In 1978, as a young man of eleven years of age, my whole family decided to relocate to some as yet undecided location. It was a sweltering June I recall. Like Nomads we traversed the countryside looking for that perfect spot on the map. All aboard the mega-van, my Mother, Father, three sisters, and several family pets that included a perpetually car sick Basset Hound that was always filling the cabin with a foul dog vomit pungency.
We were always eager to stretch our legs during this voyage of about six weeks. One afternoon while riding through an endless sea of corn fields in Iowa off in the distance a mirage appeared in the form of a very official looking sign that read “Scenic Overlook”. The excitement was like electricity in our dog vomit scented love boat as Dad raced onwards towards the anticipated pinnacle of our afternoon. The mega-van screeching to a halt as we all piled out to view the absolutely scenic overlook of even more corn fields.
I don’t recall seeing any other scenic overlooks for the remainder of those six weeks on the road on the way to my seventh home. We even took the bypass on age twelve.