I saw the exit for Pontiac on my way back from visiting my family in Peoria. I see the exit every time I make the journey, but I have a mission, a time-line, a schedule. I always think of my home state, Michigan and the city of Pontiac, not too very far from where I grew up. This time was no different, except for two things: I had about an hour to spare before my grandson’s flute recital, and I saw the sign for the Historic Route 66 Museum. I had no idea that short detour would give me such a kick.