The Snohomish Bypass is almost done.

All the local dignitaries should be arriving soon to snip the obligatory ribbon with the oversized scissors, drinking bubbly with the eager press while the first vehicles make the initial journey over what is bound to be called “the new Highway 2“.

Travelers headed east-west on the newly constructed asphalt snake will miss out on the fun Snohomishites have engaged in over the years on the main drag in town. The Donner Party took less time to cross the mountains into California than a souped-up Mustang took driving through the congestion from Pilchuck Park to the Yakima Fruit Stand. Newlyweds traveling south from the high school have become grandparents by the time they’ve raced through the yellow light at the intersection of 2nd and Avenue D.

Incidents such as these will soon fade into memory. Left turns on Avenue D will cease to be daredevil stunts and right-side passing over parking strips will become passé. Students attempting to enter Avenue D on 7th Street, many of whom began waiting as sophomores only to merge into traffic as decorated seniors, now can screech home from school without watching every logging truck in the country rumble by.

Few people realize the long, constant planning it has taken to get the Bypass completed. The original idea was dreamed up before the turn of the century by Ignatius Cathcart (black sheep brother of a well-known pioneer) who believed that an alternate route skirting the town would help alleviate the tangible pollution problem caused by the incredible amounts of exhaust left by horse-drawn carriages. Even Ignatius could not have foreseen what modern civil engineering and technology hath wrought. Building the Bypass was no easy task; large mountains of fill dirt had to be obtained for bridges and on-off ramps; farmland had to be purchased from reluctant landowners; scenic twigs planted near the Pilchuck River for beautiful roadside viewing; and the time-consuming accumulation of tax dollars to pay for the whole thing.

Without the Arab Embargo and subsequent hikes in gas taxes, we may never have seen our brand new blacktopped sidewinder, and the Pilchuck River Valley would not have known the aesthetic beauty of American technology. But it is more than just a fine piece of engineering. The Snohomish Bypass is a symbol of humans conquering nature, a monument to homo sapiens’ devotion to a gasoline-powered cult, a veritable way of life. And no where else is this better exemplified than in the prime residue of this whole highway construction: the creation of new cul-de-sacs.

For those of you unfamiliar with road-building lingo, let me explain precisely what a “cul-de-sac” is. Literally speaking, they are roads with dead ends. Near our Bypass, they are remnants of former county roads, places found inadequate for direct access to their fancier relation. What used to be narrow winding thoroughfares with shade trees and a view of the valley are now dead end roads blocked with a red sign and a wire fence, interrupted by the progress of a world that values efficiency, not the bucolic past.

Bypass cul-de-sacs have an ambience all their own. When archeologists begin scraping and sifting through the dust of our civilization in the centuries to come, it is at these cul-de-sacs where they will find their richest rewards. Each cul-de-sac sports signage at its terminus, perfect for target practice with most any type of firearm, from shotgun to pellet pistol. The actual message on these signs is rather vague, but a quick glance around the immediate area of a cul-de-sac who lead one to believe they convey a “Please dump any old furniture and appliances here, and also make sure to shatter any glass containers on the pavement before you leave. Thanks!”

Any unsightliness caused by the end-of-the-road junkpiles us remedied by the careful planning of the Bypass project coordinators. They only construct “culdies” (more roadbuilding jargon) in areas that can’t be viewed from the main highway, and only those who live in close proximity of a cul-de-sac must contend with them, and then only if they dare to venture down to the dark end of the road. A marvel of modern production and planning!

Of course, vandals have already struck this beautiful creation of a Bypass, though it remains a mere infant. Most devastating is the permanent graffiti scarring the bridge at the Three Lakes Interchange. Some jokester, using sophisticated equipment, has engraved the date “1982” directly into the concrete, apparently a pathetic juvenile declaration of his high school graduating class.

This destruction is shameful–both the classes of 1970 and 1977 are obviously more deserving–though, admittedly, the craftsmanship is superb.