Today is the 31st of January. As if I could have planned it, Nomad’s Land isn’t making it out the door today. I had said January 2010. I joked in my mind that that would end up being 11:59:59pm on January 31st. I joked and laughed nervously.

I think I need to go away for a few days.

Nomad’s Land will be finished soon. If I can find the time to finish it. Which would be the days away that I really need. I have too much stuff going on.

By the way, the video was all edited with Sony Software, both the music and the video using Sony’s ACID and Vegas software.

The “official” trailer.
Photos, video, music all done by yours truly.
The website will be filled out over the coming month.

Feed people, direct link here.

I think I’m far enough removed from the reunion now to put together my thoughts on this year’s experience and the thirty-five days leading up to it.

I left South Beach for a number of reason, not the least of which was to attend this reunion. To be around my friends, my family. For me, the journey to LA was a much longer experience than LA. And in fact, my journey was, in large part, the destination for me.

I spent five weeks on the road, traveling to meet friends. Lifelong friends. New friends. Friends who count as family. I had a lot of time to myself during that trip. There were moments of human interaction. That reads so distant, but truly, it was. Every conversation I had along the trip, with the exception of a few, lasted no longer than a minute. I was alone. For a long, long time I was alone.

I remember sitting by myself in Arizona. Scooter overheated. Two hours. Nobody around. Just me. And Scooter. I don’t know what I thought about. I don’t know what thoughts coursed through my mind except for the initial reassurances I gave myself that I would not die in the desert.

I sat in complete silence. I smoked cigarettes. I took small sips from the warm water that I had from the morning.

The trip eventually ended, of course, and I found myself in LA, at the Marriot where hundreds upon hundreds of other brats would be spending their weekend. The place where I would be spending my weekend.

I was welcomed, literally, the moment I passed through the front sliding door. Another brat, Cheryl, was there waiting for me. And then another greeted me.

Questions. Worry. Concern. Happiness. Elation.

Emotions.

It was good to see old friends.

Many more times during the day and into the night, I would be welcomed in shock and awe and the questions would come. The conversations would eventually turn, but they all started in a similar fashion. People I did not even know throughout the weekend would approach me to talk to me about the trip. At some point during that first night (and I can’t recall when or with whom I was talking with), I broke down. They had asked me a question about the journey. And the reality of everything that had come before… the reality of what I had done, where I had been, what had transpired, the utter and complete aloneness of it all… and NOW to be in the midst of all of this… It was too much to bear.

Even now it’s hard to think about it. About the endless solitude that swallowed me whole for weeks on end. Druing this conversation and in a few that followed that evening, I tried hard to hold back from just a complete meltdown on the spot. I realized at that moment, how out of place I was at this reunion. How I wish I had shown up a few days earlier just to get acclimated to being around people again before I was in the midst of such intense… intense love.

It was so difficult for me this time around. I missed this reunion. I was physically there. But I wasn’t there. I couldn’t be myself because I didn’t even know who I was beyond campgrounds, a quart of oil, a backpack weighted properly or improperly, a milk crate with books, crappy motels, deserted towns, sunsets, laundry, strangers in gas stations, and … and Scooter.

Scooter. My only friend. My friend who brought me to this place. The two of us.

This was all I knew. This was my life. This was who I was.

I mingled throughout the weekend. I tried to catch up with people I knew and many I didn’t. I socialized the best I could. But I wasn’t there. Saturday night was our class dinner. I had one beer. I went back to the hotel before the party ended and I went to sleep. And then Sunday came.

Sunday was the party bus. Sunday terrified me because I didn’t know what to do. I should go on the bus. It would be normal to go on the bus and completely preposterous not to.

I didn’t go on the bus.

And the minute the bus left, I regretted it. Fifty of my classmates from all across the world had gathered here for this reunion and they were all on that bus. And rather than take that opportunity to enjoy every single moment with these dear friends, I ran.

When the banquet came on Sunday night, I felt no better about my place, mentally and physically. I knew this was foolishness but I could not, no matter how deeply I dug, find this affair within me. And then it washed over me. There it was. I don’t know what, if anything set it off. It was then that I saw the brats I knew and loved. It was then that I saw my friends, my family. And once more, I was connected. This was it. This was everything I knew. This was why I had come.

