At The Beginning We Learn To Travel,

One Of The Sweet And Expectable Aspects Of Life Afloat Is The Perpetual Present Moment One Lives In And A Perception That Time Is Nothing More Than The Current, An Eternal Flowing Back To The Sea.

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.

Whoever The Last True Cowboy In America Turns Out To Be, He's Likely To Be An Indian.

The Hotel Was Once Where Things Coalesced, Where You Could Meet Both Townspeople And Travelers. Not So In A Motel. No Matter How You Build It, The Motel Remains The Haunt Of The Quick And Dirty, Where The Only Locals Are Chamber Of Commerce Boys Every Fourth Thursday. Who Ever Heard The Returning Traveler Exclaim Over One Of The Great Motels Of The World He Stayed In? Motels Can Be Big, But Never Grand.

I Can't Say, Over The Miles, That I Had Learned What I Had Wanted To Know Because I Hadn't Known What I Wanted To Know. But I Did Learn What I Didn't Know I Wanted To Know.