There is a canal that runs through my New Jersey town. Less than a hundred years ago, it used to be the major way to transport goods  Now it is just for biking. When you bike along the canal, you can imagine the men pushing their barges slowly down the river. Perhaps they all knew one another. It was a way of life. Today, we have replaced the canal by the airports, the trains, the buses, and the highways.
    Today I’m driving this highway across the country. I started  in my little New Jersey town a day or two ago, and said goodbye to all my friends. All my worldly possessions are in the back seat of my car. It is not long before all the rest stops look the same. I cannot seem to remember what state I’m in. Pennsylvania? Indiana? I really don’t know.
    The trucks are beginning to intimidate me. Are they built to look mean? In my rear view mirror they look threatening. Sometimes they appear right behind me, and their grill takes up my whole view. When they pass me, I worry that they will make a little mistake and crush me like a little bug. I am starting to feel like a very little person in my car. Physically I’m of average height, or a little smaller. I guess most truck drivers are of average build, too. But they seem much more powerful in their trucks.
    I look in the mirror and I notice that I’m growing a little beard. It looks rather menacing in the yellowish light of the rest stop restroom. I guess I should have brought a razor with me. Everyone else around here looks a little menacing, too. There are some young families that are nice to see. But there are a lot of tough looking guys in baseball caps.
    One of my Chinese friends once observed that the U.S. highways have no counterpart in China. He said that it was the power of the U.S. to deliver goods to any part of the nation that made it a superpower. It is true that the airports, the train stations, the highways all perform essential economic roles for our country. When you go to an airport, everyone has to check in. They are all checked for weapons. Here on the highway, there is no weapons check. I would guess that many of these truck drivers carry a gun underneath their seat. People in airports generally wear suits, and look pretty good. There is no such dress here on the highway.
    In the airport, our names are recorded. You say goodbye to your friends, fill out some paperwork, get off the plane, and then greet the people that are waiting for you. Here it is completely anonymous. No one knows who I am or where I am going. It’s a strange feeling. I could be a criminal, heading out of town, and no one would ever know. However, I know that I’m not a criminal. But what if the guy next to me is a criminal? Of course, this is true in America everywhere we go. Yet, somehow in my little town, I feel more comfortable. Here, I feel like I am in a community of people that I really have no idea who they are or where they come from.
    Every once in a while I see a highway patrolman. I feel relieved when I see them. Think about their lives: driving up and down this road, keeping us safe. Most of the people that they meet they will never see again. Yet they are risking their lives for us. I wonder how many people will meet their fate here on this road.
    Finally after a day or two I have reached my destination: a small town in Illinois. I unpack my bags. Probably for the next year or two I will not drive on the highway very much. I’ll make friends in this little town, get to know the local pubs. I’ll feel like a citizen of Illinois. But every once in a while perhaps I will hear the roar of the highway, that endless river that crosses America, and connects everyone.