Mestral had every intention of continuing to ride his bike east, but Val had different ideas. They had just crossed into Arkansas when she got a wild hair idea. "Dad, let's turn. We've been going the same way forever."
"We have been going the same way for two days," Mestral corrected. "Do not use hyperbole without restraint."
He couldn't see her but knew his ten year old was rolling her eyes. "I vote we turn at the next highway."
Mestral was about to respond and then reconsidered. He had never lived in the middle of the country. Maybe a central state wasn't such a bad idea. He had been north, and it was too cold. East, but too crowded. Southwest, and now that he had bittersweet memories there, maybe it was time to move on.
"Agreed," he decided. He felt Val hug him.
"Ok so I'll keep an eye out for a highway junction sign," she said if not happily, than more positive than the last two days. Per Val's request, they had paused at some of the roadside attractions heading east, even doubling back to see the Cadillac Ranch outside of Amarillo. Her reasoning had been that just like her mother had said, what happens after is what matters most. Mestral complied with his child's requests because her mother would have done the exact same thing. He was a few years past 110, and the grey hairs were beginning to show. He ignored the pesky thoughts about whose lifespan his daughter's life would mirror- those of the humans, who generally only reached 80 or 90 years, or his own, already well over 100.
"There, there is one!" Val poked her father. Mestral mentally shook himself loose from his thoughts, and took the ramp to go north on a highway called I-49. It was late morning and as they rode higher into the Ozark Mountains, they both found themselves drawn to the views off the sides of the highways- panoramic views of rolling small mountains, tree covered, fading into the distance. They kept driving, and the altitude began climbing as well. Not as high as Albuquerque had been above sea level, but still notable.
Eventually they passed through a tunnel, and civilizations began gradually increasing. Not long later, a spire rose in the distance, and as they progressed further north, the towns grew larger. Eventually, Mestral decided to spontaneously turn right, and the towns grew more sparse.
"Dad, stop!" Val punched Mestral's shoulder. They were in an old, worn looking town next to a large body of water. The grass was so thick it was growing over concrete in many spots, and the trees were thick and tall. He pulled onto the curb halfway across a bridge spanning a wide river.
"This is amazing," Val said. "I've never seen so much water! And look how green everything is!"
Mestral looked back at the small town they had just driven through. A weather-worn wooden sign hanging from a similarly abused looking poll outside what appeared to be a mobile home converted into a business declared 'Prairie Creek Marina Shop' in peeling blue letters. He looked at the waters flowing gently under the bridge, and the tree-lined shores. Perhaps he had lived in cities too long. Perhaps a return to country live would help him recover from the last decade, and give his daughter a safe place to grow up. No one would ever drop a hydrogen bomb on Arkansas, there was no point.
A month later, between Mestral's investment payouts and a major financial transaction, a small renovated farmhouse overlooking that same river but slightly more north belonged to "The Tylers".