I drank, I danced, I sang.

And while it was only that night, it was a memory that I won’t forget. I had crossed the country for that moment. Just that one moment in time. And should you ask…

Yes. It was worth it.

Photos here. (Although I’ve already put up the photos from the reunion on Facebook, I have not yet added them here. I’ll be doing that this week.)

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

First, I would like to apologize to everyone. Or to anyone that has paid the slightest bit of attention in following me.

It is Sunday now, I have no computer. I am still in LA. I have not had access to nor read any email since arriving on Thursday. A friend of mine, a fellow brat, saved my hard drive but I haven’t seen it yet.

It’s unimportant.

Secondly…

I don’t have any answers for anyone. I don’t have any answers for myself. Many people have come up to me… many people have introduced me…”that’s the guy that took the scooter across the country.”

“Where are you going?”
“What will you do now?”
“Are you going to stay in LA?”
“Will you fly back?”
“Are you going back?”
“Was it hard?”

Was it hard. I’m finding now, that it is much harder to be here. I feel out of sorts. I feel as though I have been stranded on a desert island and instantly, I am in the midst of people with lives and families and friends and children and husbands and wives and three course meals and drinks and late nights and me passing out from exhaustion before the party started.

I feel as though I don’t belong. It is too much. Yet here I am, in a place where there is genuine love and warmth and caring and concern.

I am tired.

I keep telling people that I will stay here for a couple of weeks; that I have work with a girl I need to do. This is true. But I don’t know beyond that. I don’t know what my future holds now.

I don’t know where I am going. But it will certainly be with Scooter.

I would share photos I have taken. Photos I took driving from Joshua Tree to LA. Photos I’ve taken here in LA. Photos I’ve taken on borrowed memory cards. But no computer in site is recognizing any card.

A party bus just left, I believe. A tour of LA. I believe I missed it.

Tonight there is a banquet. I will be there. And then tomorrrow it ends. Tomorrow, it ends.

I don’t have any answers. People have asked me if I’ve had time to reflect on it. I have.

And I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I DO know that this is all over the place. And I’m sorry for that. I’m just out of it. Nothing is making sense to me. This world is really beyond my comprehension right now and I can’t piece it together coherently. I’m sorry.

And like I said, if you’ve sent me emails, I apologize. I can’t even get to them here as the passwords are on my salvaged hard drive somewhere in LA. But I’ve been thinking about everyone in my life. And what they’ve meant to me. I’ve thought a lot.

I’m sorry.

I am in Los Angeles. I made it.

This will be brief until I’m able to get back on later. The last three days (one in Joshua Tree National Park and the two days of driving that followed) have been… insane.

After arriving at the hotel here where 700+ other kids who grew up in Saudi would be spending the next three days, the first person I would see would be another brat from the class of 1960-something. Hugs, talks, more brats…

I spill a latte onto my laptop JUST as I finished downloading photos from the prior two days.

I don’t know if I can get it fixed. For those who would ask, yes, there was sugar in the coffee. Ten raw sugars.

I may see if I can get someone to look at it today.

But I guess the big news is that I’m here. I made it to LA. 35 days of traveling and I’m here.

I spent the night in Joshua Tree National Park. I have so many words, I don’t even know where to begin.

Photos here. Photos specifically of Joshua Tree National Park here.

(I’m to drive to LA today. Scooter is giving me troubles; cutting out on me regularly. I don’t know that I’m going to make it. I’m debating what to do right now. If I leave now, I’ll be there no earlier than 7pm, probably closer to 9pm. Or 10pm.)

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Day 31
Start – 8536.0 km
Finish – 8660.1 km
—————
124.1 km or 74.5 mi

Finally, FINALLY left the Phoenix/Mesa/Tempe/Glendale/Scottsdale area. I have to say… not feelin’ it. Everyone is always saying how great Phoenix is… yeah, just not feelin’ it. I’m sure there are lovely areas of each of these towns. I’m sure of it. Had I seen them, I’m sure I wouldn’t feel differently about the fact that I never want to live anywhere near Phoenix/Mesa/Tempe/Glendale/Scottsdale. Desert climate. And there is no large body of water anywhere near it.

