Spirit of the Trail!

Ahh, the road!

Getting away has been an obsession of this nation, particularly in the West—where scoundrels and pioneers alike found solace on the trails. These days asphalt replaces the bumpy wagon ruts that guided our forefathers and their familes to Manifest Destiny. But some of the same routes remain despite the ravages of time and progress.

Here in Springerville, Ariz., they've erected a monument to all those hardy souls who've journeyed one place or another in search of fortune and glory. Next to the main drag through town, one of a handful of "Madonnas of the Trail" commemorates the pioneering spirit. The statue—a woman with a baby on her breast and a young boy clinging to her skirt—stands next to another modern marvel: the Home of the Big Mac!

Here, food pioneer Ray Kroc perfected a process in which Americans could eat the same-tasting food no matter where they were on the road. Unfortunately, the road that Ray paved was an express route to heart disease, diabetes and obesity—hardships for an affulent nation. These plagues came at a time when Marketing Geniuses were successful in convincing a fun-starved nation that food was entertainment.

Broken axles, diptheria and starvation hobbled the progress of a growing nation after throngs of people were urged to "Go West, Young Man" by Horace Greeley in 1865. But these travails pale in comparison to the ravages of modern convenience suffered by a Fast Food Nation. More time at work, less time in the kitchen: the benefits of a highly modern society. We work to put food on the table, no matter what form. More is better. We are a Super-Sized, Super-Charged society on the move. Except nobody's walking anymore.

The McDonna of the Trail stands as a mute reminder of a time when self-reliance was the key to prosperity, not warmed-over meat patties served to the microwaved masses.

And so, fellow travelers, once again I have fled the cities for a taste of the the wild and a cloak of solitude. Here in the White Mountains of Arizona we will smell the vanilla essence of ponderosa pine forest and savor the sticky darkness of the night sky, which coats the world like molasses after the sun has bid the day adieu.

We have secured a housesitter and pinch-workers to take care of matters in our absence and we will be reporting on our progress here as providence and whimsy allow. Perhaps we will learn a thing or two—even in this age when everyone seems to know everything about everything.

The trail ahead beckons. See you on down the road.