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“I took to the open road in search of places where change did not mean ruin and where time and men and deeds connected.” And such is the reasoning behind Blue Highways, a travelogue of a man and his van, traveling around the perimeter of the United States solely on backroads, no federal highways allowed. William Least Heat-Moon named his van Ghost Dancing, an homage to the resurrection rituals of Plains Indians–he left home in part for personal reasons. But he also went to see the parts of America few people ever see, except those living there. He wanted to travel from Simplicity, Virginia to Whynot, Mississippi and onward.

Perhaps what he accomplished could not be done today–the trip was taken in the late-70s–but it seems worth a shot. The people Least Heat-Moon met and talked to at length is the meat of the book; his actual travels merely the backbone. He has an uncanny ability to get to the heart of a town and has an insatiable curiosity that gets him deep into the relations of people to each other in the town, the relation of them to the rest of the country, the peoples’ personal philosophies, and often, the story behind the name of the place.

In Hachita, New Mexico, Least Heat-Moon met Virginia Been, owner an establishment called the Desert Den Bar & Filling Station. In a tiny town in the middle of empty desert, both parts would seem extremely inviting. From Miss Been he learned that the saloon had been there since the late 1890s–longer than the state–and that the town had dwindled after the railroad closed a roundhouse across the road. She said they don’t get good TV reception, so no one new moves in: “We’re the end of things down this way. This is where she stops.”

In Hachita there had been much and then very little change. In Selma, it just depended on who you asked. In a bar occupied solely by white folks, Least Heat-Moon asked if things had changed since King’s famous march. One man who “opened a smile like a jackknife,” said, “Change ruined this town. Bar I just came from, three of them sittin’ in there big as sin. Fifteen years ago you couldna hired a n— to go in there.” When Least Heat-Moon asked the same question of a black man he got another almost violent response: “Tell you in three words. Ain’t nothin’ changed.”

The book is large; my copy a nearly 450 page tome in hard-to-read type. This is a testament to the love and respect the author had to all of the people along the way: the original manuscript was over 800 pages. Seems like he didn’t want to leave anyone out. There are a few descriptions and moments that feel extraneous–his plans, the descriptions that sound like they came directly from his notebook–but they are few and far between.

Least Heat-Moon’s prose is smart, quickly and eloquently describing the landscape and nature surrounding him, much of it new to him. He often uses his time alone in the wild or just in his van to contemplate the ideas he has just encountered or even to ruminate on his own state of mind and what may await him upon his return. At times tangled, his expository sections can slow down a reader. It took me a long time to read the book, in part because it forced me to be a careful reader. This is not necessarily a negative, but don’t expect to fly through it.

I would recommend Blue Highways to anyone who has taken or would like to take a road trip across the country. It would give or recall the expectations in terms of problems, adventures, and states of mind. I would also recommend this to anyone who is a fan of travel lit, as it has been deemed classic and well deserves that title.

Read more: Book Reviews, Last Heat-Moon, North America, Road Trips, Solo Travel, United States


Llalan specializes in all things Ohio, but has funny stories from all over the US and Canada, plus a few snort-inducing ones from Thailand. And not only does she read books from around the world, she also samples beers in as many languages as possible. Favorite style: the multi-national American Double IPA.

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