We drove from Fort Worth to Cape Cod.
By way of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. And Spearfish, South Dakota. And Des Moines, Iowa. And Chicago, Illinois. And Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. And Syracuse, New York. And South Hadley, Massachusetts.
Then we drove from Cape Cod back to Fort Worth.
By way of New York City. And Charleston, West Virginia. And Elizabethtown, Kentucky. And Paducah. And Fort Donelson. And Tupelo. And Vicksburg. And Nachez. And Shreveport.
Over 8000 miles.
Car time, big-time.
And one of the greatest experiences of my life.
Sure, I love to drive. I loved the conversations with Chris. I loved the fact that we tried to stay off the interstates and stick to state highways. I loved the way we refused to eat at fast-food joints. I loved the way we would walk into a restaurant and I'd order "the special" and Chris would order the waitress's "favorite," sight unseen. No menus for us. (We ate a $3.00 all-you can eat catfish buffet in Tennessee. $3.00. Think about that. You do get what you pay for.) I loved the fried egg reuben sandwich across the street from Lehigh University and the antelope cheeseburger outside Billings. I loved traveling along the Lewis and Clark Trail and I loved the width and swiftness of the Missouri River. It reminded me once again that you don't have to go to Paris to find natural beauty.
I didn't love seeing the poverty near the Pine Ridge Reservation or the dying trees outside Mount Rushmore or the graffiti on the covered bridges of Madison County, Iowa. But I guess you have to take the bad with the good.
What I loved most were the strangers we met along the way. Real people. People we sometimes call ordinary but who are actually extraordinary.
Ray was nice. (His dog, River, lived with him in a house boat on the Cumberland River.) Bob watched us from a camp chair and drank cheap beer while we changed a flat tire near McKenzie, Tennessee. A different Chris was the barber at the Wal Mart nearby. Tommy was our guide at the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument. Yet another Chris told me I wasn't allowed to pump my own gas on the NJ Turnpike. I thought that was odd, but he explained it to me in a really nice way.
The kindness of strangers.
Dinner table question of the week:
Someone left money sticking out of an ATM machine and there's nobody in sight. Nobody but Ben, that is. If he takes it, does that make him a thief? What should he do?
Love this week's post. Thanks for sharing it. As to your question....I have a black and white answer to your question, but I don't think it is as simple as that obviously. We will have to discuss. I would like to know your thoughts on the question!
ReplyDeleteExploring the diversity of the United States is like watching an epic movie. As with a director who carefully carves images for your understanding through his lens, and while also leaving aspects to your imagination, America only let's us see the beauty we are meant to see, at the time we are meant to see it. This, and the imagination, is what makes America continuously discoverable.
ReplyDeleteBen should take the money. Then Ben should give the money to someone who values it more than the person who had left it in the first place.
Yes it would be theft. Whether he gets caught or not He is still a thief.
ReplyDeleteMaybe no one would every find out and the bank would cover what was lost. But the person know they r running around with money that does not belong to them. Everything always come back around!
He should take the money find the bAnk of that ATM and tell them what happened. They would be a able to get the obey to the person it belongs too .
Gutzon Borglum - The sculptor of Mt. Rushmore. I don't know why I can remember his name so easily.
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