I eventually got on the road, having spent the night in Tempe at a really crappy hotel. I keep staying in crappy hotels. There’s always something extra crappy about the one I stayed in that beat the previous. Last night’s was far and above the winner, though. But I’m a little ahead of myself.

The plan for Day 31 was to get to Alamo Lake State Park in the middle of nowhere. Didn’t make it. Just outside of Wickenburg, AZ, a highway patrolman pulls me over. I’m surprised. Get off Scooter and he informs me that the license plate is barely hanging on. I look. One of the zip-ties holding my license plate on had snapped. Fortunate that he caught it.

He then asks me where I’m heading. Mention that I’m going up 93 and then cutting over to Alamo Lake State Park. He tells me that’s a bad idea, taking that route. That the last 30 miles is a dirt and gravel road. I should, instead, head south to Wendham and then take the paved road up. That, of course, is not on the plan for the day. It adds another 20-30 miles to the drive. I’m tired.

I stop for a bite to eat in Wickenburg, decide that I will stay in town for the night. I find the hotel I’ll stay at and all of a sudden, it’s the old west. Saloons. Cocktail lounges. Outdoor mannequin cowboys. And cowgirls. It’s 1972 in the hotel.

Strange days.

Day 32
Start – 8660.1 km
Finish – 9040.6 km
—————
380.5 km or 228.3 mi

The next morning, I decide I’m going to finish the drive, destination: 29 Palms, California. I leave Wickenburg after snapping a few photos, drive through Salome, take a right in Hope, Arizona and head to Parker the last stop before reaching California. I am utterly convinced there are 100 times more flies than people in Hope, Arizona. And they all were where I decided to rest for a moment.

Got to Parker, rested. Went to the library to use some internet. The last day left me disconnected. Many times, I’ve enjoyed not being connected at all. But when you want a connection, are promised a connection, and then can’t GET a connection, it’s irritating. After the short stop in Parker, I got back on the road. Less than two miles away, and I had reached California. The final state.

It was a long stretch of nothing from Parker to 29 Palms; 110 miles, to be exact. Almost exactly at the halfway point, Scooter died. Nothing. No cars. At least the heat from Arizona was gone. It was cooler.

I sat and sat and sat. Lots of climbing on small hills and I had been pushing him hard. After about an hour, Scooter started up. I gave him a pat on the headlamp. He seemed happy.

Shortly after dark, we pulled into 29 Palms. The outskirts of town were weird. Destroyed, vacant shacks of homes. Zombie-land, I felt certain. I didn’t see any zombies. But I think I saw a coyote. Or possibly an oddly shaped dog.

I was tired. Really, really tired. No vacancy at the budget motels, so I stayed in one of those motels you always see in the crappy part of town and wonder who stays in them. I stay in them. It was a cottage. It smelled of Indian incense. Strong smell. Paint peeling off the walls. AC unit barely hanging onto the wall. No deadbolt. Stained floor, stained walls, stained bathroom counter. A rectangular metal box had somehow been squeezed into the bathroom; that was the shower. I watched some horrible tv and fell asleep in a hot room, not even attempting to fool with the ac unit.

Today is day 33. I am in Yucca Valley. I am staying here tonight. This will be my last night on this trip before I arrive tomorrow at my destination for this trip LA.

I’ve been here at this Starbucks a while now. All day mostly. Scooter cut out twice today coming here. That makes me a little nervous. I’m sure we’ll be fine, and tomorrow, I’ll be drinking Vodka and Cranberries in LA.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

I am in Parker, Arizona. It is scorching hot here. Records highs supposedly across AZ today. (And yes, I have lots of water and sunblock.)

I’ll be in California within the half-hour.

Tonight… tonight I will be in…

I am under 300 miles away from LA. I will have a full update either late tonight or tomorrow morning.

Day 28
Start – 8197.1 km
Finish – 8331.4 km
—————-
134.3 km or 80.6 mi

I’ve fallen somewhat behind on my updates. However, I’m mostly caught up on photos. So let’s go back to Day 28.

