I found my first taste of freedom crisscrossing cornfields shadowed by windmills in rural Indiana in a hand-me-down Oldsmobile. Burnt CDs from friends and lovers made my small-town life feel cinematic. On the worn leather seats, I came out, I made out, I ran away, I came home, I made homes. Like many queer and trans people before me, I found freedom in the thrum of my tires on asphalt and gravel: safety in flight. And for us, there was no road like the Mother Road, Route 66.