The Ice Machine Was Broken is a Route 66 travel story about an old motel, a faulty ice machine, and a stranger whose simple kindness made the road feel less lonely.
I pulled into a little motel just off I-40 — one of those faded places where the “NO” in the NO VACANCY sign doesn’t light up anymore. I didn’t need much. Just a bed, a shower, and some quiet.
I asked the woman at the front desk if they had any ice. She pointed to the machine out back but warned me it had been acting up. I nodded, said thanks, and made my way over anyway.
Sure enough, it coughed out about six sad cubes and gave up.
While I was standing there, this old guy walked by with a grocery bag full of ice from the gas station down the road. He looked at the machine, looked at me, and without a word, handed me half the bag.
“I always bring extra,” he said. “Machines like this are more of a suggestion than a service.”
We both laughed. Names weren’t exchanged; they didn’t need to be. He just kept walking, like this kind of thing was nothing new for him.
I took the ice, filled my little motel fridge, and sat on the edge of the bed longer than I meant to. Outside, I could hear the hum of passing trucks and the faint sound of someone’s TV through the thin walls. It wasn’t dramatic. Just decent. Just kind.
Something about that small gesture — no sermon, no spotlight — made the road feel a little less lonely. Maybe that’s why kindness matters most when you least expect it.
It helped. That’s all.
✨ Roadside Reflection: The Ice Machine Was Broken
Sometimes grace looks like a bag of ice and a stranger who doesn’t wait around for a thank-you.
It doesn’t need a stage.
It just shows up, right when you needed more than six sad cubes.
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More about Route 66: History of U.S. Route 66.