The West is the Best, Man

We did not know where we would sleep that night; my seat was starting to feel the miles, and we were a gas burning terror to any reasonable environmental cause, but Ventura Highway by America played on the radio. We had candy, snacks, and coffee from one of the beacon-like gas stations that were like oases on the long, quiet stretches, and we just sat happily and watched the United States roll past our windows.