Gentle Readers,

Tacitus, our Roman correspondent, has been out to see America on the ground these past few weeks. He has just returned from an epic road trip, of which correspondent Arias and I were a small part. We shared the view from the road, at least a thousand miles of it, anyway, and I think I can safely say that a good time was had by all. Sit back and enjoy a travelogue of what is arguably still the coolest nation on the planet. The Daily Socotra stream will also continue in parallel.

-Vic

Well, 4202 miles exactly, if you want to get all fact-checky about it.

While I was on the long drive east I paid little attention to the news. But I paid enough attention to see that the left has a new buzzword, a new propaganda meme: the fact-check. This is no less than a brazen attempt to reverse Mrs Clinton’s worst trait – her unfailing, calculated dishonesty – and turn it onto Donald Trump. Mr Trump, they want us to believe, is a liar. Everything he says must be fact-checked by the mainstream media. Fairness in treating the two candidates, you see, is unfair to Hillary. So away the fact-checking teams, away. Their duty is to take the Donald’s exaggerations, his hyperbole, his lack of precision, and twist those into intentional serious dishonesty. Thus, when Mr Trump says Hillary has been in public life for 30 years and has done nothing to fix the national problems she harps upon, the fact-checkers say “Oh, no-no. Hillary has only been on the national stage since 1992. That’s not 30 years. Just 24. Trump you terrible liar.” Setting aside her years as First Lady of Arkansas – a public position – what the media is trying to defect you from is the fact that she really has spent decades achieving nothing. Scandal management notwithstanding, of course. She’s achieved a lot there. But then she has help, doesn’t she?

In any event, I thought I would pass on a few anecdotes – observations, really – from my September trip. I have no photographs for you. OK, I do but I choose not to share them. They’re too spotty and unrepresentative. It’s hard to stop on the interstate to snap a photo of the passing scene. So I’ll try word pictures instead.

The West is always beautiful, the long vistas a pleasure to behold, coming and going. This time the highlight was the pronghorn antelope, who seem to group into bigger herds in the fall. I saw perhaps 60 of them in three herds beside US 87 in northern New Mexico outbound and another 100 in three herds on US 24 as I drove west into the Front Range region. They’re handsome animals.

I wish to report that I got through Texas without being stopped by the state police for Driving While Colorado. Maybe I was just lucky or maybe they’ve decided that profiling is simply too hot a topic these days.

Speaking of which, it was hot in Mississippi. Little Raymond was as pleasant as ever. I tried to get out and take a long walk every day while I was visiting my mom. That worked, but the humidity…

I slanted north and east from Mississippi to Virginia via Birmingham, Chattanooga, Knoxville, and the southern Appalachians. It was a good long drive. What stood out along the highways were the flags. They weren’t there last year when I took the same route. They are now – one in Tennessee and two in Virginia: huge flagpoles set atop hills, each flying an over-sized Confederate battle flag. You’d think some people are feeling defiant.

I took an evening walk on the shaded brick sidewalks of Abingdon, Virginia. This town is on I-81 just north of the Tennessee line. The core dates from the early 19th century. I recommend it as a stopping point for travelers.

The next day my Mazda greatly enjoyed the 414 mile run down-country from Abingdon to Virginia Beach. How do I know the car was happy? It achieved an average 44.5 mpg on that tank of gas. That’s pretty good, even allowing for the fact that the day’s trip was more or less all downhill. All that and great acceleration, tight handling. Zoom-zoom.

In Virginia Beach I visited my brother. But before that I had some time on my hands and so decided to make the two-block trek from my motel to the beach near Lynnhaven Inlet. The last bit was a wooden walkway between two close-set multistory condo buildings. Thus my first view of the sea in years was neatly framed. Gray-green it was, on that cloudy afternoon. “Thalassa, “ I murmured, “Thalassa!” The view had called to mind Xenophon, that old Athenian. As you may recall he unexpectedly found himself in command of 10,000 Greek mercenaries stranded in Mesopotamia on account of some, shall we say, employment difficulties. The solution was to march and fight their way north to the Black Sea, from which they could take ship home to Greece. It was a long walk. Here’s the relevant passage from ‘The Persian Expedition:’

When the men in front reached the summit and caught sight of the sea there was great shouting. Xenophon and the rearguard heard it and thought that there were enemies attacking in the front. However, the shouting got louder and drew nearer. Those who were constantly going forward started running towards the men in front, who kept on shouting. And the more there were of them, the more shouting there was. It looked then as though this was something of considerable importance. So Xenophon mounted his horse, and taking Lycus and the cavalry with him, rode forward to give support.

