I wake up several times throughout the night. I had opened up one of those instant hand warmers that campers use and threw it into the bottom of my sleeping bag to keep my feet warm prior to going to bed. The car is freezing, the sleeping bag is warm. The problem was that while my body was insulated, my face was not. I would fall asleep and wake up with my face frozen. I would pull the sleeping bag over my head and go back to sleep and then everything became too warm and I would wake up and expose my face to the air, only to have this cycle repeat several times throughout the night. After a night of restless fits of sleep, I said screw it and at 6:15 AM, I drove down the street to the entrance of Yellowstone.

The entrance booth is surprisingly open this early in the morning. I pay my $25 and the booth ranger tells me to watch out for bison sitting on the road. I thank them and start the drive.

It is pitch black. As I’m driving through the initial stretch, I can’t see anything along the sides of the roads. It is pitch black and I can guess that if there were light, the view would be absolutely amazing. All I can tell is that there is a steep dropoff and I’m sure it’s overlooking a huge lake in a large valley, but I will never know. Yellowstone is taunting me.

At a 9000 foot elevation, it's not only freezing, but the mist hangs low in the morning, completely blanketing the road in a thick haze. The fog hangs significantly thick and heavy in the cold air over the roads and plains. I can barely see a few feet in front of me and I slow down to 15 mph. 13. 12. 10 mph. I brace myself for impact- I’m sure there’s a bison sitting in the road somewhere, just barely out of my line of sight. The car’s thermometer informs me that the temperature has dipped to 27 degrees. Later on the in day, it would hit the upper 40s.

The sun is slowly rising and with the natural hot springs, steam geysers and the like spewing out over the landscape, the mist still hangs heavy in the air and the land takes on a ghostly appearance. At times, it looks like the earth is on fire, smoking from the ground up.

I finally reach the first landmark- Old Faithful. There’s a nice hotel and a supply store nearby and I make a go for the restroom to brush my teeth. One thing I’ve noticed is that the restrooms are all ridiculously clean and well kept at these national parks- they’re nothing like the restrooms at camp grounds or even remotely close to port-o-potties. The money from each $25 admission goes to good use out here. Oh, and another thing I did not realize was that the $25 park admission is good for a week at a time.

I get to the observation deck built around Old Faithful and fortunately I don’t have to wait too long before Old Faithful does its thing. The platform is nice and iced over, and I nearly slip once or twice. Here’s another thing- Old Faithful is not the largest geyser at the park- there are actually some much more impressive geysers at the park, but they go off irregularly- some spanning decades between eruptions. Old Faithful is merely the most reliable in terms of regularity.

A few moments before. There are a couple of smaller starts before you get the full show.

Buen trabajo. At its peak. Much more impressive than the Bellagio, though lacking the synchronization to music. Since it was so cold out, the mist hung in the air much longer.

After it goes off, I glance at the map and plot out a route on the fly- the roads in Yellowstone are considered “highways” but the speed limit is usually around 30 mph and takes a bit of time to get around.

I stop off for a quick look here first.

A quick look on the observation deck and I hop back into the car.

There're actually an incredible number of things to do at Yellowstone, but I decide to check out the hot springs next. It’s around 8 or 9 at the time and the steam rises impressively from the hot springs in the early morning sun.

Who knows how deep these springs go? The coloring is amazing though.

The grounds around the spring are really unsafe and the paths keep you from stepping any foot on the ground.

The springs are amazing, but what you don’t realize is that these are hot sulphur springs, not hot water. The water is boiling and could kill a person, the grounds smell of sulphur, and it reeks of Hell. Or, after standing near the springs and admiring nature, you leave the place smelling of flatulence. I am not sure why they don’t advertise the hot springs as nature’s anus- beautiful and smelly in its own right.

That's right, breathe it all in.

Bison laze about near the road.

Keep in mind these aren't geysers- they're perpetually pumping out steam regardless of time of day.

More steam coming out from the mountain.

I wake up maybe 6 or so in the morning on Saturday and start driving. It is cold and misty. I have not brushed my teeth yet. I make a slight detour from the highway into a desolate area surrounded by forest using my GPS to locate the nearest gas station. While filling up gas, I walk into the convenience store and ask to use their restroom.

“The only restrooms we have are the port-o-potties outside,” the lady points out. The temperature is in the upper thirties, low forties. My mouth tastes terrible.

I grab one of the 20 oz bottles of ozarka in my back seat, my toothpaste, and my toothbrush and head to the port-o-potty. It’s so cold there’s no smell whatsoever in there. I rinse my mouth out and spit in the toilet. And brush my teeth. Rinse, spit. I use the entire bottle of water and finish my morning routine in there. It’s not that bad.

Ok, so maybe that was a low point on the trip, this brushing of the teeth in the port-o-potty. When I recounted this story to my friends, they asked why I couldn’t have just brushed my teeth outside of the port-o-potty. I don’t know, actually. I suppose out here in the middle of nowhere, you try to maintain a sense of civilized behavior. Things happen out here in the wild. No laws. Besides, it was clean in there, as though it had been unused. You wouldn’t understand anyway. You weren’t there.

I continue along the way- it’s some 13 hours from Seattle to Yellowstone- one of the longest stretches on the trip. A gas station in Montana advertises some of the cheapest gas I’ve seen on the trip- $2.69/gallon. I chug Monster drinks on long stretches such as these- not that I’m particularly tired while driving during the day, but because I’ve grown slightly accustomed to their taste after a while.

With the iPod and cds that were loaned to me stolen, I pull out my old binder of cds I had burned some 10 years ago out of my back seat. There’s an eclectic mix of cds- oldies, trance, pop, hip-hop. The cds are like that one contestant’s eggs on The Bachelor- they were rotting. The songs further along each cd would skip- all those cds I had burned years ago were slowly deteriorating from the outside in. Each cd I listen to transports me back to that particular time period when I heard them. Backstreet Boys plays at one point, which I suppose is slightly embarrassing, but not embarrassing enough to belt out along to. At one point, I have B4-4’s "Endlessly" endlessly on repeat. Then Joey McIntyre’s "I love you came too late". These are the types of songs that will probably get lost when people look back at 90's music.

As the sun sets, I get closer to Yellowstone. From this sign, it's maybe another hour or so driving to the entrance. At this altitude, the temperature fluctuates between the 30s and upper 60’s. There’s snow on the ground when it’s even 60 degrees and sunny, but that’s on account of the altitude.

