I.

The drive up to my family cabin is a long one. From Minneapolis to Lake Superior is a little over four hours, not including stops for food and gas. Today I'm making that drive alone. This article is a catalog of my thoughts during the drive.

II.

I see long drives as an opportunity to listen to an entire discography of a favorite artist of mine. Last time I did Kendrick Lamar, this time I'll do BROCKHAMPTON. (I'm not shouting at you, by the way, BROCKHAMPTON spells their name in all-caps.)

III.

I cross over the Mississippi River heading north on I-35, giving me a great view of downtown Minneapolis. To me, it's the perfect city--big enough to be entertaining, but small enough to feel like you can understand it in its entirety.

IV.

People who move over a lane to the right when they see you approaching in the left lane are among the people I respect the very most in this world.

V.

The first pro-life billboard appears just 45 minutes into the drive. Past knowledge tells me they will only get more frequent and more aggressive the farther north I get. Minnesota is a famously liberal state, but that's because Minneapolis has the majority of its citizens, and Minneapolis is a very liberal city. Just about everywhere else, Minnesota is conservative, especially culturally. Hence the pro-life billboards that assault every driver's eyes as he or she heads north.

VI.

Minnesota is "The Land of 10,000 Lakes," but there are actually 11,842 lakes in the state.

VII.

Pro-life and otherwise aggressively Christian billboards represent for me a very interesting intersection of religion and capitalism. How strange it is that a faith system is being advertised on the same medium as fast food and casinos. I wonder, has anyone changed their mind because of those billboards? If not, what are their real purpose?

Since a billboard does not allow for subtlety, these posters cut right to the chase. A few examples: "REAL Men LOVE Babies!" "Are You Going To HEAVEN Or HELL?" All the beauty and nuance of religion are sacrificed for the sake of effective advertising.

VIII.

I'm reading The Inferno right now. In it, Dante distinguishes between "Dante the Pilgrim," who is making the journey, and "Dante the Poet," who is the narrator of the journey. I can make a similar distinction: "Steven the Driver" is who you're reading about, but of course "Steven the Writer" has already made it to the cabin.

IX.

I've made it through all of BROCKHAMPTON's music, so I must pick a new album. Beach House's "Bloom," with its spacy sound atmospheres, will fit the scenery nicely. I'm really in the boondocks now--no more billboards of any kind, just aspens, birches, and pines.

X.

I pass through a number of truly tiny towns in this stretch of northern Wisconsin, places with one road, a few buildings, and less than 100 people. One of them has a church on one side, a liquor store directly across from it on the other side, and a few houses. There is surely some poetic metaphor to be drawn about human nature here, but I'm not quite eloquent enough to do it.

XI.

Steven the Driver is just about at his cabin now, but Steven the Writer is actually at a coffee shop the next morning because he didn't finish his article the night he got there. Steven the Writer blames Steven the Driver for making too many stops and not leaving him enough time to write. Steven the Driver thinks he gave Steven the Writer plenty of time and that he should stop making excuses.

XII.

In northern Wisconsin, as I near Lake Superior, I pass over the White River. This is always one of my favorite moments of the drive because the White River is neither white nor a river. It is a muddy little creek that barely seems to be moving. I like to think that whoever named the White River saw that muddy little creek and dreamed that one day it could be a strong, clear, fast-flowing river, and named it accordingly. I respect that kind of optimism.