At the start of my drive, I stopped at a deserted town in California that I had visited years earlier, a town on what was Rt 66 that Interstate 40 had killed.
While walking around, I encountered a biker from British Columbia, and I made the remark that “the best trips are those of which you don’t know where you will end up at the end of the day“.
He smiled knowingly, and said that when he is on the road, he didn’t even take a map.