On the second day of our trip, just outside of Dudley, North Carolina, my van crapped out. I decided to take one more adventure: a victory lap to Miami. When back in New York, my friend George told me he was looking for a ride to Florida for his father’s 80th birthday. The trip had been a sunshine-filled, self-guided mushroom-micro-dosed, hedonist food gallop across golden plains and through the great Rib and Peach Pie shacks of America. to California, up and down its wandering coast, and then back across the middle of the country to Maine. I’d driven nearly 15,000 miles from New York through the southern U.S. I was on the last leg of a four-month solo trip around the country when “Poot,” the faithful 1985 Dodge Van I’d built a bed in the back of, failed me. After two cross-country van trips, I decided to take a last victory lap from New York to Florida, when my luck took a turn for the worst.
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