I finally get to Yellowstone around 8. Well, it looks like I’m close but I’m nowhere near the entrance- maybe half an hour away. It’s pitch black outside save for a few lots here and there on the way to the entrance. Then, all of a sudden, a small town lights up the scenery and I’m finally there. I like that there’s a small town (shops/restaurants/gas/hotels lined along the main street leading to the entrance and maybe one or two intersecting streets) near the entrance and that the area is well lit.

It’s freezing by now and I end up at Bullwinkles’ for dinner, a restaurant that resembles a lodge inside. The place is crowded, but that's because it's one of maybe 5 choices for dinner out here.

Dinner consists of Moose Drool brown ale...

...and a buffalo tenderloin. Not very gamey, tastes almost like regular tenderloin.

There’s not much else to do out there so after dinner, I go back to my car and try to pick out a safe place to spend the night in my car. I consider sleeping under a street light on the main street, but in the end I decide for safety in numbers and park my car in the crowded parking lot of a nearby Best Western. I pull out my sleeping bag and try to nod off.

This will be the second night in a row that I’ve slept in my car on this trip. In my head, I rationalize that sleeping 2 nights in a row in my car is like saving $500. I mean, two nights in a Renaissance is like, $500, so I’ve "paid" for that broken window in Seattle with these past two nights. And I mean, I totally would have been sleeping in a Renaissance hotel otherwise, right?

Friday morning I pick up the car and head out for Vancouver, the last of the cities in North America that I’ve always wanted to visit (Seattle being the second last). It has rained every day that I’ve been in Seattle and the rain was now following me to the Canadian border.

I have switched on the radio. I judge how conservative a city is by the song "Let It Rock" by Kevin Rudolf. If they don’t play the part with Lil Wayne in the song (which pushes the song from meh to not too shabby), then it’s a conservative city (yes, yes, I know some cities have two stations playing each version, but many only have one top 40 station).

First time I've ever been able to catch the elusive double rainbow.

As I approached the Canadian border, I recalled all the random articles I had read from conservatives these past few months, calling the Canadians a bunch of socialists, as though they ate their own babies. Sure, my car was broken into in Seattle and the specter of the KKK wasn’t too far away, but man, socialists.

At the border, I was too busy being excited about visiting Vancouver and failed to notice the sign that said to remain behind the line until the car in front of you was cleared. I moved up right behind the car in front of me and when I got to the booth, the agent was pretty curt with me. He was all, “Next time, stay behind the yellow line.” Then he launched into a barrage of questions- “Is this car yours?” “How much cash are you bringing in? What is your credit limit?” “Where are you from?” “What’s your job?” among a slew of others (I'm not making this up). I wondered if my beard had anything to do with it.

My first goal upon reaching Seattle was, of course, to get something to eat. I parked in a garage downtown and headed off in search of Japa Dog, highly recommended by urbanspoon. I walked for a few blocks and noticed that the Vancouverites were quite bundled up, everyone dressed in winter attire. It was maybe 60 degrees F outside and here I was comfortably strolling around in shorts and a t-shirt. It actually wasn’t that cold. Oh, and there were a huge amount of Asians just walking around. Living in Texas, you kind of forget about diversity unless you’re walking around say Chinatown or whichever ethnic neighborhood you happen to drive through. After my gps failed to direct me to the restaurant, I went into a building and asked where Japa Dog was. It turns out, it’s a hot dog cart.

I went with the terimayo, which tasted distinctly Japanese while being very hot dog at the same time. It was delicious. Teriyaki sauce, Japanese mayo, and fried onion seaweed.

After devouring the hot dog, I headed off in search of my next eating destination- a handmade ramen house not too much further away by car. I parked in a small neighborhood nearby and walked in. There was a line for Kintaro’s. The place was distinctly Japanese and popular.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall joint that’s about 90% Japanese customers. There aren’t many tables and most patrons just eat at the counter and you can watch them make the ramen.

All these beers taste the same as their U.S. counterparts.

Each of those handles contains an order's worth of ramen. I went with the miso ramen. Rich. Lean. The preparation of the ramen was mesmerizing. There is one single non-japanese guy in the joint who kept looking around. He was also a single diner like me.

Then, the ramen arrived. Miso ramen. Bean sprout, onion, menma, green onion, corn and BBQ pork. Sporting the tag of "Kintaro's BEST!!", it's ramen noodle in soup flavored with a blend of soy bean pastes from four different Japanese regions and twelve spices. I went with the pork prepared lean (you know, tryin' to be healthy and all). The soup was absolutely delicious with a complex mixture of flavors that didn't come off as heavy. Broth was so rich, it was in a higher tax bracket than me and, in fact, voted for lower capital gains taxes in the last election.

Full, I decided to check out a nearby attraction- the Lynn Canyon Park suspension bridge. Oh, and on a side note, driving around at 100 kph is not as satisfying as it sounds. The Lynn Canyon Park suspension bridge is not nearly as long as the other suspension bridge in Vancouver, but there is one main difference- this one was free.

When I got to the park, the forested area was in a cold mist, constantly fueled by the waterfall and rapids nearby.

Waterfall flowing beneath the bridge. There are numerous warning signs near the bridge as several people have died falling into the rushing water, having shoes shattered upon impact.

One of the steel cables anchoring the bridge.

I tried to take some pictures from the suspension bridge, but every time someone stepped on that thing, the bridge would bounce like crazy. I waited patiently for a lull in people on the bridge and gave up when a group of Japanese tourists some 20 strong showed up and marched across the bridge military style. At that point, I just gave up and went with the flow.

The suspension bridge. I was expecting something a little more along the lines of something from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom-type suspension bridge, not this metal-floored construction.

It was late afternoon by the time I was done and I decided I would just get a bite for dinner and be on my way back to Seattle, ready to start the long 12 hour drive to Yellowstone in the morning. I made my way to Ganache Patisserie, and after navigating the streets for far too long, I realized that it was closed. Also, there happen to be very few protected lefts on many streets out in Vancouver which makes it a bit annoying to navigate through.

Disappointed by my failed venture, I ended up at the Metropolis- an enormous mall rivaling the Mall of America. I walked at a brisk pace, trying to cover as much ground as I could at the mall and see as much as I could. I walked into an amazing, large comic book store right smack dab in the mall.

