US 27 isn’t a road we take often. It runs out of Cincinnati’s northwestern suburbs up through Oxford—Toni’s not a fan of the town—then across the state line through West College Corner, Liberty, Decatur, and Richmond before we usually slide over to US 127 and head for Celina and Grand Lake. I’ve been passing this fading motel sign since family trips to Hueston Woods back in the ’60s. It’s been abandoned as long as I can remember; nobody seems interested in saving it. There are almost always a few semis parked nearby, never the same ones, never for long. The place itself doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just the funky geometry of that decaying arrow by the roadside that keeps catching my eye.