultural artifacts. And they provide a wonderful way to
observe America’s landscape and cityscape.
Taconic State Parkway north of New York City. The New York area had
the first and largest set of parkways in the nation. The Taconic,
running along the Taconic Mountains from the Kensico Dam in Westchester
County to Chatham near Albany, was not finished until 1960, but it
maintains the earlier parkway standards rather than those of the later
freeway era. Because of its careful alignment and roadway design by
landscape architect Gilmore Clarke and the beauty of the rugged
countryside which it runs, it remains one of the country’s great driving
experiences.
I-280, Junipero Serra freeway, south of San Francisco. Although a much
wider highway than the prewar parkways, this road, constructed in the
1960s, maintains much of the feel of the earlier parkways though the
use of alignments carefully fitted into the rolling hills, integrating
the road beautifully into the spectacular landscape of the San
Francisco peninsula.
I-20 east of Birmingham Alabama. The undulating line that marks
the edge of the pine forest and the beginning of the mowed grass in the
freeway margins recalls the long curving vistas of English 18th century
picturesque landscape tradition. On an overcast morning the
resemblance to the British landscape tradition is particularly
striking.
I-10 and I-215 at Colton, California. No place in the United
States is so associated with freeways as the Los Angeles region, but
actually this region has fewer lane miles of freeway than most large
American metropolitan areas. Because freeway construction pretty much
stopped in the 1970s but the population continued to grow and the
density rose, this region has some of the most congested roads in the
country. If there is any consolation, they offer some remarkable
displays of engineering bravado and urban intensity.
I-70 west of Denver, Colorado. The construction of this roadway through
the Glenwood Canyon in the Rockies is both an engineering feat and an
aesthetic tour de force. By separating the alignments and
cantilevering the roadway from the canyon wall, the designers were able
to minimize the visual impact of the road and provide spectacular
vistas for travelers.
US 75 approaching downtown Dallas. This short piece of roadway
completes a loop around downtown Dallas that allows two interstate roads
to bypass downtown. A drive around the loop provides a kaleidoscopic
sequence of views of tall buildings and a highly effective orientation
to downtown Dallas.
I-10 east of Blythe Arizona. Perhaps even more than in the East, the
great distances of the American West make the freeway a lifeline for
residents who live far from population centers. The smooth roadway
makes a striking contrast with the great rock outcrops and vast
stretches of scrubland.
I-80 and I-94 Pennsylvania Turnpike north of Pittsburgh. The era of
the parkway ended at about the time of the second world war as a new
generation of freeways started to emerge. One of the interesting
features of the interstate system today is the way it provides
testimony to the shifting ideals of roadway design. Although large
stretches of the Pennsylvania turnpike, whose initial segment opened in
1940, have been upgraded, the narrow right of ways and steep gradients
of the older portions of the road as well as the streamlined design of
the overpasses recall the transition from one age to the next.
I-20 between Covington and Augusta Georgia. A classic piece of
interstate road with the smooth ribbon of pavement gliding effortlessly
through a landscape of low hills and dense forest.
I-10 west of downtown Phoenix. The state of Arizona has been
particularly active in trying to create an appropriate landscape for
the state’s highways. They have pioneered techniques for saving cacti
and other native species in the path of the roadway and then
re-installing them alongside the new roads to create an idealized
desert landscape.
I-10 approaching downtown Los Angeles, California. The advent of sound
walls has changed the driving experience in some profound ways. In
places it has severed the visual connection between the roadway and the
city around it. On the other hand, in some places, as here, when
vines and other plants grow up over the walls and trees overtop them,
the result is a curious but not entirely unpleasant sensation of
floating through a city without being part of it. Until the traffic
backs up, of course.
I-27 between Amarillo and Lubbock, Texas. The long flat stretches of
the Llano Estacado of northwest Texas produce an almost hypnotic
effect. Even highway signs and telephone poles take on a monumental
character, and train elevators loom up in the distance like the skyline
of a great city.
I-70 in eastern Utah. Although freeways can seem intrusive and
over-scaled in the city, they are often dwarfed by the huge open spaces
in states like Utah or Nevada.
I-5 south of Longview, Washington. A trip across the country on the
interstate roadway system allows for a panoramic view of the regional
differences between, for example, the flat, semi-tropical landscape of
central Florida and the deep green evergreen forests of the Pacific
Northwest.
State route 99, the Alaskan Way Viaduct, downtown Seattle.
Completed in 1953, this roadway, this roadway like a number of
freeways built in the heart of American cities, created a barrier in
the city. Some of these highways, for example the Central Artery in
Boston have been relocated underground. In other cases, like the
Embarcadero Freeway in San Francisco the replacement was a surface
boulevard. In this case, after a considerable debate, officials made
the decision to create a massive tunnel. It is difficult to argue that
a road like this should be preserved, given its structural problems
and the way it cuts off Seattle from its waterfront. Still, it is
almost inevitable that some of the drivers navigating the new tunnel
will keenly miss the spectacular urban spectacle that unfolds today as
they sweep along the viaduct.
A shortened version of this article appeared in Planetizen: http://www.planetizen.com/node/65034
Comments on that site:
⦿ Someone's been huffing too much exhaust.
-
There is no better way to get
yourself or someone else killed than to try to get a good view of the
larger features of the American landscape or cityscape looking through
the windshield of an automobile rolling along a freeway at 65 miles per
hour. Please pay attention to the road and traffic around you and not
the scenery. If you want to watch the scenery, take a train, or, if
you're in the city, try actually walking :)
-
"Behold, America...as it passes by at 65 miles per hour!" - Robert Bruegmann
-
It's all well and good to
love suburban sprawl and the freeways that serve its malignant,
destructive growth. It's another thing entirely to force the half of
Americans who don't or can't drive to pay directly and indirectly for
that sprawl, those roads and the inner city decay, oil wars and
pollution they cause.
If you want your automotive suburban sprawl, pay for it yourself.
Also, be prepared to find ways to mitigate its effects, both here, and
around the world, because the rest of us are getting tired of dealing
with your gross sense of entitlement and the maintenance and clean up it
so often requires.
I say start with freeway removal.
-
but..."Wildflowers now bloom in medians and margins of a great many American freeways. " oh....hooray.
-
@Vernon6 - But only the ones
that can resist toxic soot, tire dust, and reflected glare from
concrete. Those other wildflowers are just loser flora.
-
More nonsense from the sprawl
apologists at new geography. The words "beauty" and "freeway" do not
belong in the same sentence, unless the sentence is "freeways destroy
natural beauty."
-
Bruegmann has taken a break from admiring sprawl and has started admiring freeways instead.
What's next? Will he claim that all the carbon dioxide emissions caused by sprawl and freeways are really good for us?
