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to watch an exclusive companion video to this. It’s really just four lanes, a median, and
some on and off ramps. The Interstate Highway system is no engineering
marvel, no unprecedented undertaking, no massively innovative concept. It’s a simple idea—one that arose since
the earliest days of the automobile. It’s not exciting, which is why it often
goes so under appreciated. Take the Interstates away, though, and you
have a weaker nation. You have one with dramatically starker regional
divides, one with increased decentralization—more specifically, you have a nation absent of
a noticeable portion of the late 1900s economic development and transformation. These words, like the system itself, still
aren’t exciting, but put more simply: if you are an American, regardless of whether
you use the Interstate system, your life would be noticeably different in a reality without
the Interstates. It’s a single collection of roadways, with
an influence so great that it permeates into every American’s life. It all started here, 102 years ago. 79 vehicles departed from the White House’s
Ellipse at 11:15 AM on July 7th, 1919. They snaked through the District’s streets
before crossing into Maryland and stopping for lunch in Rockville at 12:30 PM. The coupling on one of their kitchen trailers
broke and a car’s fan belt too, but all in all, it was an uneventful 7 hour, 46 mile,
74 kilometer journey to the Frederick Fair Grounds. 12 and a half hours later, they woke up, left,
drove, arrived, and slept again. This cycle repeated itself. Day after day, they cut 40 or 50 or 60 miles
deeper into their westward journey. The convoy climbed through the heights of
the Appalachian mountains, trekked through the mud of Ohio, before crossing the Mississippi
River at 4:10 PM on July 22nd. From there, they entered an area defined by
desolation. Few dared venture west in a motor vehicle
in 1919—always opting for the relative comfort and speed of passenger trains. This convoy, though, was making the journey
specifically to determine just how difficult this feat was—to what extent such a journey
was feasible for military logistics purposes. The answer came quickly. Despite routing themselves on the most developed
transcontinental road of the time, the Lincoln Highway, they constantly had to divert around
disrepair, physically disassemble covered bridges to get their trucks through, and fight
physics on roads too narrow for an oncoming car to pass. Gas stations were few and far between, so
such travel required truly expedition-level planning. Each time they entered a city, though, they
were greeted by hoards of intrigued locals and dignitaries, but those crowds thinned
as the convoy crawled further into the desolate west. Most, but certainly not all, of their vehicles
successfully traversed the Rockies, and the same can be said for their trip across some
of the Lincoln Highway’s roughest roads in Utah. With time, though, the trend reversed, roads
improved, and they finally saw pavement again as the convoy entered California—its final
state. After a final evening in Oakland, California,
the vehicles loaded onto a ferry, crossed the bay, and made a ceremonious arrival in
San Francisco accompanied by a massive parade and a formal dinner. That was September 6, 1919—62 days after
their departure from the White House Ellipse. Having concentrated nearly all their waking
hours on driving, the math works out to an average travel speed of just 5.65 miles or
9 kilometers per hour—a staggeringly slow pace on a road branded as a highway, in a
year featuring technologies such as electric refrigerators, airplanes, and long-distance
phone service. The convoy accomplished its mission of appraising
the feasibility of this route for more practical military purposes, but the report back to
Washington was not positive. One Lieutenant Colonel, tasked with observing
the journey, wrote, “Extended trips by trucks through the middle western part of the United
States are impractical until the roads are improved, and then only a light truck should
be used on long hauls.” It was clear that, for now, until roads were
improved, transcontinental motor vehicle trips would remain the domain of publicity stunts
and enthusiasts. But then the years started passing. Administration after administration, observing
the growing presence of motor vehicles in the lives of increasingly everyday Americans,
recognized that road construction was not something that could be left the responsibility
of states. While individual states did make plenty of
progress building high quality urban and rural roads, their interests were insular. Iowa, for example, would have no interest
building a highway with the primary purpose of connecting Illinois to Nebraska. As Americans went off to fight in Europe during
World War Two, they observed the efficiency of Germany’s national Reichsautobahn highway
system, but when they returned home, they were forced to navigate a patchwork of state
systems of varying quality to get anywhere beyond their local areas. In the 1950s, when America was a mere decade
out from landing men on the moon, it still took significant planning and the better part
of 10 days to reasonably traverse from one coast to the other. While this might have been inconvenient for
road-tripping Americans, it mostly meant that there were regions that simply could not compete
with coastal areas in the industrial sector due to high transport costs and times. It was clear something had to change, but
efforts to increase highway construction at the federal level were constantly stalled
by funding issues and a general lack of volition. But then came someone new. One of the members of 1919 transcontinental
