And were on the road! Me
and Zelda. Zelda looking for cows
and me looking for Andrew
looking for America. The odd
America. The America that as an
eclectic collection of misfits,
individualists define us
Americans as a separate people.
While most of the country
concentrates on driving faster, our main
concern will be not driving slow enough.
My beat-up 85 Chevy van.
Disconnected the speedometer last spring
at 177,000 miles somewhere in the Baja.
It gets seven miles per gas-dollar. Sucks
up eight gas-dollars every hour. But
its home to me. At least for the
next three weeks. The next 3000 miles.
Across Minnesota, South and North Dakota,
Wyoming, and Montana. I invite everyone
to hitch a ride. Cant come along?
Got a job? A mortgage? Two weeks
vacation? (One of them to be spent with
the in-laws?) Kids? Obligations? Figures.
Well, then, youll just have to let
Zelda and me have your adventures for
you. Nothing wrong with that. That, too,
is America. America lives vicariously.
Through their sports teams and their
sport heroes. Romance novels. Cheap crime
novels. They subscribe to magazines on
travel, the outdoors, people, glamour.
What has National Geographic always been
but an escape.
I will try to entertain
you. I will attempt to share with you the
joys of a summer evening, camped on a
mountain stream. Catching trout for
breakfast. Mingling with the inhabitants
of local taverns. Sending back excerpts
from the local weekly paper. Photos of
things best unexplained. I also invite
you to revel in my sufferings. My
eventual van break-downs. Insects. Rain.
Unforeseen disasters. Unsavory
characters. Dicey situations. Anyone who
knows me, knows trouble is never far
away. If this page remains unchanged for
more than a couple days, send a search
Check in on us every day. With your
morning coffee. At break-time. When you
are safely at home, snug and sheltered.
And Zelda and I are out there somewhere
burning fossil fuel, leaving rubber on
the highways, surviving on the back roads