If you do not understand fate you have no way of becoming an exemplary person. If you do not understand ritual, you have no way of knowing where to stand. If you do not understand the meaning of words, you have no way of understanding other people.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana is home to about a half-million people; the population of Houston is over seven million. Twenty-five years ago when I frequently drove between them, it took a little over four and a half hours to cover the 300 miles.

On I-10 alone there are 152 exits between Baton Rouge and the next major highway where I normally exited, and most of them delivered drivers to one of the little towns comprising the population of about a million people between the two major cities.

Driving the I-10 corridor in south Louisiana and east Texas is a 75 mile an hour trek through a sea-level landscape, a few swamps and some rice fields that in half the year double as commercial crawfish habitat. All elevated driving above ten feet is man-made. The trip cannot be made without constantly seeing other drivers — believe me, I’ve probably done it 100 times, sometimes in the middle of the night, a few times with my eyes closed. That was the only time I didn’t see other vehicles.

The route between Anchorage and Homer in Alaska is by far the most populous corridor — if you can even call it that. From where we now live, Homer is 240 miles away, and driving there takes a little over four and a half hours. After leaving our house, it takes us 25 minutes to drive the 25 miles through Anchorage’s last red light heading south. There are only two more before arriving in Homer.

Anchorage’s population is barely 300,000. On the way to Homer, where 5,500 call home, there is one major town of 4,000; there is only one other really small town and a few villages between the two.

The route on a map appears deceivingly ordinary. Apple Maps will tell you there are only three turns between Anchorage and Homer. That is correct, but the reality on the ground belies the simplicity of a two-dimensional journey through mud flats, mountain passes, river valleys, and seaside cliffs.

In summer no one drives with headlights unless required by law; there are spans along the drive where in winter you can go for an hour without seeing an oncoming car. And don’t make the trek without a full tank of gas because snow can fall any time in Turnagain Pass, and the road is prone to close for plowing.

Each route is emblematic in its own way. There are some logistical similarities, but the drive on I-10 and traversing Alaska’ Seward and Sterling highways really couldn’t be more different.