Travel and writing seem to go hand in hand for me. Maybe that is simply because I seem to travel all the time and write all time and so they are a forced fit and I could just as well say that traveling and breathing go hand in hand. True, but a rather useless connection to make.
But I don't think so. I get inspired by travel. We just drove a few hundred miles along the Old West Highway in Arizona, turning up to Pumpkin Junction and down to Scottsdale and then back. There is a lot of beautiful country along that route and it ranges from desert to mountainous. We've made the trip quite a few times and I can't help but imagine crossing the country I am seeing in a Conestoga wagon or on horse. I shudder when I see how far away the next bit of green is or the arroyos that need crossing. It's the kind of thing I want to have in mind if I ever write a Western, or even a story about someone crossing beautiful but rather inhospitable terrain.
None of that has much to do with the current works in progress, but that's okay. I took photos and my memories are synched to the sights and sounds and smells (the dog coaches me on the last two). It is all good stuff to store away.