No marcher himself, Woody Guthrie disliked Berlin's song—he thought it too complacent—and wrote "This Land Is Your Land" in response. Recorded with only Guthrie's voice and guitar, the song's rhythm was that of a rambler experiencing and seeking his freedom in "this land," which "was made for you and me." Guthrie would have approved of Roads to Quoz, by William Least-Heat Moon. He would have applauded the author's talent for ignoring the comfortable beat of mass culture we too often march to and instead, setting off "not knowing quite why" and making up a good part of his journey as he goes along.

Least-Heat Moon sets off with a traveling companion, usually his wife, on six different excursions over two-lane roads. The trips in total intersect with most of the lower 48 states. The "why" of these excursions is best summed up as a search for "quoz," a term the author uses to mean "anything strange, incongruous, or peculiar; at its heart is the unknown, the mysterious." In this search, the reader is led down many a verbally and geographically digressive road. It is as though if we precisely define the goal we are looking for we are likely to miss the quoz.

What we find are places, foods, people, stories, landmarks, terrains that would be bypassed if, say, the destination were the Mall of America. Perhaps because of the serendipitous way they are presented, these discoveries seem to be everywhere. However, Moon illustrates how they are threatened in our goal-driven McCulture world. We fear for their disappearance—and then we settle down for a rewarding narrative that takes us into an America we hope to witness first hand. Perhaps, after all, all roads lead to quoz. As Woody Guthrie knew, to get there we may sometimes have to ignore the "no trespassing" sign.