Route 66

I compulsively travel. There have been days that I am on the expressway to work and instead of taking a left, I head right for open country and small winding roads. I am addicted to how I feel when I am going somewhere. Its that feeling when you see a cloud covering the sun and it moves to let the rays warm your face. The anticipation irks you, it's a need that you can’t fulfill immediately.

I was inflicted at birth. I began walking at an early age and made my mother prematurely gray with my wanderings. I am restless, I need to see and experience new things.

Z and I headed to St. Louis to visit friends for a long weekend. On the way back I spotted a sign for the Route 66 State Park Visitor’s Center. I was driving, so I eased into the off ramp without a word. Z is accustomed to my whims and pulled up the map on his phone trying to predict what led me to this deviation. We have a habit of taking new or long routes to familiar destinations, just to see what there is to see.