convoy, in fact, the very Lieutenant Colonel who provided the earlier report on the journey
to Washington, continued on in his military career, and rose through the ranks until he
became Supreme Allied Commander of the European theatre in World War Two. Then, upon return to the US, he entered a
political career, culminating with his inauguration as president on January 20, 1953. This was, of course, Dwight D Eisenhower. With the groundwork laid by decades of planning
and false starts, Eisenhower’s task was centered on finally finding the political
will and funding to turn this concept map, a 1955 publication by the Bureau of Public
Roads, into reality. After nearly three years of political maneuvering,
he succeeded. On June 29th, the Federal-Aid Highway Act
of 1956 was signed—dedicating some $25 billion to constructing 41,000 miles or 66,000 kilometers
of highway. Unlike previous attempts at similar programs,
the federal government would now pay 90% of the costs of these Interstate highways, with
individual states responsible for the rest—largely funded by a hike in the federal gas tax. Just three months after the bill’s signing,
paving work began on a section of Interstate 70 in Kansas, and two months after that, the
same section opened to the public—representing the first miles of a system that would engulf
the country over the coming decades. Now, whether it’s I-40 in Tennessee or I-90
through Idaho, the way these roads were built was highly, highly standardized. That was, after all, the point. These standards are codified in a simple eight
page document entitled “A Policy on Design Standards—Interstate System.” To start with, fundamentally, Interstates
must have controlled access—meaning, the manner in which vehicles enter or exit the
roadway must be controlled through on and off ramps. That’s why, unlike with many state highways,
you never see intersections with stoplights on Interstates, except when rules are violated. The standards also set out a minimum speed—50
miles or 80 kilometers per hour or in urban and mountainous areas, 70 miles or 110 kilometers
per hour in rural areas—and maximum grade—up to 7%, corresponding to 370 feet of elevation
gain per mile of road, or 70 meters per kilometer, depending on speed and topography. There must be at least two lanes in each direction
of travel, 12 feet or 3.5 meters in width, with a cross slope—essentially, an angle
to allow for rain run off—of at least 1.5% and ideally 2% grade. Tunnels and bridges must have at least 16
feet or 5 meters of vertical clearance, although less is allowed through urban areas as long
as an alternate route with 16 foot clearance is available. Aside from a few smaller details, that’s
the entirety of the Interstate highway design standards. It’s incredibly simple. Implementing this nationwide, however, was
no simple endeavor. When the project started, in the 50’s, one
mile of Interstate cost some $8.5 million to construct, or $5.3 million per kilometer,
however, through the decades, as labor costs rose and the simplest sections stood completed,
this ramped up to over $34 million per mile, or $21 million per kilometer. Unsurprisingly, the Interstate system quickly
blew past its original $25 billon budget allocation, but people and governments were convinced—the
project gained more and more funding, and was reaching completion by the time the 80s
turned into the 90s. To complete the original vision, just one
last section remained: a 12.5 mile, 20 kilometer stretch through Glenwood Canyon, Colorado. With thousand foot walls flanking on each
side, little room exists aside the Colorado River for a roadway, but a complex collection
of bridges and tunnels were constructed at a cost of $960 million, inflation adjusted,
corresponding to $75 million per mile or $47 million per kilometer of roadway. Once this engineering marvel was completed
in 1992, however, the nation was connected, and more than two decades after his death,
Eisenhower’s vision was realized. His 62-day transcontinental expedition from
1919 now takes a mere 42 hours. In such a decentralized country, consisting
of a patchwork of states each with unique governments, laws, cultures, and more, the
consistency of a nationwide, federal transportation system is, in and of itself, unique. It is one of the most regular interactions
Americans, especially in far-flung western and southern regions, might have with a federal
program. Today, the largest urban center located further
than 25 miles or 40 kilometers from an Interstate highway is Fresno, California, with a population
of about half a million. In fact, only 14 cities with over 100,000
people are located further than this distance. Even Alaska, Hawaii, and Puerto Rico are now
included in this program, despite the fact that their Interstates don’t actually extend
Interstate. With wide lanes, smooth turns, consistent
grades, and more, these highways are remarkably safe. While nationwide the US averages 1.3 deaths
per 100 million vehicle miles travelled, Interstates, for the same 100 million vehicle miles, observe
just 0.55 deaths each year. Incredibly, that means that, assuming the
alternative is equivalent travel on non-Interstate roads, this system is responsible for saving
about 6,500 lives per year. Beyond the moral component—the innate human
desire to preserve life—the US Department of Transportation, on a statistical basis,
values a human life at $11.7 million dollars when evaluating potential safety standards,
so the safety profile of the Interstate Highway system by itself has a theoretical economic
impact of about $75 billion per year—therefore easily justifying its cost alone. But then there’s the more direct impacts. Among the more populated states, construction
