Our eight-month journey across America is over and it's time to offer some unique reflections and witty insights about the state of the nation at the start of a new century.
Yep, that's what you'd expect after photographer Travis Lindhorst and I delved into the nooks and crannies of 14 states. But I've been so busy enjoying California that I haven't had time to rest, let alone reflect.
My wife, Pat, and I biked along the Pacific and slept on the Queen Mary, once the world's most luxurious liner. We visited the Long Beach aquarium and watched a taping of Reba, which was much better than I expected.
We tried, in vain, to get over to Catalina Island. I felt like we were trapped in that 60's song about heading to Catalina "in a leaky old boat, anything that will stay afloat." But that's another story.
We shopped in Carmel. Actually, Pat shopped. I packed eight months worth of memories for the trip home. Pat says worn out socks and smelly sneakers aren't memories. Women just don't understand men and clothes.
Despite the hectic week, I do have some wise reflections for you. They come from Woody Guthrie whose words echo the American dream - the nation belongs to all of us. They sum up our walk far better than I could - even if I hadn't spent my week playing.
Here's a bit of one of Woody's songs. In some places I've merged his 1940 and 1952 versions.
This land is your land, this land is my land
From the redwood forest to the New York Island.
From the snow-capped mountains to the Gulf Stream waters
This land is made for you and me.
As I went walking that ribbon of highway
And saw above me that endless skyway,
And saw below me the golden valley, I said:
This land is made for you and me.
My 3,700-mile walk on that ribbon of highway is over. But what an adventure! Along the way, Travis and I learned that the walk wasn't about us. The real stars of this journey were the people and places that make America such a fascinating country.
People shared their homes, their food and their lives with us as we followed Route 6 from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. From Herring Cove Beach at the tip of Cape Cod, to the far end of Pine Street in Long Beach, CA.
In some places, people honored us with parades and showered us with gifts. In other spots, they didn't know us - and didn't care.
We met old timers who took us on impromptu tours of their hometowns. We talked with cowboys, Indians (from India) and native Americans. We visited young adults at Girls and Boys Town and shook hands with old folks in rest homes.
We saw a magnificent old theater in Joliet, IL and a dazzling ballroom in a small Utah town.
We basked in the world's largest hot springs pool in Colorado and watched a kayak racing a barge on the Mississippi River. I attended services in a 150-year-old church in Sandusky, Ohio, where they welcome strangers like old friends.
Woody was right. This land was made for you and me. If you get the chance to see it close up, by all means do it. And Route 6 is a good place to start.
Here's a little more of Woody's song.
When the sun come shining, then I was strolling
In wheat fields waving and dust clouds rolling;
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The voice was chanting as the fog was lifting:
This land was made for you and me.
I roamed and rambled and followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts,
And all around me, a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
Early in the trip, people wondered how we would ever find stories as we crossed prairies of Iowa and Nebraska and the deserts of Utah and Nevada. I wondered, too.
One guy from Indiana said: when you get over there it's flat as a pancake and it smells like manure.
I began saving stories for those barren spots out west. But I found out that:
A. It's not all that flat.
B. Only parts of it smell like manure.
C. Some of our best stories came from those "flat" states.
We explored incredible museums in Nebraska. We found a woman who collects buildings in her back yard in Iowa and another woman trying to keep alive the memory of a Japanese internment camp in Utah.
We met a couple that built a home in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada searching for solitude. Instead, their little house became a haven for stranded travelers.
We saw a grand mirage in the desert and found out - the hard way - that Nevada is the most mountainous state in the country.
We published scores of stories and pictures in a dozen newspapers and there were many more we couldn't squeeze in. Someday, we'll tell you about the Red-Hatted Ladies (a club) and the Hard-Hatted Women (a Cleveland support group for construction workers).
Someday, we'll explore the Queen Mary and the Great Basin together. We'll meet the guy who rode across the U.S. on a bike that floats. There's so much more to talk about.
Here's the end of Woody's song (the 1940 version).
One bright sunny morning in the shadow of the steeple
By the Relief Office I saw my people -
As they stood hungry, I stood there wondering if
This land was made for you and me.
There were somber moments in our trip. We saw too many wooden crosses that marked highway deaths - most of them young people.
I met a husband and wife living under a bridge in Iowa. They'd rather be cold and hungry together than comfortable and warm in a shelter where they'd be separated.
It was a different world downtown in the big cities where men wore suits and women's high heels clicked on the sidewalks. But most of the folks we met seemed more comfortable in jeans, cowboy hats and pick up trucks than in suits and sports cars.
I've come to love the small towns and the rural areas. That's where drivers wave at each other on the highway, where they stop to offer a stranger a ride, and where they're quick to do you a favor. These places felt like Woody Guthry's America.
In the cities and suburbs people are afraid of strangers, or they just don't have time. It's a mirror of the past half century in America. We've become wealthier - if having more things means you're wealthier. But I don't think we're happier. We're just busier and more distracted by all our toys.
That's too bad, because what's so remarkable about America is the simple things that Woody Guthrie talked about: the land and the people.
And they're there for you and me.
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