In the U.S., there are about 19,000 “incorporated places,” or cities. My heart aches because I have been driving nearly 2 months and haven’t made a dent in that list. I sincerely wish I could see them all, but that’s like trying to eat at least once in every restaurant in New York; even if you could do it, by the time you were “finished” with the list, five new places would be opening. This is an objective with no end–though trying would involve some really interesting meals, as my trying  to see as much as I could see these past weeks has brought me to some really interesting places.
This morning I’m in Indianapolis. I watched the Red Sox win the World Series from my seat in one of the coolest, old-school, grungy-in-a-good-way jazz bars I’ve ever been to. I did not expect to find that in Indianapolis but, in search of the ballgame with new friends at a conference here, we stumbled into the goodness. (I know: you want me to tell you the name and address. I’m going to have to edit this post later and add that — I need to go back with the camera.)
The point is simply this: Everywhere Colby and I have been on our journey, I have felt like I wished I could stay longer. That goes for the cities (Buffalo especially but I’ve loved them all) and the small towns (Horse Cave, Kentucky or Sullivan, Illinois or…pick a small town, any small town).

I’m not saying there aren’t some strange and sad places, because there surely are and I’ve seen plenty. But every one of them has a story, and I have yet to find a story that I didn’t want to tell. And there is something about learning the stories of places that makes you love them, in a way, whatever kinds of places they are.

I’m just pausing on the road trip long enough to say hello and thank you to anyone I’ve met along the way who has either helped me on the journey or shown interest in it in some way. I have not had time to write about all these places yet, but that doesn’t mean theyweren’t all worthy of it. I hope you’ll stay tuned…