I spoke with my lifelong best friend Dan Wolbe the other day. He called to wish me a belated happy birthday. We met in nursery school and have been best friends since. He still lives in Atlanta.

“I saw your mother the other day,” he said. “She and I agreed that the trip you are on is meshuganah.” (For those of you who know even less Yiddish than I do, “meshuganah” means crazy or idiotic.)

I have three responses to the comment: 1) I know that Wolbe is BS’ing me. He’s wanted to take this trip for the past 40 years or so. 2) I know that a trip like this would make my mother insane, so she does indeed think it is meshuganah. 3) If I had not done a great many things in my life that my mother thought were meshuganah, I cannot imagine where I would be today. Thank goodness I have learned to ignore some of her opinions.

We have now been on the road for 108 days. At the moment of writing the first draft of this blog, we were in Davenport, Iowa and had just crossed the Mississippi River for the second time, this time from west to east. We are now in Evanston, Illinois with Aaron and Lisa, Rebecca’s son and our daughter-in-law.

Since the last blog entry, I worked a few days in Portland, then we drove and hiked through the Columbia River Gorge (assuredly one of the most beautiful spots on the planet); spent time with good friends in Bend, Oregon (a little paradise of a city); drove near the Malheur Wildlife Refuge where we saw Ammon Bundy supporters demonstrating for “Justice for Lavoy Finnicum” (Google the names if the references make no sense); ate at a wonderful restaurant in Boise where we were served by an entire team of ardent Bernie supporters (Yes, in Boise); spent a fantastic afternoon/evening hanging out around the Great Salt Lake with Rebecca’s nephew Julian and his girlfriend Jenifer (who presented Barney with a mirror ornament that reads “Life is a journey, so enjoy the ride”); discovered Fossil Butte National Monument in western Wyoming, (home to the most mind-bogglingly perfect fossils I have ever imagined); drove through miles upon miles of Dick Cheney country (where gas and oil mining and references to guns and “Make America Great Again” flourish); got snowed in for a while just west of the Continental Divide (and almost slid off the road to stop for a driver change); watched about a half-million Sand Hill Cranes on their annual migration (for the past 10 or 12 million years) on the Platte River with some of Rebecca’s closest old friends; spent a few days with R’s daughter and our son-in-law and grandkids in Omaha (a FABULOUS time); and are now in Evanston. From here to Ann Arbor for a few days with my daughter Allie and her husband Mike, then to the Finger Lakes of New York for an evening with Rebecca’s niece, and home before the first day of spring.

The adventure has entered its pensive stage. It has been fun beyond the imagination. The very notion of it ending … in only a week … is both incomprehensible and sad. In fact, we are already planning the next one: The Great River Road: a 3,000-mile mosey along the full length of the Mississippi River, from northern Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico. We are aiming for early November, before the snows blow in.

Thus far, we have successfully avoided Interstates and night driving, eaten great food at local establishments, stayed in really comfy and clean local motels, tanked up with (cheap) gas only once per day, gotten along astoundingly well (all things considered since, like astronauts, we have been in a tiny compartment with each other for almost 4 months), seen phenomenal sights, and hung out/stayed with folks who make us truly proud to be part of this species (as opposed to every Trump supporter I can imagine.)

And on the subject of Donald Trump, I must deliver my opinion, especially to those of you who do not believe he can be elected. He can!!!!!!!! I have witnessed political lightweights and nincompoops elected to office. (Check out the election of 1980, an election that planted the seeds for the insanity we are currently experiencing.) Reagan was an anti-government ideologue who loved people and conversation. Cruz is an anti-government ideologue who loves debate … meaning he loves to win while others lose, regardless of the consequences. Trump is a very big bully who has … and never has had … any ability to make this world a better place. The scariest part is that any one of them could win … not because of them, but because of the electorate.

OOPS. Sorry about that digression. I really did not mean to get political, but I couldn’t help it. In the most articulate and thoughtful form I can muster, there is some scary shit going on!

That said, the sights and sounds and people of America are glorious. I will miss seeing the old restored trucks; the rusting junkyards; the folk humor that dots every highway; the smiles of hoteliers and folks everywhere who love meeting strangers; the factories, freight trains, and grain elevators that shed light on the concept of “the economy”; the bizarrely and frighteningly political billboards (if you don’t accept Jesus right now, you are going to hell – period, or if you exercise your legal right to choose what is best for you and your body, you are a murderer – period); the astounding public art in murals and occasional moments of glory in boxcar graffiti; the totally absurd (a Jesus-inspired vacuum cleaner store, a racecar sporting the name of U.S. Male); the number of mothballed aircraft ­– mostly helicopters and old jet trainers ­– suspended from platforms in the most unexpected of places; the amazingly good times we have had with family and friends; the conversations about such things as what “Let’s Make America Great Again” really means (unambiguous racism); the inspiration that comes with living on such an amazing continent … and the fear and embarrassment that comes with realizing how vulnerable it is and how many of us feel that it is ours to abuse and ruin; the memories of past lives lived that appear around the most unexpected corners; the random herds of bison, camels, llamas, and zebras (as well as the llama on a leash); the stench of feedlots and overcrowded dairy herds … and the wonder of how all those cattle get to the slaughterhouse to become stock in a Safeway beef counter (we are yet to see a single cow being transported anywhere); the excitement of crossing a big river; the fun of plotting a route that minimizes distance while avoiding Interstates … and the occasional happiness that stems from living in an age of GPS; the crashing of waves against rocks; the gratefulness I feel for the US Park Service and Forest Service, and the fact that I can visit all of them for a one-time $10 fee (thanks to being old); the amazing engineering feats that enable us to traverse the continent so effortlessly … and the empathy that emerges for the wagon trains and their scouts who had to negotiate the mountains, bluffs, and rivers without the aid of civil engineers or AAA maps; the magnificence of a waterfall; the fun of seeing a caboose; random hilarity (such as the sign reading “Caution! Urinal randomly back sprays,” table legs adorned with jeans and cowboy boots, the canoe sculpture in the middle of the desert, or the entire western town that is for rent) and random art (Chihuly glass at a Thai takeout joint or Rembrandt etchings on display in a south Texas bank); fiberglass dinosaurs; the Saturday morning Cajun fais-do-do at Fred’s Lounge in Mamou; catching and eating Dungeness crabs; the redwoods; walking across the Golden Gate; farmer’s markets; hippie chicks on the beach in Big Sur; a remarkable number of functional Volkswagen vans; road sculptures and modern art; bathroom art (such as Queen Elizabeth, Vladimir Putin, and Bibi Netanyahu taking dumps); the satisfaction that comes with seeing the occasional signs of the arc of history actually bending toward justice; beautiful homes and architecture everywhere; laughing with my wife and my brother; hugging our children and grandchildren; eating local cuisines. The list goes on.

Meshuganah maybe, but I can’t wait to do it again!