It is getting late now and I am out of food ideas in Vancouver. I finally stop off at a random fish and chips restaurant next to a convenience store to buy some Canadian snacks and some Monster for the night drive back to Seattle. At the fish ‘n chips, a slightly effeminate asian man in his late 30’s / early 40’s strikes up a conversation with me when he sees my camera. The store is small, seating no more than maybe 4 people at one counter. It is also empty save for the effeminate asian man and an old Caucasian lady. The asian man is particularly chatty and I am tired, but I smile and am polite. He was from San Fran and had traveled through the US by himself much like I was, except he was far more traveled and stayed at places much longer than I did. Strangers tend to talk to me and tell me their life story, which is not always unwelcome, He asks me if he should get an MBA. He had just moved to Vancouver some 6 months ago and just moved to see what it was like out there. I wondered if I were looking at myself from the future.

The fish and chips (finally) came out and they were not as light and flaky as I wanted them to be, but still, I enjoy fish and chips in general so I was not too disappointed by the meal. For a hole in the wall out in the middle of nowhere in a seemingly shady part of town, the food was not bad. It wasn't particularly heavy batter (Denny's uses a horrible batter that's heavy) and service was excellent (possibly because I was the only customer in the place).

Google maps indicates that it is 2 hours and 30 minutes to Seattle from Vancouver. I am driving back on a Friday night. At the border, the guard asks, “What’s your business?” “I’m traveling around the states for 3 weeks. Just in Vancouver for the day.” “Meats? Produce?” “Nope” “Fruit?” “Nope.” KTHXBAI. Considerably nicer than the Canadian border guard from that afternoon.

I am shuffling through the radio stations. On 96.1 on this Friday night, they are playing Chinese music on this station. The rain becomes a torrential downpour. Rain is a constant on this trip. I slow down the car. It is now more than 2 ½ hours of driving. I am getting sleepy from the constant pitter patter of rain and the swishing of the windshield wipers. Then P.Y.T. comes on the radio and I am wide awake again.

I am finally in Seattle and it is 11 PM. The roads in Seattle are terrible and poorly designed-  roads fork, twist, trident even, and all unclearly. You could be crossing an intersection and in the middle of the fork in the intersection is another traffic light that stops you in the middle of the intersection and fits only one car at that stop light.

I spend the next 1 ½ hours looking for a safe place to sleep. I wanted to sleep in a rest area, but the signs there said 2 hours max.

Sleeping in the car presents some challenges. First off, I needed to use the restroom. Not wanting to do business in the street, I spend an hour driving with my gps on pointing me out to 2 or 3 7-11s and 2 Shell gas stations. None of these have any public restrooms and I really have to go now. I give up- I had done my due diligence in trying to be a good citizen and I ended up in a nice neighborhood in a darkly lit area. I pretend to pull out my phone to chat and do my business in the bushes.

I decided to go to a dimly lit street that appeared to be pretty safe and slept in my down sleeping bag in my reclined driver’s seat near a Residence Inn near downtown Seattle.

At the start of the second week of the trip, Jennifer was able to take enough time off to accompany me on the road trip to Seattle. I had never traveled with Jennifer before, but luckily she travels very light and her luggage managed to cram into the back of my already over-packed Corolla. I had joked the entire time in San Francisco when I would start to tell her something but stopped myself, saying that WE HAD TO RATION THE CONVERSATION. I am not a big talker, so for a trip lasting some 12 hours from San Francisco to Seattle, I wanted to have things to chat about on the trip since I am not all that interesting like my internet counterpart.

Our first stop was just outside of San Francisco, where we stopped at a random mall that contained wonder of wonders- a Chic-Fil-A out in the middle of California. Chic-Fil-A, I believe, is primarily a Texan franchise and to find one all the way out on the west coast was a bit of home for a displaced Texan like Jennifer. It was a pretty pleasant start to the trip (and you people are missing out if you have never had Chic-Fil-A).

Halfway to Seattle, somewhere in Oregon, I believe, we randomly made a stop at Seven Feathers casino. I had been driving for several hours and I don’t think Jennifer was accustomed to long road trips as I had been doing the past week, so I thought a break was in order. We got inside the casino and it was as roadside a casino as any. The place was sparse (in part because it was Monday) and we sat down at the blackjack table.

And by sat down, I mean Jennifer sat down and I stood behind her, not wanting to jinx her luck. I am terrible at gambling, just downright unlucky with it. But Jennifer seemed to be on a hot streak that day as she sat at the table of rowdy senior citizens. Everyone was nice- no one got mad when someone hit when they weren’t supposed to and that’s how gambling really should be like. We left half an hour later with Jennifer up in her winnings.

We missed out on quite a few detours that I had wanted to check out, like the Oregon Vortex and pretty much Oregon in general because Jennifer had to drop off Bao at the airport that morning so we had a late start. You have to remember, though, that on journeys like this, the landmarks and attractions are the skeleton of the trip, but the people you meet along the way and interact with flesh out the entire body. We drove from San Francisco that morning at 10 AM and didn’t arrive until 1 AM, chatting pretty much the entire way. Conversations on road trips are like the types of conversations you have with people after 2 AM on IM or after a few drinks- you talk about anything and everything, and that’s much more memorable than any piddling roadside attractions.

At 1:15 AM, we checked into the inn in downtown Seattle. It wasn’t bad- a step up from a motel, but not quite a hotel. I looked out the window from the room and the bright neon sign across the street for “Little Darlings” blared back.

---

Tuesday morning started off with a visit to Top Pot Doughnut, a nice-looking doughnut shop nearby. The interior was pretty nice, but the doughnuts left me wanting.

The glazed doughnut I got was a bit overly sweet, as was the blended frozen drink I got with it. I probably gave my future unborn children cavities from this meal. I gave up trying to finish it and we headed off to the spa/massage. Jennifer had figured after such a long drive, we’d be pretty tense, and I figured, sure, why not? and went in for the second massage I’ve ever had in my life.

For lunch, we went and had Cuban sandwiches from a recommendation from Seo. Pretty delicious, I like that it was served on a baguette-type bread like how banh mis are served. I got the pork one, which was mildly fatty. The sandwich is an absolute mess to eat with the contents dripping and falling off everywhere, but well worth it.

After lunch, we ended up catching Paranormal Activity, which had just come out. As big of a chicken as I am, I like watching scary movies and so we caught an early afternoon showing of it. I spent much of the movie’s night-time scenes with my hands over my eyes watching through the cracks of my fingers and I probably scared Jennifer more than the movie did.

After the movie, we hit up Pike Place Market and I marveled at the produce and seafood and floral displays.

Jennifer took me out for some of the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had at Beecher’s.

They make their cheese on site. Jennifer also bought me a hunk of bacony-flavored smoked cheese which I would be icing down in the cooler the rest of the trip.

I also walked into, and quickly out, of the original Starbucks (ho hum).

We rendezvoused with Paul, a friend from UT days, and their friend Arnold at Wasabi Bistro.

Escolar was pretty fantastic.

I can't recall what this is, but it tasted kind of funny. I think it was hawaiian style something or other.

It was then during the meal that I had mentioned that I would be heading off to Yellowstone after Seattle when Arnold replied, “Whatever you do, don’t stop at any gas stations in any small towns on the way out there. That’s like the Great Aryan Nation’s headquarters!” I had never heard of that, but that’s not the sort of thing you’d make up out of nowhere. So, to add to my trip checklist: try not to get lynched. Check.

Later that night, we hit up some 3 or so wine bars, grabbing a glass and moving to the next location like a pair of wine snipers.

Pork belly slider at one of the wine bars. I think the place was called like Gastro Pub or something. They should make a Cuban gastronomy restaurant called "Fidel Gastro".

---

Wednesday, Jennifer and I head out to grab a meal and I discover a large garbage bag taped over my driver’s side window. My first thought was, "Well, that was a considerate thief." Then I realized that the hotel had put that over my window after discovering my car had been broken into that morning.

I had hidden all my valuables, but apparently leaving my gps mounting bracket on the windshield tipped them off. It was a quick smash and grab job- 2 gps mounting brackets stolen, 2 gps chargers, my dad’s 3 year old Magellan GPS unit, the 6 year old iPod mini Tramanh had lent me, my compact camera bag (with 512mb sd card and no compact camera inside), and all the cds Donny had lent me.

At the start of the trip, I borrowed my dad’s gps unit because I knew it had maps of Canada. I also brought along my new Garmin gps unit too for stateside use. I left the Garmin in the center compartment under the radio, while my dad’s gps was in the console/armrest between the driver and passenger seats. It was a quick smash and grab because the glove compartment was open (nothing in there) and they ransacked pretty much everything in the console/armrest, but for some reason did not think to look for my second newer gps unit.

When you get your car broken into, a part of you rages at the immediate violation of privacy. I was on a budget and here I am stuck with a broken window that will end up costing $480 to replace, less than the $500 insurance deductible. None of the stolen items exceeds the homeowners insurance threshold. All for maybe some goods that would fetch maybe $40 in a pawn shop.

Then I remembered, where’s my camera bag? The one with all my trip pictures thus far. The one with over $4k in camera equipment. Oh, there it is, right in the back seat behind the driver’s side, untouched. My hundred dollars in asian beef jerky I bought while in LA? Sitting in the trunk completely untouched. And heck, I still had my newer GPS unit. Life is never fair, and this road trip would be no different. Yes, I am going to lose money replacing this window. Yes, I lost my friend’s old iPod mini they had loaned me for this trip. Yes, I lost my dad’s GPS. Yes, I lost my other friend’s cds they gave me for this trip. But in the grand scheme of things, it could have been worse.

When that window broke, I thought it was bad real bad Michael Jackson, but in the end, I was not mad real mad Joe Jackson. But I am bothered by this turn of events, and I feel bad for Jennifer who then had to accompany me to Target to try to fix this mess.

Fortunately, the Inn we are staying at happens to be right across the street from a Toyota dealership. If I were in Houston, I could probably get my window fixed for about $180, but I was in another city and I would be heading to Montana Saturday (and I could not have a garbage bag taped to my window right next to my ear at 80mph) and this was the only game in town. The guy at the dealership tells me if I bring the car in bright and early Friday morning, he can get it fixed, and I’d be on my way that morning. Of course, the total cost estimate falls in just under the $500 deductible

For a moment, I had visions in my head of claiming all my camera equipment as stolen, surpassing the insurance deductible and getting back at the universe for this unfair turn of events. Besides, no one would be the victim in this case. But then my dad’s words rung in my head, how he always used to say, “Character is doing the right thing when no one is looking.” But will character and integrity pay for my bills? No, none of them would. In the end, I decided to just do the right thing. My family has never been rich, but we've always lived honestly. Integrity sure is expensive. I ponder somewhat sadly my dwindling bank account and wonder if it was a sign that all this was a bad idea.

The parts guy tells me the car would be ready by 9 AM tomorrow morning. I ask him if I could get it any earlier. I tell him that I heard it was not safe driving through at night on the way to Yellowstone, you know, on account of the kkk being there. The parts guy, a nice black man, laughs, “Oh man, you mean the ‘Great Aryan Nation’? Man, they set up and were run out of town. I’ve been going camping out there and it’s perfectly fine.” In fact, the only time he had seen racism was in Houston. 1981, as a freshman in high school in Sharpstown. Some clan guys were protesting at the library in hooded robes and everything. And here I had never thought Houston to be the type. Interesting.

That night we try out dinner at Zoe in downtown Seattle.

La bella farms seared foie gras with lovage puree, compressed apple, and pan vinaigrette. Can't really screw up foie gras.

I think this was the anderson valley lamb belly with turnips, honey roasted figs, watercress, tarragon, and walnuts. Can't really screw up lamb belly either.

The whole hog with braised kale, black eyed peas, currants, and apples. So apparently they buy an entire hog and when they're done with it, they throw in everything leftover together and turn it into this dish. It might be the equivalent of meatloaf? But with more breading and pork-based. It was a bit salty, and not very impressive.

Washington lamb loin with warm potato salad, nicoise olives, confit sweet peppers, and creamy duck yolk. This one was much better than the whole hog. Plus, with duck yolk!

---

On Thursday, Jennifer was nice enough to take me out to a surprise early birthday lunch, and I dropped her off at the airport for her flight back to San Francisco. It was back to going about solo.

That night, I tried out Umi sushi house.

Tuna and wild king salmon. Both delicious.

Omakase- I don't know why I always order the chef's special because it's always a mix of items that I am not particularly fond of. Assorted fish that are too fishy-tasting. Octopus. Overall would not do business with this dish again. But I'm sure the quality of the food is delicious as the tuna and salmon were good. I’m sure if I had gone with the more standard menu items, I would have been much more pleasantly surprised.

Hou hou shu sparkling sake. I always liked sparkling sakes, almost as much as cold unfiltered sakes.

Nope, didn't go up the Space Needle. This is all you get.

Saturday, Jennifer (with her cousins Bao and David visiting in town at the same time) took us all out to a nearby pho restaurant.

I don't know why I found these zoo ads so hilarious. "IT'S A GORILLA!"

Penelope is pretty hard to photograph.

View of the rooftops from Jennifer's place.

For some reason I found the "Rubbish" to be amusing.

Everyone was pretty tired, so plans for Napa were a no-go. Instead, we ended up wandering over to the nearby Japantown, which I actually never knew existed.

