Every year this trip seems more and more inescapable. I’m afraid it’ll never end, that this drive will take 150 years, my son will die, and I’ll see a time when the only thing I have is God and my words have died not, not lasting. Sometimes I think that even when home in Chattanooga I’m still driving. A gut feeling is to abandon home and free myself in turn giving back to the world but that would only lead me to the Holy Highway once again. So, right now I’m going North riding along the side of the Rockies, my companion, to the West. We’re going 95 ‘cause I can’t stand this pavement anymore.
	“You better slow down bud.” Harper slithers into my ear. At this moment her voice is extremely irksome. That is what I feel but what I want to feel is love and a great bond between two humans, I want this to last. She doesn't want Nathan to get scared of cars when he’s older. He’s only three months old John! she groans.

	This is the only place I can get away from her: whenever we stop to get gas or use a toilet I write. It’s my moment of peace, just Nate and I. He can already read, what a smart boy. Our first gas stop, Harper made me go up to the counter. Everyone on the highway is Christian, haven’t met not one fellow in my 5 trips here with at least the smallest urge to commit the smallest sin. There was George right, the guy giving me my gas, I gave him two extra dollars with my fidgety hands and he gave it back saying, “I think you need to pay your tithes”. Two dollars on the Highway will last you a long way.
	No one asks where we’re going even though this place makes it feel like you’re in the middle of nowhere. All the tiny-shop, and bed and breakfast owners assume that if you’ve come this far you could only be going to Alpha Omega.
He tells me that everyone is walking now, that Ronald “Walker” Karnazes started the trend when he began training for an ultra marathon using the Highway to its lengthy advantage. Once others began to notice him year by year he became a novelty, an idol at last but at first he was only a joke. There were groups of seculars (the secs) from outta town who found out what Walker was doing and they ran with him in banana costumes in 95 degree weather. He still ran. He’s still running.  I hope I get to see him.
	Ever since then Nate and his genius picked up on Harper and I’s conversation about the Walker (how I’ve always want to run and how she thinks Pilates is enough) that he’s just been shouting, Walk! Sounds like a bird, he can probably be a bird mimicker one day so many options. All of this talk about walk has been haunting my dreams; I’m getting nightmares about the highway now. Before I was converted I always kept up to date with the best horror books and they never bothered me. My buddy Hugo always supplied me with the best shivers and unsettling feelings. Out in this great expanse of nothingness I have all the freedom I want to imagine things and I feel like a horror book is writing itself in my head; I can see people walking, they’re long and black.