For the past year I have driven much more than flown. This has kept me away from quick, but frustrating encounters. It has, at the same time, provided another set of encounters. If you stop your car, within a few passers by, someone will stop. Often, they turn around to pull in, not close, but proximate to us.

I have thought of this several times, but haven’t settled on a good reason. This has left me unsettled, since there are as many, if not more, bad reasons for their interest in my stopping along the road. Some items for you to consider. One, they never open with an offer to help. Not even an inquiry along the lines of our needing help. Two, they only stop if they see my wife, not me. Three, they are men in their thirties. The ABCs of this do not settle my mind about travel through the heart of america.

These reflections remind me though of a journey made by me and my mother many years ago. Father had gone ahead of us. Leaving us in Idaho to finish packing, while he flew to Germany. Mother and I were to drive from Idaho to New Jersey before joining him. A great adventure for me. Probably less exciting for my mom. We traveled in a big buick convertible. I was, as always, navigator. Maps and compass, pencils and paper. Father left us with two things on his last day in Idaho. He gave me a giant pair of binoculars. He gave mother a small revolver.

Traveling america decades after that trip, decades after their deaths, it seems that to travel america it may be wise to carry them both, even now. Maybe someday only the oversized binoculars will be needed.