I've always loved neon signage. Those glowing tubes that spell out words or shapes and objects, advertising a business or location along the highway. The warm glow enticing people to enter an establishment or pull off the road. Neon is what lit the advertising world in the 1930s and onward, getting ever larger and more spectacular until you ended up with the neon orgasm that was Las Vegas in the 1960s and 1970s. That classic side of Las Vegas unfortunately is now relegated to a museum or two for the most part.
At one time in college I had intended to write a coffee table book of photographs of classic neon signs at night from across the West. I traveled all over the West and attempting to take photos, but taking pictures of lighted neon I found is not an easy thing to do, even with the state of the state-of-the-art 35mm SLR camera I had back then. But I tried, and somewhere I have a few slide boxes with those pictures.
In graduate school I even took a class in neon construction. Arizona State University had an actual neon shop in their art department and offered a class. It was great fun, although very difficult. I learned to heat and bend glass tubes and I created a piece that was part of an exhibition of student work that I was very proud of and had for some years until it broke and I had to toss it out. It reflected my love of the road and travel and classic neon. I wish I had a picture of it, and I expect that I do somewhere back in a box in Seattle, but I'll try to describe it:  Picture if you will the window shape of a 1960s bus -- that forward slanting parallelogram shape -- outlined in yellow neon, mounted to a fluted stainless steel sheet of metal like on a classic 1950s bus or railroad car. Underneath the window shape I painted a stripe to match the under-window stripe on a 1950s Greyhound bus. Inside the window frame made of yellow neon was an outline of the Monument Valley desert bluffs made of orange neon.  I titled the piece "East of Tuba City" for the town on the Navajo reservation near Monument Valley. The piece hung in my apartment in Tempe for a year or two after I made it, but it broke and as I said, I had to toss it out.

My original coffee table book idea is probably impossible now. The old wonderful cool old signs are all but gone these days. One can find remnants of them along the old highways, but for the most part they are either dark, or broken, if not gone completely. I find them as I ride along -- and some I even remember when they stood and were lit, but now lie gathering dust in a parking lot -- like this one from a small radio station in Price, Utah. Even the radio station is gone now -- along with the coal that was mined there and for which the station was named.