We turned off the interstate to find the Flight 93 crash site – it is a distance away from the highway that takes us along rambling country roads that become part of the Lincoln Highway, the first major highway built in America – which sought to make travel by auto possible, and scenic, as is followed the rise and ebb of the farmlands, meandering westward past scenic farms.
The crash site is a ways off the road, and is in a state of construction; but the first steps are there. There are pull offs with interpretive panels and views of the countryside whose peace was broken on September 11, 2001 with the sound of a jetliner roaring in low over the hills and crashing on a ridge beyond the farms far below. There is a strange sense of quiet here in this scrub filled strip mined landscape that nature is trying to reclaim, perhaps because of the intense media focus on the area long after that tragic day. Even Trixie is a little put off by it.