I have traveled widely, but not so much within the US — Wyoming is only my second rectangular state! However, I arrived without incident, having met up with four other SF writers in the airport in Denver. We drove three hours north to Laramie, through some beautiful empty country. Rocks, prairie, snow fencing. You can see why trolls were born from, and return to, stone.
And we also passed through some of the usual generic America. There are strip malls across the world now with a Starbucks, a Chipotle, maybe a Panera or a Walmart. Alas, for the day when each locality had its local storers — now you have to deliberately seek them out, because they’re not on the main roadways.
My practice, when I go places is to only eat things I can’t get at home (and the corollary rule, to only order in restaurants dishes that I cannot cook myself). And I only buy things that are not available at home. This means I will never go into a Walmart, a Chipotle, etc. except under duress.
Surveying the huge sky and broad landscape, we agreed that five writers in a car is fraught with peril. Open prairie calls for space aliens blasting death rays across the landscape, or at the very minimum General Zod tossing machinery around with Kryptonian strength. At least we know to not split up to eexplore.