http://youtu.be/5_swaxOidGU
Soon I take a plane into the heartland of the United States, joining friends who are crossing America in a battered ’62 Buick, their possessions filling every spare-nook, the dog’s nose hanging out the open window. We drive through blizzards in a deserted Yellowstone, fish for trout by yellowing aspen in the Colorado Rockies, watch farmers paint the word “cow” in red on the sides of their cattle as the deer season opens. The sound of rifle shots echoes through the hills, as the papers are full of meat shortages. We swoop over the Continental Divide, Beethoven on the tape deck, down into the old cow towns. Bob Dylan’s country voice bounces off the stratosphere, late at night, way out in the Midwest, knocking on heaven’s door. We stop off in Fargo, North Dakota, to visit four generations of a family living in the same town. The kids still get married at twenty and have their own kids. Then it’s up into Canada, east and then south toward New York, and smack into the height of the autumn New England blaze, the rigors of rock and roll diminishing day by day. (FROM AN AMERICAN STORY)
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