According to the first billboard for this roadside attraction, it’s “America’s Sistine Chapel.” Holy nutballs, Missouri. No, it’s not. Still, it’s an interesting piece of odd Americana.
Tag Archives: Road Trips
Shopping for the Bookworm: A Literary Road Trip #3-Poetic Travels, Classic American-Style
In case you are just joining us: A Literary Road Trip #1-A Dream of Travel and A Literary Road Trip #2-The Beat Travels On
POETIC TRAVELS,CLASSIC AMERICAN-STYLE
“I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery-air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, “This is what it is to be happy.”-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
It’s time to hit the road again. This week, we are traveling with an extra dose of hearty American vigor: mid-century style. Think laid-back glam, poetic, unforced. Casual yet calculated.
Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!
Writing and reading whilst lounging in the front passenger seat is obligatory, and so is saving room for any possible bookish road purchases:
Shopping for the Bookworm: A Literary Road Trip #2-The Beat Travels On
In case you are just joining us: A Literary Road Trip #1-A Dream of Travel.
THE BEAT TRAVELS ON
“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing?-it’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”-Jack Kerouac, On the Road
Where we are going: Savannah, Georgia.
Why: Because we can.
Beat. The Open Road. Boys Club. Beat the open road, boys club. Make room for the rest of us. Freedom is in our hearts, too. We’ll take your attitude, your verve, your frisson, and carve our own ragged place beneath the wide skies. Word-passionate, flung far, sun-kissed. Beat.
“The only truth is music.”-Jack Kerouac
Shopping for the Bookworm: A Literary Road Trip #1-A Dream of Travel
“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”-Augustine of Hippo
I’m going on a road trip in June. I will likely arrive in Savannah with a lap full of granola bar crumbs and a stack of partially read books with sadly torn pages clawing at my ankles. My dreams of writing, in situ, many pages of deft and witty observations of what it means to take to the road on a wild adventure full of whimsy and wisdom, all whilst perfectly coiffed and lipsticked, will already be mouldering in a ditch somewhere in Tennessee. Perhaps quite literally. One can dream, though, and in these dreams my ideal and obsessively bookish packing lists take several forms. Up first: random shiny things that set the stage for the theme lists to follow.
In order to record fleeting yet worthy impressions: