No. 22

The Overseas Highway: The 113 mile stretch of US 1 that runs between Miami and Key West is a modern marvel and a treacherous gauntlet of wind gusts when driven in a thirty year old German bread box. Thankfully, most of the original 1920s structure has been abandoned (center), in favor of a slightly wider two-lane run that better accommodates today's trucks and giant motorhomes (far right).

After forty-two bridges and several hours of incredible Caribbean vistas, the bus rolled to a stop at the end of US 1, the southernmost point in the continental United States, only 90 miles from Cuba. Amy's in New York now with her family, so I took this long trip solo. Halfway through, I broke my "no giving rides to bearded drifters" policy in favor of an hour of bizarre conversation with a 35 year old wanderer named Caleb. He was like any of the thousands of restless hippies, drifters and dreamers who help populate the Florida Keys - Deeply tanned, relaxed and waiting to hear back about an "artist permit" that would allow him to sell crafts on the streets of Key West. He approached me at a gas sation and asked for a two mile ride. I ended up taking him forty.

Sloan: How long have you lived here?
Caleb: On and off since I was nine. I can't stay put, man. The old timers all call me Driftwood.
Sloan: I wish I had a nickname.
Caleb: Anyway I just got back from 6 months of riding freight trains from here to Denver. You ever ride freight trains?
Sloan: No, I don't think so.
Caleb: This was my first time, it was wild. We hooked up with some hobos that taught us how not to suffocate in the really long tunnels.
Sloan: I never would have thought of that!
Caleb: Yeah, it was wild. Hey, do you smoke bud by any chance?

I told him I didn't. Not anymore. Not since I was a younger man. Not since I bought this 1977 VW Bus, because I mean, c'mon. How obvious would that be? {S}