White barns. Trees blooming on the first day of May. Fields tilled. Farm equipment for sale. And semis race each other. A pond in a yard. Acres and acres of land. Rain is coming down.

I ride on 30 across Indiana. Tail lights shine brightly, reflecting off the wet pavement. A cigarette is tossed out of a truck. Its orange tip bounces on the road briefly before fizzling out. A sign in bold letters states that JESUS IS LORD. It’s getting dark.

Emergency lights on. A car pulled off the road. A boy pissing in the weeds. Dad stands beside him. Windows rolled down. A whole family encourages the kid. A Peterbilt honks.

I’ve traveled this road a hundred times. Just like I’ve driven on 80 stretching across Chicago, 69 going down to Indy, 55 on my way to Memphis. I -95 from D.C. to Maine is a sight to behold. This is a big country. I never tire of it. Do you?