The Journey - written with capital letter - through the United States of America - told in photos. As I imagined when I was a kid. Weeks sitting in a car, sleeping in roadside motels without reservations, tight budget. 9141 km on the road, from New York to San Francisco.
“I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was - I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.”
Jack Kerouac, On the Road