En 1960, John Steinbeck se fue de viaje. A recorrer la Gran América. Viajó en una furgoneta/camión/pick-up (las fotos son una maqueta freak que ha hecho un japo freak de 'Rocinante', pues así se llamaba la furgo).
Habla de viajar por carretera.
Ustedes, que han girado por el mundo, sabrán apreciarlo:
'If one has driven a car over many years, as I have, nearly all reactions have become automatic. One does not think about what to do. Nearly all the friving technique is deeply buried in a machine-like unconscious. This being so, a large area of the conscious mind is left free for thinking. An whast do people think of when they drive? On short trips perhaps of arrival at a destiantion or memory of events at the place of departure. But there is left, particularly on very long trips, a large area of day-dreaming or even, God help us, for thought. No one can know what another does in that area. (...) Driving, I have creatted turtle traps in my mind, have written long, detailed letters never to be put to paper, much less sent. (...) ANd I have projected future scenes, just as complete,and convincing -scenes that will never take place. I've writtens hort stories in my mind, chuckling at my own humor, saddened or stimulated by structure or content.'