I suggested catching a random Japanese movie- K-20 starring Takeshi Kaneshiro- and while waiting for the movie to start, we headed over to the mini mall across the street for some of my favorite things- Robots, crepes, and japanese picture machines.

K-20 turned out to be a pretty entertaining, somewhat mindless summer blockbuster flick. Though we had nothing planned for that Saturday, I always like random days where nothing is planned and you just go with it. For dinner, Bao, Jennifer and I ate at Zuni, which I cannot for the life of me remember what we ate. We then headed out to Bruno's (which may or may not have been in the meathead district, I am terrible with directions), and Jennifer played a pretty impressive wingwoman for Bao that night.

---

Sunday, I wanted to go check out Napa. But first, an obligatory stop at In-n-Out.

Now that's what I'm talkin' about.

Jennifer, who is always out in that area (I think at one point it was like weekly) served as our tour guide and at each winery we stopped at, we were greeted with the enthusiasm of "Here's your mother effin' winery."

Ok, so she didn't really say that, but man, that's how I'd feel if I had to drive out-of-towners to Nasa every week (well, except you can drink at Napa, but not at Nasa).

We also stopped off at Bouchon Bakery which had macarons which were okay but not fantastic.

I think it was because they were the size of small plates, rather than bite-sized.

Artesa winery was closed by the time we reached it so I didn't get to enjoy the spectacular view I saw the last time I went with my cousins to Sonoma a few years ago.

Back at home. Penelope looking melancholy.

That evening, Jennifer treated us to a pretty generous multi-coursed home cooked meal. I chose this bottle of wine from Trader Joe's purely based on the fact that there was a dog on the label.

Pretty impressive and impressively delicious. Sometimes the best foods you eat while on adventures are the ones you won't find in any restaurants.

After finishing up the grove, I headed out for the west entrance of the park bound for San Francisco. I was stuck on Kings of Convenience "I Don't Know What I Can Save You From" Royksopp remix for a good portion of the trip, which is good for leisurely country drives. The "highways" in Yosemite (about 32 miles from where I was to the exit) took about an hour to navigate through, and the speed limit usually runs about 30 mph to minimize car accidents with the wildlife.

A scenic overlook with Half Dome in the background.

The valley with color

A squirrel just relaxing.

Just before arriving in San Francisco, I stopped by for my first In-n-Out of the trip. I don't think I'm a fan of animal style fries.

I get to San Francisco late in the afternoon during rush hour and I hit my first annoyance of the road trip. Sure, LA had traffic, but it was still freely moving. This, however, this rush hour was dreadful. Where the cars stop on the highway. I was frozen and eventually headed off the freeway as quickly as possible and let the GPS figure out an alternate route. I met up at Jennifer's residence in San Fran, which, apparently, is just a block away from Danielle Steele's mansion. We had originally planned to check out French Laundry when I was there (we were number one on the wait list) but decided on the much ballyhooed Chez Panisse as the backup plan.

Had a bottle of wine.

Eggplant, tomato, and cucumber salads.

Local spot shrimp with lime, lemon, and green coriander. These were delicious, a little like mini-lobsters the way crawfish are not.

Grilled rack and loin of Cattail Creek lamb with hand-rolled couscous and black-eyed peas. Delicious morsels of lamb, very tender and moist.

Black Mission fig puff pastry tartlet with raspberry ice cream. I am not a big fan of figs as the primary dish, but it was not bad for what it was. Overall, Chez Panisse is good for the price range, but not particularly astounding amongst its peers.

Oh and this is Jennifer's super cute dog Penelope.

Super cute, docile and, at 90 lbs and maybe 6 months, still just a puppy.

Friday morning I wake up and it's freezing. I had only given myself enough time at these national parks for just the morning to explore, not realizing how much there was to see and how long it would take to get to each of the landmarks. Keeping in mind the time, I headed off to the nearby Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias. It's really difficult to capture on camera the grandiosity of these behemoths of the forest, but that doesn't mean I won't try.

The size of the bases of these trees is astounding.

I was headed for the further part along the trail- the Fallen Tunnel Tree. It'd be a good hour trekking there and back.

One of the first things you encounter on the trail is one of the fallen giant sequoias. Though massive, their root structure is surprisingly shallow.

They're pretty resistant to decay and the elements, and some have been brought down with controlled burning to help the forest growth.

The walk up to the Grizzly Giant, the largest in the grove. If plants became sentient and walked around like Lord of the Rings, this one would rule them all.

There's a bit of a blueish tinge to the trees in the scorched parts that I like a lot.

Huge is an understatement. It's a leviathan amongst trees. Each of its branches are easily the size of a tree itself.

The surviving tunnel tree. There were also some tunnel trees on the way from San Fran to Seattle, but they were too much of a detour to get to.

The Faithful Couple- two sequoias that grew so close together they eventually merged.

FOR ALL ETERNITY.

The telescope tree.

You walk into the base and look straight up into it.

And finally, the fallen tunnel tree, shattered in sections.

The most famous tree, you used to be able to drive your cart right straight through it. Apparently, one heavy winter, a huge amount of snow on its branches brought the whole thing crashing down.

Oh yeah, going in October, a lot of national park stuff is closed for the season. Like this restroom.

The colors out here are spectacular too.

I mean, just look at it. LOOK AT IT.

It is Thursday morning and I have driven for over 30 hours since the start of this trip. Being in Santa Monica has dropped my moving average a few notches, but we'll see if we can't pick it up a bit.

Upon leaving Jeannie and Neal's place, I was informed that Domo Kun had made an appearance at 7-11, so I stopped by and picked up the collectible cup and overpriced straw with luchadomo kun.

I also bought a hot dog in a paper domo kun hot dog container. I'm such a sucker.

I left LA in search of the Singing Road, an hour and a half away in the middle of a grid of streets in the middle of nowhere. You may have heard it famously in the Honda commercial (but I don't really watch TV, so I never saw it).

I started off at the recommended speed limit of 55 mph and starting laughing because I felt ridiculously absurd, driving over this singing road in the middle of a road trip around the US which was probably not the best idea but here I was anyway.

Because it's so out there, I drove over it another two times, once going at a slower rate to change the tone of the song.