Safford to Globe. Waking up in Safford, I took a look at the public shower (not plural) at Roper Lake State Park and decided against it. The park? Beautiful. The shower? Not so much.

An incredibly short and uneventful day. Somewhere along the drive, I became tired of the desert scenery. I became tired of being alone. The people I meet… they are nice interludes in a symphony that is long and tiring in places. But they are there for a minute, and then the lull of their voices is gone. The image of them is gone from my mind. Was it Dave or was it Steve? Did he have a sister or a brother in an institution? Does it matter?

I thought about this trip. I let go of concerning myself with what others thought of my reasons. I’ve let go of their interpretations. And then I pictured Kevin Spacey in American Beauty.

I thought about the fact that I’m driving across this country on a scooter – a 50cc scooter – and the absurdity of it. I wondered about how it was all going to end. This trip. This life. Where would I go? I know that I’ll be in LA for a while, but for how long, I can’t say. Two weeks. Two months. Two days beyond the reunion?

I’ve tossed around in my mind for a while the notion of setting up shop in Costa Rica and flying models in for shoots. It could work. Currently, this notion is the front runner.

I’ve debated following the path of Tommy and heading north to the Redwoods and into Washington State. Maybe go across the northern part of the country. But why?

I love South Beach. It feels like home to me. I frequently question whether I didn’t make a mistake in leaving when I did, though. I’d like to go back. But…

I don’t intend to find (nor am I searching out) some deep inner meaning on this trip. I know myself. I’m comfortable with who I am. There are things which I’d like to change and mentally, I’ve made the hurdles on some of those things on this trip. Trivial things. And while I’m not searching for some magical zen place, I would like to find a place in this world where I fit. A place that fits me. Not necessarily some physical place. Just some place. Some place where external meaning exists.

I would like to find Love.

Words, they climb all over you,
Til they uncover you,
From where you hide.

And in this moment,
I need to be needed,
With this darkness all around me,
I like to be liked,
In this emptiness and fear,
I want to be wanted,

‘Cause I love to be loved,
I love to be loved.

I didn’t set out to find Love on this trip, either. I DID set out to rid myself of the circles in my mind which have kept me from allowing it. It would be nice to experience Love in this life. It would be nice to experience that.

Hm.
That was a little deeper than I intended to dive. And depressing on top. (Sorry about that.)

The question I’ve been asked a lot on this trip, though, and one I don’t have any reason to ask myself (as I know the reasons): Why? And why on a scooter?

On the way to Globe, I stopped in Bylas, an Indian reservation (I believe). On the outskirts of town was a convenience store; this is where I stopped. As I sat outside, an old Indian man appeared. He said he had walked there, but I never saw him coming. We talked for a while. I wanted to ask questions but I didn’t. After a while, he asked me, “Why on a scooter?” I said because it was tortuous. He laughed. Then he looked directly at me and said… well, he said some things. I finished my drink, got up, said goodbye and thanks, and left.

I would tell you what he said, but it’s secret vision quest stuff. (Secret except for those of you in the Secret Vision Quest Club!!! If you have your decoder rings handy, enter X – 2 – F – i -4. Therein lies what the old Indian said.) I can disclose, however, that he did tell me the secret to trans fats and how to manage them.

Honestly, I don’t remember much else of the trip that day. With the exception of the Indian, it was relatively uneventful. I had intended to go all the way to Phoenix, but when I stopped to grab a bit in Globe, I was so exhausted from not getting a good night’s sleep the night before, that when I saw the budget motel across the street, I was done for.

I watched a lot of TV. I watched Cast Away that night, I believe. I realized that Scooter is my Wilson on this journey.

Day 29
Start – 8331.4 km
Finish – 8475.5 km
—————
144.1 km or 86.5 mi

Two things: I was actually in Miami on Friday. Only, it was Miami, Arizona. I didn’t feel at home. I had a burrito for lunch, a decision I would later regret. I took some photos. They didn’t quite have the same feel as the last set of photos I took in Miami. I was glad I saw this desert town. Then I quickly left.

