The open road is a beckoning, a strangeness, a place where a man can lose himself.
Spirit can go anywhere. In fact, it has to go places so it can change and emerge like in the migrations. That's the whole idea.
No yesterdays on the road.
Memory is each man's own last measure, and for some, the only achievement.
At the beginning we learn to travel, then we travel to learn.
Whoever the last true cowboy in America turns out to be, he's likely to be an Indian.