Driving east from Minnesota is a lot of the same, but that sameness is plenty of forested beauty.
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Though my opinions may change after more of these journeys, I found it striking that there seemed to be so little difference as we crossed state lines. Parts of Pennsylvania had more hills as we went over a nominal mountain range, and the speed limits could vary wildly (along with the respective tolls) with each new border, but nothing distinguished Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Pennsylvania, or New York from each other en route to Connecticut. They all shared gentle curves and slopes, tree-lined interstates with hefty medians, a calming aesthetic for a journey from where, to me, feels like a cultural halfway point between the East and West coasts when, in reality, I’m starting nearly two-thirds of the way across the country.
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