Sporkman and The Moxie Mama

  Day 03: Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri, Arkansas; 597 Miles* In the morning my neck wouldn't turn. For the next two days, anytime I wanted to change lanes, I would have to turn my whole torso in order to check my blindspot. Clearly not as young as I once was. Breakfast consisted of road snacks. Coffee was another matter. KungBrew Cafe is located in Covington's Main Strasse neighborhood, a blend of funky little shops and 19 th century architecture. The cafe itself blends Japanese teahouse aesthetics with contemporary espresso offerings. My oatmilk latte was delicious, and I followed it up with an equally fabulous cortado. Espresso was Van Life by Urbana. It was quiet. I wrote for two hours before I realized that my parking meter had expired. I cut my visit short, and left without any pictures. Getting gas on my way out of town, I remembered the end of Rule III – Follow your whims . “Fuck it,” I said. Back at KungBrew, I purchased a bottle of something called “Ale81” (...

 Day 01: New York; 413 miles A late start, but it was such a gorgeous day, it was hard to care. I took the highway to South Burlington, then shot down 7, hitting greens all the way. I crossed into New York at Crown Point. I stopped to get a few photographs of the lake. No good ones. From there, I weaved through Essex County, all twisting blacktop and dense woods. Lake Champlain, New York side. Checkpoint One: Newcomb. The man I called my grandfather lived there at one time. He volunteered at the local ski hill. There's a plaque dedicated to his memory there. I didn't stop, no pictures, but it somehow felt important to start the trip here. He died when I was nine. The land flattened out as I moved westward. By evening I was nearing Rochester. The sight of wind turbines off the side of the highway – lazy spinning blades, tinged pink by the fierce backdrop of sunset behind them – almost took my breath away. I would've stopped for a picture, but it wasn't worth dying for...

  “ When Life hands you lemons, you look down at the lemons in your hands, and say, 'What am I supposed to do with these lemons?' And while you're distracted, Life kicks you in the nards.” Preamble. The wheels fell off a month ago. I was headed for another divorce. I'd lost my job. The apartment I had lined up fell through. I saw Forty sprinting toward me, and it felt like staring into the barrel of a gun. The Universe was mugging my ass, and my pockets were empty. Not quite. I had a little money. I had my old Forester. It was Fight or Flight time. A plan started to coalesce: a rambling, month-long roadtrip, Alaska by way of Ohio, Utah, Arizona. Anywhere I knew people who might want to see me. Take pictures. Write. Try to get my shit together. I put everything I owned into a storage unit, turned in my keys, and left. * Declaration of Principles. See past your own bullshit.  I'm in my head too much. Always looking for pattern and metaphor and missing what...