and the beat goes on

San Antonio, Austin, Fredericksburg, Texas.
The train carried us through no man's land between the border of the US and the border of mexico, desert in all directions. On one side wood shacks and laundry lines, the other lawn and stucco.
Northridge, The Smog Cutter, Korea Town, North Hollywood, Los Angeles(Tod Snyder claims it should be its own state, and sometimes it is).
Santa Cruz, Oakland,The Strawberry Music Festival, Benton Hot Springs,CA.
A swarm of locusts appeared on the highway splattering against the windshield and carpeting the road, flying in all directions. There were enough squished on the grill to give off a smell of dead fish, Nevada.
The sun was so hot I might fall over. We emerged from Coyote gulch after a magical four days of waterfalls, red arches, golden eagles, and lizard that marked the trail with their rapid flight. We accidentally passed the night on private land relishing the cool of a higher elevation, Utah.
Today I write from Lander, Wyoming.
Traveling the backroads of the West is every bit as much of an adventure as Ecuador ever was.