Airborne, somewhere over the USA

Flying home in less time than I pedaled on a typical day, I look out the window gazing down below and realize that even though I went across, the path I chose was only a paper thin slice of America. Therein lies the wonder. How many different latitudes could I have chosen, or should I ever do it again, could I choose, and what adventures they would offer? My route, my experience was mine alone. Planned and devised and executed by me. Even though there were many common shared miles along the Transamerica Trail, still the experience was unique.

From 35,000 feet, the quilt scrolls beneath. The mountains are leveled, the world down there looks like art and looks artificial. Two-dimensional puzzle pieces and geometric shapes, but I can trace the roads and always remember what my days of goin' across felt like. Now I know...I had to know...and for every flight across for the the rest of my life I will be able to look down and know.