Instead, I give you an apocalyptic short story by classic period science fiction writer William Tenn.
Eastward Ho! (pdf link)
The New Jersey Turnpike had been hard on the horses. South of New Brunswick the potholes had been so deep, the scattered boulders so plentiful, that the two men had been forced to move at a slow trot, to avoid crippling their three precious animals. And, of course, this far south, farms werenonexistent; they had been able to eat nothing but the dried provisions in the saddlebags, and last night they had slept in a roadside service station, suspending their hammocks between the tilted, rusty gas pumps.
Of course at one time the bit about the potholes might have been joked as being left overs from our current day. I believe the JTP is in better shape these days.But it was still the best, the most direct route, Jerry Franklin knew. The Turnpike was a government road: its rubble was cleared semiannually.