We’re on the road again. The rains coming our way to the shores of Alabama left no reason to remain there. So north we head toward the Capital of the Confederacy, seeking out a big rig site large enough to accompany us. Supposedly one exists just northeast of Montgomery that should be reached no later than mid-afternoon. There is a lot to think about driving the mundane interstates of today. The American roadside of my youth dies a little more every year. Every trip brings new melancholy as familiar abandoned landmarks burn down, are melted for scrap, get bulldozed and subdivided, or just vanish into the landscape. The rate accelerates every year. The little that remains by the sides of the old Miracle Miles withers in the blistering sun. But the soul-cleansing love of the road keeps me coming back, just as the roadsides’ decline assures that I’ll continue to bring my camera.