Half an hour away, I ended up at the Mojave Air & Space Port, famous for being a launch site for the likes of Burt Rutan's x-prize for independent commercial space travel. I got there at 11:15 AM and called the office, unable to find the entrance. The lady on the other end informed me that tours end at 11 AM and start back up at 2 PM. I was disappointed and told her I had driven all the way from Texas and, as I was heading to Yosemite, I couldn't wait until 2. That's when the Texas connection was made- she was from the small town of Benton and told me, wait, they only stopped tours between 11-2 just in case someone needed the van for refueling purposes. But since I was from Texas, she told me I could go on the tour and if anyone needed refueling, they would just stop the tour and give me my money back. Relieved, I pulled up into the parking lot.

Three bikers happened to be riding around the area and they happened to pull up a few minutes after I did. During the tour, I got to chatting with them and they were 3 friends (in their thirties) who were on the return trip from a three day road trip up the west coast. Road warriors, much like myself, except on bikes. I told them to about the singing road not too far back, though I wondered how well it would work on a motorcycle.

Unfortunately, the boneyard tour didn't allow cameras, as the boneyard is not just a graveyard for planes, but also a temporary storage site for functioning planes, and those who parked their planes there for sale didn't want anyone to think those planes were in disrepair in the event of a sale. The tour wasn't particularly impressive, but it was neat to see some of the planes in their various states of dilapidation. Apparently, scenes in Waterworld(!) and Executive Decision were filmed at this boneyard in the desert. They built an enormous pool out here and with hollywood magic made it look like an entire ocean for scenes in Waterworld. They've also filmed a Disney movie or two and quite a few car commercials.

After I thanked the place for the tour and said bye to the bikers, I was on my way to Yosemite. The first week of this road trip was already almost over. I felt a sudden urgency to listen to all the music that had been given me. Tramanh had 544 songs on the iPod mini, Donny had given me cds. Would there be a quiz at the end of this trip? Would Donny and I have the following exchange?

     Donny: What song did you like best on that CD?
     Me: Uhhh the first one?
     Donny: WRONG! That was a blank cd!

I reached the south entrance of Yosemite about an hour before sunset. I vaguely recall going to Yosemite when I was little, but the memories are vague and fleeting. I headed straight to the tourist information center in the small "city" of Wawona inside the park, which seemed more like a camp site, a large hotel, and a gas station. I asked, with the remaining daylight, what was the thing to see at sunset. I was pointed out to glacier point for a fantastic view of the Half Dome. The ranger would be giving a talk at sunset. I jumped into my car and headed straight for the point.

The first thing I realized about these national parks is that they are ENORMOUS. It takes forever to get from one place to another. The drive is quite picturesque, with its winding roads surrounded by trees. I finally made it to glacier point about half an hour before sunset.

Another thing you do not realize on account of the elevation, you pick up every radio station around the area. This may sound awesome, but there’s just way too much cross-interference among most of the stations. In fact, if you’re using one of those FM radio transmitters for an iPod or an mp3 player, you’re not going to find any open stations to transmit in your car.

Picturesque lookout point.

That Ansel, he's so hot right now.

A ranger was apparently giving a talk at sunset at this scenic vantage point and there was quite a bit of a turnout to hear it. He was a kindly old man who seemed like a throwback to the Andy Griffith days. He gave an entertaining talk on the history of Yosemite and the history behind the very lookout point itself. For instance, back in the day, they used to throw all the ashes from the large bonfire held on the cliff every day over the side at sunset, causing a pretty amazing fire trail into the valley below. They stopped mainly because the crowds that gathered to watch it in the valley below were trampling the meadow from the constant traffic. The crowd turnout, for a Thursday in October, was surprisingly large.

As the sun set

After the talk, one of the tourists with binoculars reported seeing someone jump off Half Dome, but never saw a parachute open. We suspect he was doing that cliff diving business and not actually suicidal, but the ranger radioed it in just in case.

A few minutes after the sun was out of view.

After the sun had gone down, I tried to figure out where to camp out for the night. I didn't expect the temperatures to be in the 30's (there was snow on the road when it was reading in the 40s and 50s, on account of the elevation). If I set up camp, I would probably die overnight, so I decided I would try to sleep in my car. I drove down to the city of Wawona and decided to have dinner at the only place open- the historic Wawona hotel. It looks very grand in an old-fashioned way, a little bit like a plantation house out in the middle of the woods.

In the waiting area as I waited to be seated, a piano player sang old timey songs.

Grilled spice-rubbed flatiron steak. Pretty good, though the pinot noir that accompanied it was awful.

Apple blueberry crisp.

After a rather nice dinner for a restaurant in the middle of a national park, I went out to my car in the lot and drove around to a more discreet side. I wanted to sleep in some place that was relatively safe so I parked in a line of cars and pulled out my sleeping bag and reclined the front seat. It just so happened that the guy in the car right next to mine had the same idea of camping out in his car and, as I laid down in my sleeping bag for the night, he was quite surprised to see me sleeping in my car as well and looked over several times. I thought, "Chill, dude. We in the same boat here. You don't say anything, I don't say nothing and this never happened."

Tuesday.

It's 5 1/2 hours to drive from Phoenix to LA. Jeannie lives in Santa Monica, so it's a little bit further than that. I'd been driving for almost 20 hours since I left on Sunday (it was now Tuesday morning), with about 42 minutes stopped.

My morning routine throughout the entire course of this road trip is this:

     - Wake up.
     - Down ibuprofen for my bruised knee (it'd been only a week since I came back from Beijing)
     - Eat a small bag of chips.
     - Eating some beef jerky.
     - Down a bottle of water.

In motels across America, I have left a trail of bottles with a message inside, and that message is that it is transfat free!

The radio is my Wilson. I am castaway, but instead of an ocean and an island, it is an ocean of asphalt and gravel, the islands are rest stops. Sometimes I find myself talking to the radio randomly, to fill the emptiness in the car. No, Blackeyed Peas, it is not imperative for me to get that boom boom boom, but yes, as a matter of fact, I will fill up your cup. (Mazeltov!)

During the hours of boredom, when I feel like snacking, there is some satisfaction in the lottery of chips. It's a 24 pack of chips, ranging from Doritos, Cheetos, Lay's, and Fritos. When I want chips, I will dig my hand into the bag in the back seat and, without looking, pull one out, hoping it is the one I am thinking of. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. It is a game. A boring, stupid game. but a game, nonetheless. Anything that makes the hours on the road just a little bit shorter, no matter how mundane, is worthwhile.

By the time I reach California, I am hung up on the Velvet Teens' "Counting Backwards" and Junior Boys' "In the Morning", both on repeat on Tramanh's iPod mini. I spend most of my crotch pennies and dimes on $1.84 of chapstick at a gas station near the California border. It was $2.65 for gas in Arizona, and now it's $3.33. Welcome to California. I realized later that gas wasn't THAT expensive in California, it was just that that particular gas station just happened to charge $.20 more per gallon than others (most likely because there was nothing else around).

