Some folks travel America's interstates with white knuckles, red eyes and dulled senses.
This mighty network of pavement gets them where they want to go in a hurry, but from here to there is a blur of crowded rest stops, bad food and overpriced gasoline. But maybe the guy who spends six hours in cruise control, with one eye on the speedometer and the other scanning for troopers, has seriously missed the point. Maybe interstates can hold the same charm of the old winding two-lanes, where traveling wasn't necessarily to go somewhere, but simply to go. For nearly two decades, Price has indulged a deep curiosity with the mother of all highways, Interstate 80, which girdles the continent from New York City to San Francisco. While Road Hog pushes his luck in the passing lane, Price and family tool merrily along Interstate 80 in a 1989 Chevy Van, towing an orange trailer fashioned from his old Datsun pickup bed.