Secondly, somewhere west of Miami and east of Superior, Arizona, the road was entirely desert mountain roads. Steep grades up, steep grades down. And on the climb up, the road was seriously under construction. They let traffic from wherever they started pass on this two-lane road, while our band of merry travelers waited for the Stop sign to turn to a Slow sign. The traffic passed and we sat. And sat.

And sat.

I smoked three cigarettes under the desert sun. I calculated the square root of two. I developed an algorithm for ending world hunger. Then some guy three cars up in an air-conditioned SUV got out to stretch. Asshole. Everything was lost; my mind turned to air conditioning. And cold water, not the hot water in the bottle wedged between the backpack and the seat behind me.

Eventually, they let us go. And here, I would like to apologize to the 268 cars behind me on that long climb. Yes, the speed limit was 25mph in that zone and I was trying my hardest to go that fast, but I couldn’t. I had to get over those mountains just like you, though, and that was the only road.

I was elated when I reached the top. And then the most frightening part of this trip commenced. A 50mph descent on steep grades with a long line of large vehicles behind me, their passengers insulated by doors and windows and airbags and cushions and tons of metal that would barely be scratched by my tiny scooter. As the first steep grade neared it’s end, there was an emergency truck pull off. I took it to rest, collect my wits, and to let the rest of the cars behind me go. The end of that line of vehicles never came.

At some point, a break came and Scooter and I got back on the road, still descending. The next vehicle to appear from behind the curve… to appear behind us… was an 18-wheeler. A killer, not a coma-maker. Certainly on this road. Patches of sand. Loose gravel. I’m fearful of every little thing on this road as another steep grade lies ahead. Thankfully, the trucker stayed back a good distance.

I was flying. When I reached the bottom, I was so glad to have not wiped out or been run over. I realized that I don’t really fear death. I fear lots and lots of pain before death.

I rested in Superior, Arizona. I continued on Highway 60 to Phoenix. I continued on Highway 60 well into where it turned into a 10-lane freeway. After one too many “exit only lanes” foiling my driving into Phoenix, I pulled off and ended up in Gilbert. Or Chandler. Or possibly Mesa. I don’t know. I found a coffee shop and grabbed a coffee.

Went to go find a hotel for the night and Scooter wouldn’t start. OK. It’s hot. Understandable. But he’s been resting a while now? Hm. I wait for a while. An hour later, he won’t start. I push Scooter about a mile to a hotel I had seen as I got off the freeway. I’m thrilled to learn that Lord of War will be on tv later that evening. I work on photos and fall asleep late into the night.

Day 30
No travel.

I find an authorized Kymco dealership in Mesa (where I have spent the night). I check out and hope that Scooter will magically start. He does. Only with lots and lots of smoke. Crap. I begin to think about California and it’s clean air regulations.

I head over to Logan’s Valley Motorcycles. Tell Jeff about the crap oil that I put in the last time I filled. It was all I could find.

“It smells funny, doesn’t it,” I ask.
“Smells like weedeater crap.”

The oil was messing up Scooter. They cleaned him out, gave him good oil, changed the spark plug, and I was ready to go. Great, great guys working there… I was surprised by how inexpensive it was… friendly people. If I lived in the Phoenix area, they would be the place I rely on, no doubt.

Finally get on the road and I haven’t seen Phoenix yet. I haven’t even been in to Phoenix, actually. I’ve been over in Mesa. I begin to head west. I cross a bridge. Scooter cuts out. Damn it.

I call the shop, they send someone out to do a pickup. I know they’re going to be closed Sunday and I hope that it’s something minor that can be easily fixed. After a while, one of the mechanics is out there. He tries some stuff with the scooter. Nothing is working. He stands up, looks….

“You know you’re out of gas?”

Doh! I blame the heat. It’s frickin’ hot here. It’s 4pm by the time I’m riding again. I realize that I’m going to spend another night in Mesa. I go find a cheap hotel and call it a day. So ends 30 days and nights.

Photos here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.

Start – 7823.3 km
Finish – 8197.1 km
——————–
373.8 km or 224.28 mi

The highlights: crossing the Continental Divide, watching the sunset in the mountains of Apache National Forest in Arizona, wiping out (and getting bruised all over) in the mountains of Apache National Forest in Arizon, Scooter overheating 50 miles from anything on a road where I saw one car the two hours I was on it, and finally…. entering the last time zone!!!!

