“There is this place called ‘the road’. Here in America the road is a mythical and endless place. It is a place you hit, a place you flee too, a place that dreams can live and maybe even come true. The road has its own identity, outside of the state or country it may be located. Once you are on the road you are far closer your fellow road dwellers than you can ever be to those static turf dwellers who plant themselves down by the side of the road that you live on. To live on the road is to live the truest of all lives, a life that admits its own natural transience. A life that doesn’t shy from the beautiful chaos. A life that takes itself into its own hands and makes a bold claim to self determination. A life which lives freely and on its own terms. Untethered by time, space and place. That is a brave life. That is a truly American life.
It is the life of those who left their home countries with nothing but a bag and travelled across the wide ocean to get to this country, then hit the shores and went further, into this broad wide land. They delved and burrowed into the lands of the America we all so willingly mythologise and they were met with death, pain and unimaginable struggle. But they were also met with freedom, in the wild west and the lawless masses they were were free from prosecution and state dominance. They were the captive of the wind, the heat and the cold yes. They were the prey both the starved and the greedy. But they did not find the brand of tyranny they had fled. They found no state, no orthodoxy, not at first. And it was these brave women and men who formed the identity of our country, an identity that is struggling today, in a time where we love our state and our orthodoxy. It lives on though in, and on, the road.” Charlie Dons
That’s the road.