Today we came face-to-face with the enormity of the continental U.S., and our shrinking ability to spend our lives staring out of a car's windshield. Not that the scenery isn't captivating: the snowy Blue Mountains over which the Emigrants trudged on the Oregon Trail 160 years ago; the sinewy Snake River, tamed unfortunately by dismal dams; and the incredibly fertile fields of Oregon and Idaho. In fact the dilemma is the opposite: as we rush across the landscape at warp speed, there are so many unexplored and unimagined byways that flicker past while calling out.
So how indeed are we going to pursue this dream of ours? We ended up in Burley, Idaho for the night, well short of some imaginary plan to reach Salt Lake. What is clear is that plans are gossamer shackles that have nothing to do with life on the road, not if one wants to be more part of life and less part of the road.
So we have a decision to make: hue to the plan, or start letting fate improvise (which she will do whether we give her permission or not). We will sleep on it, and visit tomorrow when it comes.
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