roads not taken

I love maps. All kinds of maps—topgraphical, climate zone, street maps, continental maps. Right now I'm looking at road maps. I'm sick of waiting for spring, and I'm thinking of going to meet it as it works north.
Being goal-oriented, the first thing I plot on a map is the destination. Being sociable, the next thing is is anybody I vaguely know in a broad swath between here and there. Then I estimate travel times, with particular attention to where I might be at 7:00 at night. To my way of thinking, it's rash to drive after 8:00 p.m. if you've been hauling ass all day. You need to pee, you're hungry and your powers of decision-making are sapped. Holiday Inn or Best Western? MacDonald's or Stuckey's. These are tough calls.
I take superhighways, obviously. OK, you learn more about the actual terrain by meandering down back roads, but something about the way you can soar over mountain ranges and down through valleys, sweep across rivers and tear through prairies gives you a better appreciation of the great geography of the land.
Still, the map also charts missed opportunities. Natural Bridge, which I will never pay money to see, likewise Carlsbad Caverns. There's the town where I spent some formative years, and another that has the best biscuits in the whole world. There's the one where I did the story about the white supremicists, and the one where an ex-lover still lives.
Let's look at the route and contemplate the possibilities.
Reason not to stop smoking today: It's a big country, and somebody's gotta drive it.