And quite soon they heard the soldiers shouting out thalassa, thalassa, “The sea!, the sea!” and passing the word down the column. Then certainly they all began to run, the rearguard and all, and drove on the baggage animals and the horses at full speed; and when they had all got to the top, the soldiers, with tears in their eyes, embraced each other and their generals and captains.

History tells us that Xenophon retired thereafter, having had enough of adventure. He got himself a country estate where he passed the remainder of his life raising horses and daughters. It seems like a good choice.

For my part I I took US 17 north from the Tidewater area, which meant crossing the York River bridge. I didn’t quite make it across. The barriers came down and the bridge slowly opened to allow a destroyer to pass downriver from the Yorktown Naval Weapons Station. I enjoyed the view, although it seemed to me the ship was moving rather too slowly. What happened to driving ships with panache? Probably the Coast Guard has imposed speed limits on the river, the killjoys. Either that or in our now-chickafied Navy they’ve forgotten that fast ships are supposed to go, you know, fast (within reason).

I stopped for lunch at Horne’s, a cafe located at the crossroads of US 17 and US 301 in Port Royal. There I met an old counterpart from the headquarters of the US 5th Fleet, where he was once N3 and I was N2. Really he was more a respected big brother than counterpart. It was a pleasure to see him again after 18 years.

I also took the opportunity that day to stop at the Vawter Church, which is near Port Royal and close to the Rappahannock. This is the ancestral church of my good wife’s family. The afternoon was sunny, the church and surround in fine shape. Probably the place looked better than it did in the 1730s since we have lawnmowers now and they didn’t back then.

Beyond Virginia was Maryland, and between me and dinner that evening was Washington traffic. Even though it was early afternoon, with good weather and no accidents, the congestion on the Beltway and I-95 north was appalling. I truly don’t know how people endure that every day.

Allow me to digress for a moment on the matter of yard signs. On my travels I saw many Trump-Pence signs, almost all of them suitably “yuge.” I saw only one Clinton-Kaine sign – this despite spending some time driving through the upscale, smug-Democrat neighborhoods west of Baltimore. I doubt this portends much in terms of the vote come November but it sure says a lot about the degree of enthusiasm abroad in the land for one Hillary Milhous Clinton.

I appreciated my interlude with the rightful Baroness Trematon and her intended. I’ll just say it’s good to be young. It’s even fairly good to be old and in the company of the young.

It was time to start west. I took the I-68 route over the Cumberland Mountains on a sunny Sunday morning. The leaves showed the first hints of fall colors. Here and there morning mist lingered late. Up and over I went, and a lot faster than the pioneers of old. My destination was Berea, Kentucky. If the rendezvous in Port Royal was a meeting of the two Captains, then the stop at Boone Tavern, an upscale small hotel in Berea, was the meeting of the three Captains. My two old Hawaii comrades arrived late, having been delayed by their choice of a more circuitous southern route from Virginia. I had a consolation prize waiting for them in the hotel lobby: two glasses of Buffalo Trace bourbon. We were in eastern Kentucky, after all. The bourbon was justified.

The next day saw me transiting Louisville in a downpour, southern Indiana and Illinois in bright sunshine. I navigated St Louis without incident, but was, alas, detained briefly by St Charles County sheriff’s deputies on I-70 just west of the city. They said I’d changed lanes without signaling, which is possible. I don’t think it was another case of Driving While Colorado since they didn’t take time to run my plates, nor did they show any interest in searching the car for weed. I guess they were just into total road etiquette.

My last overnight of the trip was in Higginsville, Missouri, which is just east of Kansas City. I allocated time to watch the first presidential debate but in the event could only last 15 minutes. I couldn’t stand watching Mrs Clinton’s fixed smirk, which became an actual smile only when – frequently – the moderator intervened on her behalf, loyal and obedient clerisy minion that he is. So, instead, early to bed and early to rise. I was through Kansas City before dawn and while the thug class was safely abed.

It was a beautiful day in Kansas – 75, sunny, a modest breeze. At one point I passed a field of sunflowers, at least a hundred thousand of them, every blossom turned to catch the rising sun. We live in a beautiful country.

And so here I am: safe and sound at home again. I’m cured (for now) of the urge to get out and travel. Which is a good thing with winter not far ahead.

– Tacitus

Copyright 2016 Tacitus
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