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.

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.

For Me, Writing Is Not A Search For Explanations But A Ramble In Quest Of What Informs A Place, A Hunt For Equivalents.

What You've Done Becomes The Judge Of What You're Going To Do - Especially In Other People's Minds. When You're Traveling, You Are What You Are Right There And Then. People Don't Have Your Past To Hold Against You. No Yesterdays On The Road.

Boredom Lies Only With The Traveler's Limited Perception And His Failure To Explore Deeply Enough. After A While, I Found My Perception Limited.