Kerouac

I rolled out of Dubuque on old US Highway 52. The pavement rode the bluffs along the river; curving and climbing the Iowa coast. After about 30 miles the road turned east and I crossed the Mighty Missippi on a grated narrow bridge. I sloped across the northwest corner of Illinois seemingly alone on the highway. I turned on the baseball game and for a while felt transported to a time I never knew. I took a one block detour to see the birthplace of Wild Bill Hickok ( who wouldn't) before turning onto the interstate. I picked up U.S. 24 before rejoining US 52 near the heavily guarded Indiana border (just checking to see if you are paying attention). I eventually got home.  It was another day driving the heartland. It was yet another thousand mile week. I like my job. I don't mind the travel; the being away from home. It is the hours of windshield time each week that are sucking my life away. Thirty-four thousand plus miles since the beginning of the year is too much driving time. I get three more states at the first of the year.