HWY sketches: it's not the trip, it's the destination

It's not the destination, it's the journey i thought.
Freeways are monotonous, endless things, all asphalt and white paint, concrete overpasses and worn out rest stops. Playlists of 90s pop for road trips we used to promise we'd take play on and you sit still and silent with too little leg room in a late model sub compact rental car with nothing to do but watch farmland and forests and small towns pass by. Blurs in the fog and the distance.
Airports are cold and sterile even as they thrum and hum and buzz with the movements of people and machinery, activate removed from you as you sit, immersed in the NYTimes crossword or a book of sudoku, craving a cigarette to keep your hands busy, and order a bland sandwich to be washed down with a glass of house red.
The plane itself is no better or worse, really. the air is just as cool but now stale from recirculation, the mechanics of the vehicle and the many strangers are closer, nearly touching you, the plane humming lifelessly, your neighbors uncomfortably close.
Take off is a flash of sensation, a brief moment of feeling that is really just a change in pressure, a bit of vertigo when you look out the window.
Trains are nice in theory, there's some romance to the gentle, steady forward movement and the unfamiliar landscapes that roll by but really who takes the fucking train anyways.
No, there's no pleasure to be had in the voyage and no destination really worth getting to is there. Plane, train, highway,all the same stillness-going somewhere and trying not to move your limbs