Let’s back up to the day before, though; the day I woke in El Paso, went into Juarez, Mexico and drove to Columbus, New Mexico. I had decided that since I was so close to the border that I should really go into Juarez, if only to buy cigarettes. And that’s pretty much exactly what I did.

I parked Scooter in the southern part of El Paso close to the border and went across the walkway into Mexico. (Sorry Scooter, to leave you behind.) As I crossed the border, I realized, Mexicans love plastic bags. Everyone carries one. I also realized I kind of stood out. I looked like American Tourist Guy. Naturally, I would be approached by everyone trying to sell something.

“You need a taxicab? Info? You want to see monuments? A hotel? Medicine?”

“You need a massage? Beautiful women? I have beautiful women. They can give you a massage.”

“No, I just want a pepsi really. Can you tell me where I can get a pepsi? Also, I’m in need of some plastic bags.”

I buy a pepsi. I plop my butt down on a milk crate, one of a hundred on the street, and the only free one around that I can see. I appreciate its sturdiness and think about how well it would sit on the back of Scooter. I wonder how Scooter is doing across the border in El Paso.

I drink the ice cold Pepsi. I rest for a while and watch the people.

Time to get on the road. I stop to buy some cigarettes. Cheap. Very cheap. I leave. I spend 45 minutes in customs to come back to the US.

“The purpose of your visit?”
“Buy a pepsi and some cigarettes. And you know, I was so close to the border, I thought I should come over. Do you know Christian? He’s Mexican, I think. He doesn’t live in Mexico, though. He lives in Miami. No? Ok.”

As I enter the US, I look at a sign saying that cigarettes not bearing a Texas mark on them should not be brought across the border. I’ve broken a law and I’ve barely crossed the border. Thankfully, I’ll have burned through all of the evidence before anyone finds out.

I leave El Paso and begin the drive to Columbus. Highway 9 is desolate. It is one long straight road. There is nothing. No buildings with the exception of a US Border Patrol Facility as I got onto Hwy 9. As I drove that stretch of road, I would frequently pass parked patrol trucks. White with green lettering and red lights. Many would fly by me going in one direction or another. Except for them, I saw maybe five cars in sixty miles.

Along the road, I pass these interesting stone structures. I stop, take photos. These structures dot the road for the next several miles.

I reached Columbus, sitting just on the border of Mexico. The lights of Palomos, Mexico, were visible in the distance at night. An old man stops me and asks me a lot of questions. I answer them. He gives me directions to the deli and bar in town.

I setup camp and drive to the deli/bar. Two border patrol officers eating pizzas. A big empty room playing “I like Big Butts” sits over to my right. I have the cheeseburger and fries. I head back to camp, read, pass out.

Day 27 arrives. I drive up to the library, amazed that the town had one. Even more amazed that they had wifi. Of course, the wifi wasn’t working so I left there at 10am and headed north to Deming.

The drive is miserable. Cross winds across flat lands leave me and Scooter struggling to maintain a speed of 30mph. It’s tiring. I stop often.

Jehovah’s Witnesses make the soft sell to me at McDonalds. Give me directions to the library. Wifi finicky at the library so I use one of their computers. Welcome to 1998. I get directions to Safford Arizona, a long stretch. I would head north on 180 through Silver City and then take 78 to 191 into Safford. I would be going far more north than I had planned. I would’ve used Google’s walking directions to shorten the trip but at this point, I didn’t want to risk running into roads that weren’t roads. I take the shortest route possible, which as it turns out, is the long way.

More impossible winds leaving Deming. The drive is mentally exhausting and physically draining. South of Silver City, I pass through two small mountain towns. In the second town, Bayard, I make a wrong turn and head 10 miles out of my way. It doesn’t sound like an enormous deal, but when you’re traveling 20-25mph on mountain roads, making a wrong turn isn’t something you really want to do.

I eventually make my way back to Hwy 180. I drive through Silver City. About 50 miles out, I cross the Continental Divide. (For those who don’t know, the Continental Divide is where the Indians originally split America into West America and East America. It’s a fact.)