disproportionately took place in southern states such as Georgia, South Carolina, or
Arkansas on a basis of miles constructed per capita. Then, in less populous states, the Interstate
disproportionately penetrated the American west, with states such as Utah, Montana, Nevada,
and Wyoming receiving the most miles per capita. Therefore, it was the South and West that
received the greatest impact. In essence, what these roadways did was connect
the US’ economic centers to the periphery, so the periphery had the most to gain by,
effectively, reducing the relative distance to centers by a factor of 30%, on average. In the case of Interstate 5, for example,
which runs along the entire west coast from the border to Mexico to that with Canada,
California, the state that encompasses the majority of its distance, actually sees the
smallest benefit. That’s not to say that benefit is small—the
removal of the Interstate would correspond to a 6% loss in overall income in the state—but
Oregon, the 12th most sparsely populated state in the nation, would lose 15% of its income
if I-5 simply disappeared. It’s worth fully considering just how staggering
that statistic is—a single, simple four-lane roadway, stretching some 300 miles or 500
kilometers through Oregon, attributable for 15% of its income. This does, however, make sense. Oregon’s economy—significantly undergirded
by the natural resources, manufacturing, and agriculture sectors—is highly trade dependent. The state does not, however, have any major
export ports, so when a manufacturer in Salem, Oregon, for example, needs to transport finished
products to the port of Oakland, it would likely hire a truck to take the 9-hour journey
south on I-5. The shortest non-Interstate route, however,
would take 13 and a half hours on roads with potentially burdensome weight restrictions,
inadequate facilities, low bridges, and other constraints. It just makes getting product out harder. Now, ultimately, transport cost is rarely
an enormous portion of a given product’s cost—a five-cent increase on a $10 product
produced further from Oakland isn’t massive—but that’s not the context that matters in the
competition between places for industry. If the options are between a state that has
a conduit enabling lower-cost, reliable, fast transportation in and out, and all other factors
are the same, why would a manufacturer decide to locate is the more poorly connected place? The economy is a competition, and in competition,
the smallest margins matter, even when they don’t in a non-competitive context. Considering the alternate was the status quo—individual
states building their own highways, disconnected from any national program—this program caught
the states that couldn’t afford massive infrastructure projects, many of which were
in the South and West, up to the rest. Therefore, Interstates made these states more
competitive by reducing their relative distance to the rest of the world. That’s not to say the program was perfect,
though. Just as much as it proved revolutionary to
more rural areas, it gutted cities. Neighborhoods, predominantly poorer ones,
were leveled to the ground to make space for Interstates and their associated infrastructure. This often created clear, physical barriers
between certain neighborhoods and urban centers, which reduced opportunity in these excluded
neighborhoods. They also had the effect of encouraging reduced
density, which increases the environmental impact of cities, creates scenarios where
job opportunity is linked to car ownership, and additional potential negative impacts. Altogether, the way in which Interstates interact
with cities was often poorly planned and executed. But when examined in aggregate, the Interstate
highway system is one of the best investments the United States ever made. While by no means unique to the United States
in concept, the vastness and regional disparities in the country meant such a system had a uniquely
powerful impact. For every dollar spent on the program, it
has returned at least six in economic benefit. In the context of nations, connectivity is
power. Therefore, the reason why the Interstate highway
system is the most impactful infrastructure program in American history is simply because,
as of now, it’s the largest. I definitely enjoy nerding out about the Interstates,
and hopefully you now do too, so I made a whole other video about the strangest, quirkiest
sections of the system, like why Interstate 180 exists—just connecting to a town of
700, and travelled on by only about 100 vehicles per hour—or the town that essentially exists
because of one of the only stoplights on an Interstate. You can watch that video on Nebula, the streaming
site founded by myself and loads of your favorite educational creators. There’s no algorithm—meaning we can upload
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build ice roads through its frozen north to provide a seasonal road connection for many
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I actually don’t like how he only spent about 20 seconds talking about the detrimental impact of it( bulldozed through minority neighborhoods, polluted city centers, total car dependency, etc.) nice video tho
/r/fuckcars
Did someone just come here and downvote every single comments lol? I swear 1 hours ago all these (valid) criticism replies have much higher votes on them..
Comparing the death per X distance traveled between highway (Interstate) and all/urban road is pointless, so is the claim "it saves 6,500 lives per year".
I havent watched the video yet, but It was a great investment financially, really shows how beneficial government spending can be