I only rate this as high as a three because it did say that it was a personal journey, a little too personal for my taste. This seems to be an outgrowth of a shallow article on the Mid-Atlantic that Yardley was commissioned to write. People from the region may be a bit suprised to find North Carolina included, but it is necessary for the conceit of the book.

It might be fair to point out that I didn't like Travels with Charlie by John Steinbeck, although that seems to be considered a beloved classic by many people. Steinbeck started losing me in the beginning, boasting about his manliness, and I thought that the whole book was a pretense. His travels were a device to make his opinions seem more significant; they were far too fast and superficial to really allow him to take the pulse of the country. I think he could have written most of what he had to say at his desk without leaving home, but it sounds so more exciting to have our distinguished author seeming to go out in search of the truth. Much the same is true of this book, only it's Travels with My Taurus SHO. (Yardley loved that car.)

Yardley has no home town, having moved around quite a bit in his life, both as man and boy, and been sent to boarding schools for six years, but in the end, he concludes that the entire Mid-Atlantic is home, so we can all stop worrying about his sense of rootlessness. Since some of the most important and satisfying years of his life were spent in North Carolina, he went college at Chapel Hill, it is necessary for him to squeeze that into the Mid-Atlantic States. He also lived in Florida, but trying to include that would really be pushing credulity,

Now that his psyche is taken care of, what is in the book for the rest of us? It is quite a jumble, a mixture of tour guide, diary, personal opinions, a touch of history, no real deep analysis, and no obvious organization. Mostly it consists of a series of fast trips to various places, with his descriptions of the roads taking up almost as much room as his descriptions of the places he visits. We end up with a lot of trivia on motel pools that Yardley swam in, stores and restaurants that he disapproves of, and opinions that he had before he ever set out. While a little bit about the various roads is interesting, in the end, his deliberations on what road to use, how the road differs from a family trip decades before, and what speeds he was driving bore me thoroughly -- he begins to remind me of someone I know who can spend ten minutes telling you that his faucet leaked and he got a plumber to fix it. Some people are charmed by curmudgeons, I find them tedious more often than not. I really ended up having to soldier through this, partly because I wanted to see if someone could really think he had described the region while ignoring the existence of the Chesapeake Bay. Indeed he could. I did give myself permission to quit if he complained for a third time about vinaigrette salad dressings. Yardley wants us to know that he is a preppie, not a yuppie.

There are some highlights: the charm of New Castle, Delaware, or his writing about West Virginia. Significantly, there he had a local brother-in-law to talk to, and so it isn't just a drive-by analysis. He discusses the progress and nonprogress of race relations, a big topic given the demographics of the regions. I enjoyed reading about his visits to the Utz and Rolling Rock factories. On the other hand, I don't care about the centennial parade and details of Roland Park; he anxious for us to understand that he's a regular guy, even if he does live in a famously expensive enclave. I also learned more than I wanted to know about his college reunion and his niece's commencement. Yardley is a well-regarded critic whom some people I know read regularly, perhaps they would care.

I think there is a lot more that Yardley could have said about the region: that almost anywhere that is isn't covered with concrete, it is remarkably green and lush. One transplant from Arizona finds it oppressively green. Much of it would be naturally a forest, and between the variable landscape and the trees (with buldings where there aren't trees), there are almost no horizons unless one is looking out to sea. That in the megalopolis, it is never truly dark and never truly quiet. There is so much light that often the Milky Way is invisible. We are covering some of the nation's best agricultural land with buildings, something more important, I think, than that Yardley doesn't like shopping in outlet malls. ( )