Tag: Stand for Truth

Road Tripping along US2- Our Northern Most Highway Mirror

Traveling US2 reminded me of some things easily forgotten from a couch, a cable-news chair, or the algorithmic cave we now mistake for public discourse and life.

America is Kodachrome, not monochrome.

It is not one color, story, tribe, flag, grievance, joy, anger, or one carefully rehearsed slogan. It is a long, uneven road running through farm fields, forests, high plains, small towns, county seats, and metropolises. Yet, US2 barely touches political power at all, which feels about right for a road more interested in citizens than rulers. It touches the Great Lakes and crosses the Rocky Mountains. It passes poverty, pride, fresh paint, boarded windows, new diners, old dreams, and people trying to get through the day without losing their minds, humor, decency, or pride.

US2 is not polished America. It is not brochure America. It is not the America politicians sell when they need applause. It is better than that. It is real.

There were simple homes and extravagant ones. Fancy shopping centers and flea markets. New businesses with flashing banners announcing someone’s fresh shot at the American dream. And there were uncountable hollowed-out buildings, closed storefronts, ruined signs, tattered flags, and boarded windows reminding us that not every dream survives. Hope and wreckage share the same street.

The road itself seemed honest to. US2 shifted from single-lane “take your turn” stretches to four-lane, divided-lane confidence, from rough, rutted pavement to smooth sailing. That felt about right. America has always been part pothole, part promise.

Along the way, diversity was not a slogan. It was simply present. Greeted, helped, waved at, and politely served by people of multiple races, genders, orientations, accents, and backgrounds—Black, Native American, Hispanic, Asian, white, and everyone in between. Fellow campers and travelers chatted without demanding a political affidavit or proof of citizenship. People waved because waving still works. They smiled because not every human exchange has to be a tribal transaction.

Near one town, modern tricked-out equipment rolled through the same landscape where Amish oxen plows tilled the soil, and family carriages filled with four to five family members trotted toward Sunday evening service. Every face seemed eager to wave. Modern machinery and horse-drawn faith shared the road, not as enemies, not as symbols in someone else’s culture war, but as neighbors moving through the same evening light. That is America when we let it breathe.

And yes, the American ego rode along too. Somewhere in North Dakota, a place without a hospital, advertised world-class spinal services. Every mascot of every team in every town was the ‘world’s best; go figure. And, every other town seemed to claim world-class pancakes. I cannot say whether any other country makes pancakes, but we have apparently perfected them nine hundred times between the Great Lakes and the Rockies. This country may be divided, but no one has surrendered our breakfast supremacy.

Then came the names: Pleasant, Superior, and others that sounded less like towns and more like national therapeutic goals. Maybe we need more Pleasant in our politics and lives, and a little less self-declared Superior in and from our leaders. A country does not heal by shouting louder. It heals when enough ordinary people decide the neighbor is not the enemy, the stranger is not a threat, and disagreement is not treason.

One of the most refreshing parts of the route was how pleasantly devoid it was of cult political banners and flags. Not devoid of belief. Not devoid of opinion. Just free from the need to turn every porch, truck, fence, and field into a loyalty test. After years of national shouting, quiet felt amazingly patriotic.

The warm evening, outside an Irish pub, blues and alternative rock shared the stage at a block party. People smiled and danced. No one checking party registration or citizenship before tapping a foot and having a beer. For a few hours, the country remembered that rhythm is older and better than ideology.

US2 showed me real America in all its diversity—not singularity, not uniformity, not forced sameness. Maybe that is what makes us great, and shows us how and when we are great.

Not our boastfulness. Not our need to be the world’s overlord or policeman. Maybe America’s better role is partner, not ruler. Maybe being “number two” would not be humiliation. Maybe it would teach us to try harder, listen better, brag less, and build more, back to our roots and strength.

US2 gave me hope. Not naive hope. Hope with rust on it. Hope with a cracked windshield, a Dollar General at every crossroads, and every state somehow claiming Sasquatch as a local resident. But hope nonetheless.

Because beneath the noise, most people were doing what people have always done: working, serving, driving, cooking, repairing, praying, camping, building, failing, starting again, and trying to keep their families safe and well.

That is the America worth defending.

Not monochrome America. Not purified America. Not a fantasy where everyone thinks, looks, votes, worships, or eats pancakes alike. But, a Kodachrome America. Bright, faded, scratched, beautiful, uneven, funny, heartbreaking, generous, stubborn, and still—despite everything—moving forward together even when we agree to disagree. NeverFearTheDream simplebender.com

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