The long journey to Washington DC is a journey of the mind as well. By pickup it is the images of the nation that inspire the mind to think of the better times when every action did not entail a quick preparatory review of current dictates from Washington. There are but a few reminders of how it is supposed to be on the road, having to figure out which states have buckled to federal pressure and mandated seat belt use as a pathway to federal dollars; which have outlawed hand-held cell phone use; which one of the pukes don't like you throwing your aluminum cans out the window. (take a moment to think through that one) What kind of uncaring society would interpose itself between the direct transfer of wealth from those with aluminum cans to those who would collect and sell them? It is a travesty and a constant reminder of what we are fighting for, the free distribution of aluminum wealth.
As we have seen in every aspect of society, the government comes in and assumes to do good, to be thoughtful and caring and winds up destroying the very organic structure of charity. Perhaps I have been a bit tongue-in-cheek here, but I am not completely incorrect either.
As I have passed through two-thirds of the breadth of this nation, I have seen it change before my eyes and if I should go north instead of south I would have seen it change that much more, not in landscape, but in the landscape of thought and tradition. Art is not created, but recognized. The art of our republic was recognized as such and treated as such and as such it flourished and provided us with all that is visible through a windshield. Were I to take the northern route, I would have seen the industrial might that it has provided, encouraged even, a thought that is quickly growing foreign to ear bud-wearing generation. It is an annihilation of prosperity to which we are unwilling witnesses.
It reminds me of why I am here, why I have used my fortune to come and work to do something about it. Were this to go unchecked we would be able to track our demise through the string of littered machines of profit left to rot in a nation of do-gooders who have destroyed their own means of survival. Production plants would be as obviously insanely abandoned as a '57 Chevy on a Cuban street.