I am pretty sure these are the dinosaurs from that nintendo movie The Wizard.

I stop off at a Carl's Jr. because they don't have any around where I live and I always associate it with road trips and give the $6 dollar guacamole and bacon burger a try (bacon was limp. depressing). After eating it, I feel instant regret and kind of gross, actually.

I get to Jeannie's a little after noon. Donny had given me a travelogue before starting the trip. I had planned to use my Moleskine to chronicle everything, but a gift is a gift. My travelogue at this point is like a teenage girl- filling out at an alarming rate. With hours on the road, you end up with an active mind and plenty of stupid thoughts.

Jeannie's brushes

Then we went out to La Bolsa, about an hour away from Santa Monica. It seems every time Jeannie is around, I end up in Chinatown in whatever city I'm in. Here is Jeannie with a ridiculously enormous cabbage. I mean, who really needs that much cabbage? Unless you're planning on making kim chi, I suppose.

That ain't 2 lbs. The thing actually circled it once, meaning it was close to 12 lbs. Pretty much the bowling ball of vegetables.

That night, as per Jeannie's usual hosting skills when I am in town, she asks me to drive her to Walmart and we end up there for like 2 hours, bringing to mind the time I visited her in Japan and we took a long train ride out to Costco.

I pick up some spray-on sunscreen, which would prove invaluable for this trip. After a few days of driving, my arms have become pretty sunburnt. You’re driving in straight sunlight in the middle of the day and there is no tinting on these windows nor windshield. Later on in the trip, once I hit the higher elevations, the sunlight gets worse and my skin sparkles like diamonds. The sunscreen helps plenty and I use it for the majority of the road trip.

Later that night we went to a diner nearby for dinner.

It's like when Past & Presents closed, this place bought up every last bit of merchandise on clearance and slammed it onto the walls and ceilings.

Country fried steak was a little disappointing (I suppose Houston's down south cookin' obviously trumps it). I also had the worst garlic fries in my life here. It's kind of hard to screw it up, but they just had random bits of raw garlic that didn't even adhere to the fries. Seriously?

---

Wednesday morning I wake up on Jeannie's couch and hear no signs of Jeannie nor Neal being awake. I go back to sleep. This happens until 11 or 12. It turns out Jeannie was doing the same thing- she woke up, saw me asleep, and went back to bed. It is a ridiculous cycle, but the most sleeping in I have done thus far.

This is a gourd way to start the day.

Breakfast. Simple. Tasty.

We visit Vivien today, whom I have not seen since my business travels brought me out to California. Vivien and Ian live in Orange County in a beautiful gated community at the top of a hill. It reminded me a little bit of a princess living in a secluded castle for some reason.

Her cute puppy.

We had lunch at Curry House.

Tasty curry with corn soup.

Delicious coffee gelatin dessert.

We went to a nearby tea house and like an old man I ordered a pot of tea as we sat outside and chatted.

So based on recommendations, Jeannie and Neal take me out to Honey Pig. I don't even know how people find this place.

Paper thin rice wrapping for the korean bbq. This is going to be one messy meal.

Quite possibly the best korean bbq I've ever had in my life. Special fatty pork belly grilled on top. Kim chi on the side, along with seasoned bean sprouts. You wrap it all up and dip it in sauce and just go at it.

At the end, they mix rice and lettuce onto it and make sort of a fried rice. This would be delicious, but there was too much cooked lettuce, and limp leafy greens that are supposed to be crispy I am not a fan of.

Jeannie asked the owner if we could get the Honey Pig lighter and he gave us two! What a nice man. One of my fave souvenirs from the road trip.

I wake up bright and early on Monday morning and hit the road. I had a few options for the Arizona stretch of the trip. Visiting the Titan Missile Museum- the last nuclear missile silo in the US (8 hours and 11 minutes away). Stop off at The Thing (on the way). Visiting the Longhorn Bar & Grill (20 minutes from the missile museum). Or visiting the Davis Monthan Airforce Base (8 hours away). I went with the Davis Monthan Airforce Base, home of the airplane boneyard tours. Places where planes go to die, perfectly preserved in the arid desert.

Back on the road. Only 508.9 miles to the next destination.

That morning, I had Mariah Carey's "Heartbreaker" on repeat for far too long, bringing back memories of Rush Hour and a family reunion in Cali years ago. The blimp that I had seen docked yesterday evening was out flying around in the morning sun. I passed through Valentine, Texas again and the Prada store as well. Valentine, Texas is an amazingly photogenic city, like time had stopped and everything is preserved precisely as it was from 50 years ago. I didn't stop to take any photos in Valentine, Texas because I was trying to get to the airforce base in time before the last tour. Never let photography, in the act of capturing life, get in the way of life, man. There's just too much to see out there.

Shoes from the fall 2005 collection lined the wall of the Prada store. The store has actually been broken into a few times since its inception, though I'm not sure what people intend to do with a bunch of right shoes.

Staring out the windshield as you're leaving west Texas, you notice how seemingly infinitely flat everything is. It's so flat you could watch your dog run away for three days. For day two's eight hour drive, my mind starts to wander again. I wondered if I had just stayed at my parents' house for the next three weeks instead and concocted fantastic tales of my "road trip" pulling pictures from the internet, maybe I could pull the ultimate lie. Maybe I should invent a name for myself out on the road. Gerard. Gerard Montalbano. That sounds pretty awesome, despite the lack of congruency between that first and last name. Hell, I could be whoever I wanted to be out here. I could be on the run from anything, man.

Hour six of driving. I'm bored. I grab the huge pile of change my dad left in the change compartment next to the steering wheel and decide to sort all of them on my crotch while driving. Dimes go in the arm rest by the door. Quarters in the change compartment. After sorting out the dimes, the nickels go on top of them. The bottom layer of dimes is now a sedimentary layer of US currency. Compacted by pressure from the nickels, I expected them to turn into diamonds or, at the very least, some quarters. The bulk of the change I sorted consisted of pennies- these are the roaches of currency. Dirty looking, they are everywhere. Sometimes, I turn on the light in the kitchen and pennies scatter every which way. In the beginning, without taking my eyes off the road, I would bring each coin in question up to my face for verification. Soon, I can sort the change blind. Dimes are easy to pick out without lifting it up to eye level while driving. That is the change I can believe in, Mr. President. Dimes. Remember that.

