“Yes those are NY plates, but no, we’re not far from home. You’re looking at home.”

The kind-faced fellow New Yorker looked confused, and then informed us that he was driving his daughter to school in Richmond. We wished each other a safe journey, topped off our tanks and headed our separate ways.

Goodbye NY

Can you hear Jay Z in this photo? I can. Every time I look at at it.

We knew the magnitude of what we were embarking upon. We’d had about a month to let the feeling settle in. Having quit our jobs at the beginning of September we busied ourselves with preparation for the voyage and ticking off NYC bucket list items.

Sometimes it was just passing through a certain intersection or subway turnstile and appreciating the fact that we would likely never pass through that space again. Other times it meant stuffing our faces with pizza so good that we’d make the trans American trip just for another slice.

Mostly though, it was just coming to terms with saying goodbye to an old accomplice — not a friend, because New York is nobody’s friend, but if you’re doing it right and exploiting all the advantages the city has to offer it can definitely be a valuable partner in crime.

Mobile Homes Rock

Our first night in Shenandoah proved the little Subaru to be totally camp-able, just more difficult considering the amount of things we’d stuffed into it.

Overpriced firewood didn't really burn at all, kind of a bummer, but we knew there'd be more campfires and more wood - 21 days to build it up and watch it burn.

It was a nightly game of Tetris, moving the things we were too cheap or forgetful to pack with the movers from the rear of the car to the front seats, but we made it work.

Asheville NC

Asheville had been haunting me for over a decade. A long time ago, when I decided it was time to leave my hometown of Chicago to pursue bicycle racing dreams, it came down to two places: San Francisco and Asheville. To keep things brief, SF won out and Asheville had always remained a mystery. Now was the time.

Not as charming as I’d expected. The mountains were decent, but I certainly didn’t regret the decision to move to SF so many years ago. Carolina BBQ didn't quite live up to expectations at a place called Buxton Hall. It was good, but, I still prefer Red Hook’s very own Hometown BBQ. I guess New Yorkers are just spoiled rotten. Sides we're great though and the Alabama white sauce was a revelation.

Savannah GA

Savannah, haunted perhaps, most likely by its slaving past.

We went on our first ghost tour, which was fun, even though it was conducted by a guy from Philly. And the Spanish moss everywhere really did help increase the spookiness.

Tybee island, where the locals were preparing for their annual Pirate Fest would be our last dip in the Atlantic.

The long stretch from Savannah to just past Tallahassee was made infinitely more pleasant by eschewing the interstate for glorious county highways and farm land. Small towns, decrepit graveyards, honey bee festivals and Baptist churches of cinderblock and corrugated metal dotted the scenery.

Florida

When we finally arrived in gator country we had just enough time to catch a beautiful sunset on Camel Lake in western Florida’s Appalichicola State Park.

A roaring fire and some leftover Savannah Fried Chicken made for a great meal + s'mores. A warm sleep in the tent was pretty comfortable with the exception of a witching hour wake up call. Was it Gators? Or just pine cones falling. Chelsea had to pee so I escorted her with axe in hand.

Maybe spending the beginning of the first trimester camping and sitting in cars for hours on end wasn't ideal, but still, it's damn memorable and the regular world seemed a million miles away.

The Gulf Coast

It was crazy to find out that the places we'd visited would soon be forever changed by the forces of nature just days after we'd passed through them. Appalichicola National Park, Panama City, Perdido Key, and Orange Beach, Alabama. We’d safely outrun Hurricane Michael, but the devastation we saw on TV had so much more context than usual.

The calm before the storm. Looking out into Perdido Bay from the Alabama side.

Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

It seemed like the more beer this guy consumed, the more fish he caught.

Texas

Sea Rim State Park, aptly named as it feels like it it's precariously balanced on the very edge of the sea, sits just across the border from Louisiana. After miles of dystopian oil refineries, the landscape opened up to a surprisingly beautiful landscape.

Murky waters enriched with silt bleeding from the Mississippi churn inexorably as dramatic tide shifts bring the ocean straight to the road. More gator warnings with no sightings, but this park did offer the most wildlife so far.

We were supposed to camp just behind the fenced area, but an unusually high tide forced us into the RV zone.

While setting up camp and fighting off mosquitos, a snake with beautiful, yet terrifyingly familiar markings had made its way onto the still warm blacktop near the campsite (yes it was one of those parking lot meets nature kind of campgrounds) turns out the diamond patterns on it's back were most likely nothing to be too afraid of. It was just a diamondback water snake, non venomous and much maligned due to the resemblance.

Then came the eyes. Thousands of tiny reflective eyes peering out from the swamp grass buffer that ringed our campsite and kept some distance from the gator filled swamp. Upon closer examination, they turned out to belong to garden spiders, big and curious.

Despite the diamond pattern on this thing’s back, the lack of a rattle most likely meant it was just a water snake - a very curious water snake.

Austin and Marfa

Austin was a first for both of us. Scooting around on tech-financed rent-a-scooters, chasing the famous South Congress bats and soaking up the sun at Barton Springs were serious highlights.

One thing that had not been anticipated was how difficult it would be to sample the city’s famous BBQ. Time ran out and the cue would have to wait. I also didn’t like the idea of waiting hours in line for it. Thankfully Ladonna and Kirby at wagon wheel BBQ in Ozona TX served up some delicious brisket, ribs and beans with burnt ends.

With just 2121 people, Marfa punches well outside its cultural weight class.

In Davis Mountains State Park, we celebrated the halfway point in our trip. The historic Indian Lodge, nestled into the dry red rock mountains provided the perfect vantage point, with access to beautiful, not too challenging hiking trails and even a swimming pool, 1930's era WPA extravagance I suppose. Our adobe and timber room’s beautiful wood framed windows opened right up to an amazing view of the sunset.

We had Mexican food in the town of fort Davis, accompanied by a great octogenarian quartet playing old country hits and Mexican classics. A crazy old gal named Silver - like the Lone Ranger’s horse - asked Chelsea permission to drag my awkward ass onto the dance floor, which was really just whatever space she could clear between the plastic patio furniture. She was sweet and smelled like tequila.

Marfa lived up to it's rep. Artful, dramatic under immense skies. We made a friend at the Chinati Foundation museum. Steve, a super chill art lover originally from the Chicago suburbs was our guide through two hangar sized spaces showing off Donald Judd's aluminum work with boxes. We would later meet his wife Cheryl at the John Chamberlain exhibit in the center of town.

After about ten minutes on a two lane blacktop with no other cars in sight, we came upon a majestic white horse watching over a small shrubby farm.

We were lucky enough to witness the world famous Marfa [head]lights along with a group of dedicated amateur ufologists who spoke of their "research" intensely, but which probably only consisted of an episode of ancient aliens.

After seeing the light we drove the short six miles back into town on Hwy 67 being chased by a rare and powerful desert storm. Dinner at Stellina was delicious. Amazing that a place so far removed from the action could serve up an atmosphere that wouldn't feel out of place in the heart of bourgeois Brooklyn.

On the Road