Not only were my hosts on their way to join the New Zion Army, they were also stopping in Charlie’s hometown, Minneapolis, so they could live with his mom, get jobs, and save some money.
The pickup truck, that had whisked me across the California desert, dropped me off on the strip in Las Vegas. In those days the casinos were smaller, many open to the street.
I sat in the back of the speeding pickup surveying the desert in the direction the other hitchhiker was pointing. “There’s water in those mountains,” he said.
While hitchhiking from St. Petersburg to Moscow, one of our drivers left us in this tiny Russian village along the highway: five small huts with bored women, each supported by a hot, cooking samovar on front.
A ridiculously inexpensive flight from Milan to Tokyo and back, my backpack, a fluent-Japanese-speaking girlfriend wwoofing on a tropical island in southern Japan who is waiting for you (while Europe is buried in snow), and a copy of Wil
I was on a mission - I wanted to see the midnight sun as far North as I could make it during its solstice, when the position of the sun reaches its northernmost extreme in the sky
This morning should have been an omen. But I was too eager to leave, to be back on the road. And so I stood at a forgotten truck-stop staring out from Poland on to The Czech Republic wondering why, and how.
