Each chapter is a separate voyage. In one, he traces mahogany’s origins to the remote forests of the Amazon, and wonders what will be lost if a proposed transoceanic highway links the Brazilian and Peruvian coasts. Other trips take him to East Africa, China, Nigeria, and India - places vulnerable to, or already overrun by, the effects of roads.
Conover’s approach is on-the-ground, reported travelogue. He rides with reckless Chinese drivers; he sleeps in the cabs of Peruvian truckers; he walks for days on ice in Ladakh, India. Run-ins with police, thieves, and border guards attest to Conover’s down-and-dirty dedication.
The best chapters, such as his adventures in the West Bank (balanced by spending time with Israeli soldiers on patrol and Palestinians crossing checkpoints), pose the hardest questions. When Conover travels to Ladakh, he finds a valley so remote that the only route out in wintertime is over a frozen river. A new road will open the valley up to year-round access. Some locals welcomed this. Others feared it: “As life sped up . . . people would have less time to pray. And strangers would arrive, people with different beliefs.’’
Short essays serve as transitional material between each major road trip. These cover memories of driving his dad’s Porsche in high school or a meditation on a pet toad brought from New Hampshire to Manhattan and back. Or they breeze through the history of road building - from ancient Rome to the 19th-century redesign of the Parisian urban grid.
