It’s 9 p.m. Thursday night and I just got to Missouri after driving down endless I-57 through Illinois. I’m at a McDonald’s somewhere just across the line, in what feels like Tornado Alley. It’s raining and an oddly warm wind is blowing and blowing hard. I left home in Paw Paw eight hours ago to the minute, have covered 467 miles and I am just halfway to my destination.
That would be Texas’ Lake Fork about an hour’s drive on this side of Dallas, 1,004 miles from my driveway, according to my phone’s GPS.