Day 2: I like road trips. You just aim the car, set the cruise control, put Linda Ronstadt’s Greatest Hits in the CD player, and sing along as loud as you want (Desperado, John, Desperado). The best thing I saw today was a green van with a sign in the back window: “Need job. I’m Irish!” Which I’ve never thought of as a ringing endorsement, but who am I to judge.
Glitchy things can happen too, of course. Like if you plan your own route and that route includes leaving the straight and endless Nebraska freeway and taking a secondary road southwest into Kansas because, theoretically, it should be shorter and faster if your eventual goal is Santa Fe, right? 383 to 183 to 83 to I-70 West. Simple, except that something happened to 383, I think somewhere around Norton, Kansas, and it got lost and then I was on my way to Oberlin and then Selden and then Colby, which I never intended to visit in this lifetime, but there you are, and let me tell you, once you hit the back roads of Kansas, there isn’t a lot of traffic, like literally almost none, and no human faces at all, just fields, miles and miles and miles of fields, and a few black cows. And a goat. Just the one.
I am not enlightened yet.
Grandma Kissed A Sailor 