“See America” they said. There’s more between New York and California than just Chicago and Vegas, more than they know, a lot more.
Nothing is quite as liberating or as isolating as the open road. With a clean windshield and a full tank you feel indomitable, ready to set out and discover this great country of ours. The interstates are thick with people flying along at 70 MPH mere feet from each other, yet worlds apart. Each car or truck a microcosm, carrying lives from somewhere to somewhere else.
The smaller towns lay beaded along the rural routes like an antique pearl necklace. Some beckoning travelers to stop and breathe new life into their stagnant economy. Others bolting their doors and guarding their treasures against the clumsy big city tourists. The all night fill stations burn on through the night bringing all those microcosms together under one roof for a moment, most are simply passing through, but some are looking for something more.
The roadsides are dotted with small crosses. Why? Surely these poor souls have been laid to rest somewhere, why would someone choose to memorialize the site of their final suffering? There are no such crosses in emergency rooms or at murder scenes, what makes the road so different?
As you set off across this great country, don’t drive so fast. After all life is a journey, not a destination. And you would do well to remember; there are no roadside crosses marking a natural or peaceful death.