I have made an effort to listen to the radio as much as possible on this road trip. I wanted to hear music as it would sound if I lived in the cities that I traveled across in America. I am quite pleased when I hear King of the Road. By the time I hit Kerrville, there is only one radio station on the FM airwaves. It is country music. They play 4 songs, then go to commercials. Usually Geico commercials. Repeat. After passing through Kerrville, the radio waves go silent. I fill the void with the FM transmitter hooked up to the iPod mini.

When the radio does work, it's pretty much the same station formats in every city. You've got your Mix music, your top 40s mainstream (sometimes two), your hip hop, your Sunny, your country. On this trip, I was also accompanied by a bevy of beautiful babes (alliteration, my friends, at its finest). Beyonce road shotgun, analyzing her dreams. Mariah sat around talking about some guy who was obsessed with her, Taylor Swift (or, t-sweezy since we so cool) rambled about some guy she was obsessed with, and Miley was ready to go out that night. And the Black Eyed Peas, well, they sat in the trunk assuring me that, ok, so last night wasn't that great, but tonight- tonight was going to be a good night (they had a hunch).

For lunch, I gave KFC's new grilled chicken a chance. Back when they were my client two years ago, they had gone over the details in the research and development of how to even get a grilled chicken product (it took a ton of work). And you know what? It's actually not bad. Not bad at all.

OH NOEZ!

Oh, those truckers. They're all, "jay kay, jay kay, guys."

Billboards pockmark the landscape. You see a lot of strange ones on your way out of the state.

This town is trollin' for visitors.

Clouds are more interesting out here too.

And basically any landform that juts out of the plains is instantly cause for attention after hours of driving through flatness.

You will see many signs asking if you have seen The THING?! as you drive through Arizona.

But you will pass by and not stop at the attraction. But you can google it on the internet. And you can listen about it on NPR.

I get to the Davis Monthan Airforce Base at 4 PM, disappointed because they stop giving tours at 4. But, wait, there's a time zone change and I'm actually there at 2! I rush in and ask to check out the boneyard tour, only to find out that the last tour for that particular area was out for the day. The tours that remained were for the air and space museum planes in the back.

Disappointed, I decided to sign up for that tour anyway and hopped onto the tram. It turned out to be a pretty interesting tour after all, with the guide on the tram going over the history of each plane on the lot. I like hearing people talk about things they are enthusiastic about, because these are the people you can learn something from. At the end of the tram tour, I kind of expected a huge shark to burst out from the sand, causing the riders to jump, but no such luck After the tram tour was over, I got off and hoofed it about on foot.

The only all-stainless-steel welded aircraft (no rivets used). Used during the world war to save on materials, it didn't fare so well and plans for mass production of this were ultimately abandoned.

I really like the nose of the Douglas B-26K Invader, an attack bomber

Lockheed C-141B Starlifter

Boeing C-97G Stratofreighter transport, looking somewhat retro-futuristic (they had much cooler names back then too)

I love the propellers on these old planes

Fairey AEW 3 Gannet with its double turboprop engine driving two contra-rotating propellers.

Front view of the Sikorsky H-37B Mojave utility transport helicopter

Sikorsky JRS-1 Utility Transport Amphibian, 1937

Inside the bomber museum. Look at the zippered gunport. Interesting.

Engineering that went into these is incredible

The cramped quarters inside

Looking like a TIE fighter from Star Wars

It's actually incredibly cramped in the gunports too

Interior of the gunport

And the Mikoyan-Curevich MiG-15UT1 "Midget"

I also love old timey vehicles. Like this fire truck.

I drove two hours to Phoenix from Tucson and figured I'd check out Los Taquitos, which was the #1 rated place on Food Network's Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives for Phoenix. I was hesitant to give it a try (we have enough good TexMex in Houston), but I said what the heck. It was still a little early for dinner so the place was empty when I arrived. The cute girl working behind the counter made idle conversation with me and, upon hearing of my trip, replied, "That sounds so awesome. I wish I could go with you." I shot back, "Jump in my car after your shift ends. We'll drive until we run empty, we'll leave our old lives. We'll have 2.3 children and some dogs." But I actually don't tell her these things because:

     1) I did not tell her about the boredom on the long drives. The sorting of change on my crotch. (I also instantly regret not using that pile of change for dinner)

     2) More importantly, she wasn't that cute.

The food? Not bad- good but different from Tex-mex (which I suppose is why they call it tex-mex and not ameri-mex). It had the cilantro and onion thing going for it (like at La Tapatia) which I like better than the lettuce and tomato tacos. You win this time, Food Network.

It was also in Phoenix that I slept in my first Motel 6 on the trip. On road trips, Motel 6's are your friend. At under $49.99 a night (sometimes thirty dollars if you're lucky), they're clean and dependable and everywhere. But of course, every motel I check into on this trip, I will check under the bed for bodies and take off all the sheets and inspect them for bed bugs (I've read horror stories about that and Mama didn't raise no fool). Thanks for leaving the light on for me, Tom Bodett, but did you also have to leave the light on for prostitutes, murderers, and lovers on illicit trysts too? Of course, Tom is not nosy and it's none of his business, so of course he welcomes everyone.

The motel room is like the ones where you die. The room passes my initial inspection. Sleeping room, fine.

Bathroom, fine.

Shower... OH LORD, THERE'S A CRICKET IN THE SHOWER. A CRICKET IN TILES SQUARE. I spend five minutes (but it felt like an eternity) trying to wash the hopping cricket down that shower drain. Then I craned my ear to hear a concerto, thinking maybe the pipes would resonate better once the cricket started playing. Only silence.

Oh yeah, no shampoo in any of the Motel 6s. I washed my hair with a bar of soap. Still, I am a man on the run and have no need for such luxuries as "shampoo."

Sometimes, throughout the trip, I would imagine worst case scenarios that a road-weary traveler would encounter and how I would react. A flat tire. Getting a ticket. Running out of gas. Or, more probably, if my car were broken into during the trip, I would meet a beautiful woman on my travels and as an introduction, I would go up to her with a line like, "Hey, baby, were your parents thieves? Because my car was broken into." And I would think in my head, "See what I did there?" and she would be in disbelief and I would take her out to my car and show her the broken glass everywhere and we would fall in love and have 2.3 children and be horrified as that 0.3 child grew out of child #2, requiring ridiculous surgery and media attention and we would be on the news and people would shake their heads in disapproval. "This is what happens when you do not have health insurance," they would think.

I fell asleep that night to the non sequiturs of Robot Chicken. I woke up that morning with a moth in my room that had somehow gotten in overnight (and it would not be the last). Strange.