On a warm April afternoon in Elkhart, Illinois, along the weathered stretch of Historic Route 66, a bench crafted from the rusted tailgate of a 1957 Chevrolet pickup truck sat outside a model raceway establishment. The tailgate’s faded paint gleamed faintly in the sunlight, a relic of a bygone era repurposed into a quirky seat. On to it sat Ronald McDonald, or rather, a weathered statue of the fast-food icon, his red shoes dulled to a soft pink, his chipped grin fixed in perpetual cheer.
The odd pairing of the tailgate bench and Ronald marked the edge of the raceway lot, a haven for hobbyists and nostalgia buffs. Inside, the hum of tiny engines filled the air as enthusiasts raced miniature cars around intricate tracks, their shouts and laughter drifting out into the quiet afternoon. The bench, otherwise unoccupied, seemed to wait patiently, as if it held stories of its own—perhaps of the truck it once belonged to, rumbling down the Mother Road decades ago.
As the sun climbed higher, heating up Route 66, Ronald sat as a sentinel on the tailgate, his painted eyes gazing out over the bright concrete of the street. The scene remained still, a snapshot of small-town charm and faded glory, tethered to the enduring legacy of the historic highway.
