Over the course of 53 days in September and October of 2008 I traveled the United States on Amtrak, starting and ending in San Francisco in a counter-clockwise direction. Of those 53 days, 170 hours were spent on trains.
I walked the stinking sands of the Salton Sea, burned around the Tucson desert, toured a community garden in Austin with a lovely lady named Ila, dodged drunken maniacs on Bourbon Street, photographed a massive bailout protest in NYC, drank at a bar with 1,000 beers on tap in DC, froze my ass off in Fargo, and ran around abandoned farms in Montana.
I met old truckers, a reformed gangster, drunks, racists, drunk racists, farmers, an Icelander, students, teachers, Irishmen, a strange woman who wanted to give me a tour by driving me to the tops of desert mountains, dolts, pill-pushers, musicians, barmaids, artists, a coffee-loving Haitian, retirees, a helicopter repairwoman in the National Guard, punks, and a man simply (and legally) named God.
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