No Yesterdays On The Road.

Somewhere Lives A Bad Cajun Cook, Just As Somewhere Must Live One Last Ivory-billed Woodpecker. For Me, I Don't Expect Ever To Encounter Either One.

Having Made The Trip From St. Louis To The Pacific Ocean Myself Going Up Up Up Against Twenty-five Hundred Miles Of The Missouri River, I Can Testify That It's One Of The Most Arduous Trips That Anyone Can Make On This Continent And Yet I Had A Power Boat To Do It In.

Instead Of Insight, Maybe All A Man Gets Is Strength To Wander For A While. Maybe The Only Gift Is A Chance To Inquire, To Know Nothing For Certain. An Inheritance Of Wonder And Nothing More.

I Contend That In The Kind Of Nonfiction I Write, And That Other People Also Pursue, Anything Is Permissible Provided The Reader Knows What You're Taking Liberties With.

...who Can Say Where A Voyage Starts - Not The The Actual Passage But The Dream Of A Journey And Its Urge To Find A Way?