We’re about one hundred and seventy five miles out, rumbling down I-88 toward Iowa on a beautiful summer day. Only now, after finally escaping the clutches of the greater Chicagoland interstate beast, does it finally feel like we’re really heading somewhere. Strip malls have given way to farmhouses and water towers, the latter the very symbol of road trips for me, as my parents would have us count them pass as we sat, impatient and board, in the back seat of our minivan during family trips.
Now we’re on a trip of our own. We’re going to eclipse our personal record for road tripping together by several weeks and about a couple thousand miles. Not to put the U-Haul before the horse, but I fully expect that this’ll be the beginning of a long trend for us. Narrowing this trip down to just 18 days was tough; it’s clear there’s a lot of this
country continent that we both yet want to see.
For now, the focus is on Iowa. Speaking of which, I have to get back to the road. Sarah’s driving, but my attention is needed. She’s already got four license plate states to my two.