Throughout the drive, I am having to stop often to rest; the climbs, the slow speed, and the weight of the pack are wearing me down in every possible way. I think Scooter will make it, but I never will.

I reach Hwy 78 and turn left. I have been climbing hills and mountains for miles now. I have been running him full throttle. A mile down Highway 78, Scooter cuts out on me. I think, “I’m not going to die of thirst, I’m not going to starve… I’m fine.” One car passes by and stops.

“You need help?”
“No, I’m fine. Scooter just overheated; need to let him cool down.”
“Are you sure? Because there are no cars on this road.”
“I’m fine, thanks, really.”
“Alright,” he says with uncertainty before driving off.

That was the last car I would see on that interminably long stretch of road. Twenty minutes later, Scooter is ready to roll.

I had looked at the terrain map beforehand and knew I would be crossing the highest mountains on this drive while on Hwy 78. And I did. Halfway through the mountains, I enter Arizona. At the state line, I stop and put on my pullover, put on my jeans. It’s noticeably colder. I pack up my camera as the sun is nearly down. The last decision turned out to be one of the smartest.

As I’m making the descent through the mountains of Apache National Forest, the scenery is insane. And then, all of a sudden, there’s a scenic overlook across the road and the view is magnificent. It’s upon me instantly and so I nearly slam on my brakes to cross the road where I would stop and take pictures. I cross into the overlook, Scooter probably going 20mph and he falters underneath me on the gravel and dirt and rock area I have entered.

I go face down, the weight of the backpack slamming against me as I hit the ground, and every large rock before me goes into my chest. I slide forward on the gravel, Scooter slides with me. And on top of me. Eventually, I realize everything has stopped and I’m in pain. My left wrist is killing me. My chest is killing me, and my left foot is pinned underneath Scooter and the crate. Scooter is still running.

I can’t simply pull my foot free. I can’t bend to free it with my hands as the backpack is preventing me from moving around. I take off the backpack and slide my way closer to the scooter. I get my foot out and get scooter up.

I’m instantly grateful for my helmet as my head had slammed down into the ground. I’m also grateful for the gloves. And I’m grateful for having put the pullover and jeans on. Scooter’s back brake handle is partially broken. I feel for him. I’m okay. Just seriously, seriously in pain.

I pull out the camera and take shots. I think, “These shots better be masterpieces for all of this effort.” They aren’t. But they are my memory instead of wiping out on the side of a mountain in Arizona.

My left wrist is killing me. I get back on Scooter and braking is torture on my wrist. My chest hurts near my neck. I wonder if I’m bleeding internally. I wonder if I’m bleeding underneath my shirt. I wonder if I picked up the Swine Flu in Juarez. I beat myself up for not being more cautious.

I’m down the mountain and it’s night. I come to some crossroads town. Safford is 40 miles away. I don’t know if there are mountain roads ahead. I don’t know if it’s flat. I know there is little traffic. I decide to drive on to Safford.

I wind up and down hills. Guard rails on my right. Slow traffic lanes. I’m sure I’m on mountains. Few cars, but enough to make me nervous as I’m uncertain about the emergency lane. I eventually make it to Safford after seeing the lights of the town in the distance from miles away. I don’t know where I’m staying, only that there are numerous state parks in the area.

I see a sign for Roper Lake State Park. I stop at a gas station, ask how far it is. 4 miles. I drive to the park and, to my surprise, a ranger is on duty at the gate. I get a site, we talk, I am exhausted. I apologize profusely for arriving so late. He tells me of the natural hot springs hot tub that I can relax in, if I want. I’m too tired for that. I notice the clock in the station and it says 10 til 10.

“Is that the correct time?”
“Yes. We’re on Mountain Daylight Time.”

I have reached the final time zone. Day 27, complete.

About the photos: I have SOOOOO many photos to go through now (from Juarez, Mexico to Safford, Arizona)… I’m going to do an upload later today when I stop to rest. Today isn’t going to be crazy driving as the other days. I’ve uploaded a few of the photos (where they always are) here.

Scott’s roadtrip across America is proudly sponsored by Miami Tour Company. For info on the best tours in Miami, visit MiamiTourCompany.com.