“I’m not finished yet,” Al Pacino yells, slamming his cane down on the table to rise and deliver a blistering tirade in “Scent of a Woman.”
I wasn’t finished yet. 49 states. Still hadn’t found a “home.” Not quite ready to stop. It was cold in the north. But a trip back through the south seemed to be order.
Yes, I could have flown from Philadelphia. But there were direct flights from Seattle. And something was still pulling me west. So, I was back on the road again, but the fast ones, the major highways. First back to Austin and then to a brief respite interlude at White Sands National Park in New Mexico.
Then I was off again, across to the west coast and back up through a smoke free northern California, Oregon and finally Washington, revisiting old-new friends along the way. Then I got my mandatory Covid test, parked, and waited for my flight.
