There’s nothing like a grand roadtrip—hundreds or thousands of miles, even, meandering with the windows down through time zones and landscapes in search of unspoiled vistas, nostalgic roadside diners, and discoveries that inadvertently change us—or at the very least, change our course for a moment in time. The open road is where everything is. We believe that mile markers are far more than a measurement of distance. We see them as increments of discovery that are by our sides as we experience the soundtracks, epiphanies, laughter, tears, and delirium that accompany a thousand-mile stretch. To us, the road is a place to take our time, to pull over, to have a picnic, to find joy in the glorious state of being lost. These are the stories that capture that magic—the recollections of mishaps along the highway, a dirt-road catharsis, or a two-lane broken heart. But, as Kerouac said, “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”

(Oh, and Hunter S. Thompson said, “On some nights I still believe that a car with the gas needle on empty can run about fifty more miles if you have the right music very loud on the radio.” We believe that, too.)