For myself, it is discovering the little things along a route. It might be the sweet corn at an "honour" stand in northern Illinois or perhaps a small town in Wisconsin. It could be the small shop and their owners who are so gracious.
Other times, it is the shrine to St Benedict where i promise to stop each time I pass (and I do - to say a small prayer of thanks).
It is to visit with small town people in those smal;l towns - to trade stories and just good conversation. A good cup of coffee at a Starbucks. It could be the wood smoke hovering over the small town where the gas station is located. It might be the old man and his equally old Lab sitting at the counter. The wink of his eye and his easy smile.
It's the local police (to whom I am not so afraid as in the old days).
The magnificent church I visited whilst awaiting my appointment nearby. The chat with the minister.
It could be revelling in the early day's sun upon fresh hay rolled into huge wheels, whilst inhaling their aroma. The exhiliration of listening to a new audiobook purchased at the Salvation Army store. The bitter, bitter cold and the wind chill of a winter's day. The expectation and bonhommie one feels as Christmas approaches.
I could go on.
Quite simply, it is the freedom as James Herriot felt of being able to stop and enjoy the day's adventure whilst out and about.
Cheers!