Not that I've ever needed plans for travel. Last time I looked, the
Federal Highway System made it possible to reach any point in the
United States. The question is when to leave and how to travel. That's
not enough of a question. Even a chicken needs a reason to cross the
road. I passed the day enjoying the interior of my home. I washed a
few loads of wash, cleaned in the kitchen, cleaned in the bathroom and
watched a movie, the Transporter, an instance of an action-thriller
francise. I looked out at the ducks that congregate in Mona Lake and
counted them. I sat at my kitchen table and I wrote upon my laptop and
read the New York Times online. I hadn't spent a dime until this
moment, for dinner at the Rendezvous. I even made my own lunch. So
what is out there at a distant point in the United States that
outweighs day after day of these simple pleasures It takes about a day
on the open road before I even feel wanderlust now. Maybe if I weren't
piloting the car, allowing a train to handle the miles I see myself
persuading myself to stay home, take my dividends as an Irish friend
of mine once said, but I also see myself boarding a Greyhound bus or
hitchiking just to make certain I get out of town. I reason with
myself that I'll be down in Atlanta for a week in January and probably
in Cleveland for a shorter time later that month. Maybe I should work
out a better motivation for travel, assuring that some one would be
waiting on the opposite side with food, shelter and welcome. Who
wants to be on the Wandering Wilbo welcoming committee
Federal Highway System made it possible to reach any point in the
United States. The question is when to leave and how to travel. That's
not enough of a question. Even a chicken needs a reason to cross the
road. I passed the day enjoying the interior of my home. I washed a
few loads of wash, cleaned in the kitchen, cleaned in the bathroom and
watched a movie, the Transporter, an instance of an action-thriller
francise. I looked out at the ducks that congregate in Mona Lake and
counted them. I sat at my kitchen table and I wrote upon my laptop and
read the New York Times online. I hadn't spent a dime until this
moment, for dinner at the Rendezvous. I even made my own lunch. So
what is out there at a distant point in the United States that
outweighs day after day of these simple pleasures It takes about a day
on the open road before I even feel wanderlust now. Maybe if I weren't
piloting the car, allowing a train to handle the miles I see myself
persuading myself to stay home, take my dividends as an Irish friend
of mine once said, but I also see myself boarding a Greyhound bus or
hitchiking just to make certain I get out of town. I reason with
myself that I'll be down in Atlanta for a week in January and probably
in Cleveland for a shorter time later that month. Maybe I should work
out a better motivation for travel, assuring that some one would be
waiting on the opposite side with food, shelter and welcome. Who
wants to be on the Wandering Wilbo welcoming committee
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