A group of Florida business owners and local organizers want to turn a 160-mile stretch of asphalt into the next great American road trip, and they're betting the Florida Department of Transportation will let them try.
The pitch: rebrand State Road 60, which cuts across the Florida peninsula from Vero Beach on the Atlantic coast to Clearwater on the Gulf, as "Route 60." The model is Route 66, the storied highway from Illinois to California that still draws more than 2.5 million visitors a year despite being officially decommissioned decades ago. Organizers submitted their proposal to the Florida Department of Transportation this week, as The Sun reported.
It's the kind of idea that sounds almost too simple, slap a catchy name on a road and wait for the tourists. But the people behind it argue the corridor already has the raw material. They just need the brand to sell it.
State Road 60 passes through some of Florida's oldest inland communities. Mulberry, Bartow, and Lake Wales all trace their origins to the 1840s, well before the theme parks and beach resorts that dominate the state's tourism economy today. These are towns built on cattle, citrus, and phosphate, places with real history and, in many cases, buildings that show their age.
The CEO of ACT Environmental Infrastructure, the businessman who originated the concept, pitched the idea to Bartow leaders before the formal proposal went to the state. His argument is blunt and economic.
"It will allow people to refurbish some of the old motels and hotels, revive some of the dilapidated buildings that have been sitting there, and build Route 60 into a premier destination in the state of Florida."
That vision, private investment following a public branding effort, is the core of the proposal. The CEO didn't hold back about the potential upside, either.
"I think the economic driver will be incredible."
He may be right. Route 66's annual visitor count of 2.5 million spans eight states. A single Florida corridor with beach towns on both ends and historic communities in between could concentrate that kind of energy in a much tighter geography.
In downtown Bartow, the owner of Unfiltered Coffee House is already brainstorming Route 60-themed brews, before the state has even weighed in on the proposal.
"I think it's going to bring a ton of opportunity for our downtown businesses in Bartow."
The coffee shop owner added a note of genuine enthusiasm that's hard to fake.
"Lots of growth, lots of fun new things, and new people. Scenic highways are awesome, and I can't wait to see what this does."
That kind of grassroots buy-in matters. Government branding campaigns imposed from above tend to gather dust. This one appears to be bubbling up from the shop owners and local leaders who would actually have to deliver the experience tourists come looking for.
Myrtice Young, manager of the Polk County History Center, framed the effort in cultural terms, describing how the Route 60 name "creates an emotionally identifiable brand" that can help promote "heritage and cultural tourism." She's not wrong. Branding works when it gives people a reason to stop the car. A numbered route with a story behind it is exactly that kind of hook.
For all the local optimism, the proposal is still just that, a proposal. The Florida Department of Transportation has not publicly responded to or acknowledged the submission. No vote has been taken. No formal criteria for evaluating a highway rebranding of this kind have been disclosed in connection with this effort.
There are practical questions the organizers will have to answer. Does "Route 60" create any conflict with federal highway designations or existing trademarks? What does rebranding actually require, new signage, a marketing budget, zoning changes? Who pays for it? None of these details appear in the current proposal as publicly described.
And there's the question no one involved has raised publicly: are there any opponents? Every development push meets resistance somewhere, whether from preservationists who don't want tourist traffic, property owners who don't want change, or bureaucrats who don't want the paperwork. So far, no opposing voices have surfaced. That silence may reflect genuine consensus, or it may simply reflect how early this effort is.
Route 66 earned its fame the hard way, over decades, through Steinbeck novels and Nat King Cole songs and millions of families piling into station wagons. It became an icon of American mobility and freedom before anyone thought to monetize it. The nostalgia is real because the history is real.
State Road 60 has history too, but it doesn't have that mythology, yet. The question is whether a deliberate branding campaign can manufacture the kind of cultural identity that Route 66 accumulated organically. The 1840s-era towns along the corridor give the effort a legitimate foundation. Florida's existing tourism infrastructure gives it a built-in audience. And the 160-mile length is manageable, a day trip, not a cross-country odyssey.
The comparison to Route 66 is aspirational, not literal. But aspiration isn't a bad starting point when the alternative is watching small-town Main Streets continue to empty out.
What makes this proposal worth watching is what it isn't. It isn't a government spending program. It isn't a federal grant application. It isn't a top-down mandate from Tallahassee telling small towns how to revitalize themselves.
It's local business owners and community leaders asking the state for permission to market what they already have. The investment, if it comes, would be private. The motels and hotels the ACT Environmental Infrastructure CEO wants to see refurbished would be refurbished by their owners, not by taxpayer-funded redevelopment authorities. The coffee shop in Bartow is already dreaming up new products without waiting for a subsidy.
That's how economic development is supposed to work. Government gets out of the way, or, in this case, approves a name change on a road sign, and the people who live and work along the corridor do the rest.
Florida's small towns deserve better than slow decline. If a two-digit number and a little marketing savvy can help deliver that, the state should let them try.
