Lehal Library

Prologue There seems to be an easy way to do—and a hard way. Given the choice, all of us take the easy route simply because it’s more efficient, saves time and energy. If it’s too easy, some of us feel guilty. We get the uncomfortable sense that we’re missing something if we don’t go the laborious, tried-and-true pattern. If it’s that easy, it must not be good, might even be sinful. But after a while, the easy way becomes the ordinary way and we forget the old road. When you’ve lived in an area long enough to have traveled between two cities before the interstates and freeways were built, try the old familiar highway just once. You’ll find once is enough. The start-and-stop congestion, the total disorder, the growing frustrations far overshadow any remaining nostalgia you may have harbored. You have enough of such local traffic at the beginning and end of each run on the Interstate. Now the problem. Suppose you met someone who had never driven on an interstate. All his life, he has driven only in local traffic. He’s heard about such superhighways. He might even have seen one from a distance or heard the rumble of vehicles or smelled their exhaust fumes. He rationalizes any number of reasons why he hasn’t and won’t go interstate; he doesn’t need to, he’s satisfied the way he is; they travel too fast so it’s not safe; you have to go out of your way to get on it; it’s full of strangers from all over the place so you don’t know whom you’ll meet so you can’t trust them; your car isn’t in very good condition and it might break down and leave you stranded without anybody to help, in some lonely spot you never heard of. Maybe sometime you’ll try it, but not right now. Suppose you happened to see a construction order from the state highway department to begin demolition of the old highway so that all local traffic will have to go interstate eventually, like it or not. What do you do? What would you do? Nothing? Suppose the