I recently re-read a brief essay called "The Highway," written by someone named Chris Jones and published in the December 2009 issue of Esquire. It's an evocative piece celebrating the hypnotic joy of an endless drive through the North Dakota prairies ... but he begins the essay as an unconvinced motorist, starting with an opening paragraph that's completely unreflective of the rest of the story. It made me smile, and here it is:
I've never believed it's about the journey; for me, it's always been the destination that counts. My destination was Montana, so I wanted North Dakota to disappear.