“ I took my first real road trip when I was 17, unaccompanied, just me and a
20-year-old British two-seater. South Florida to L.A., beach to beach. No credit
card, no interstates, no spare tire. I told my parents I wouldn’t need
a map; I’d follow the sun until I hit the Pacific.
“I drove back roads, encountering roadkill and poor dentition. I found that
if I drove really, really fast, I didn’t need to put the top up when
it rained. I discovered that two Slim Jims and an RC Cola make an acceptable
dinner. Ditto breakfast and lunch.
“On a moonless night in Alabama, I stopped on an empty road and turned off the
engine. No house or light in sight, I looked up and saw somebody had spilled
the Milky Way all over the place. Never have I felt so insignificant. I drove
off, leaning on the horn to announce my existence, and didn’t look up
again for a hundred miles.
“The beaches in L.A. were dirty and the water cold, but the girls’ swimsuits
were even smaller than in south Florida. It was the best trip I ever had.”