KKKOA kampground!

Today I hit a high point on my journey. Well, a high point unless you have good taste in music, that is. Cruising through the high desert of central Nevada, I felt I could control the world with each turn of my steering wheel. Ralgh slept in the back seat, mountains loomed in the distance, iPod played a continuous shuffle of great music, and miles sped underfoot. The sun shone brightly as I drove "The Lonliest Road" through Nevada, and I sang at the top of my lungs.

You know how in the movies, there'll be that roadtrip scene in which two pals, overwhelmed by the feeling of utter happiness, blast the radio and sing along joyously? Well, you know how it's usually some triumphant song about highways or freedom or being a badass? Yeah, I had that moment today, only I'm a little embarrassed to admit my song. But I'm going to anyway, because it's funny. Download it now, folks: The One That You Love by Air Supply. Mom would be proud, just like that time that I admitted I liked Barbra Streisand.

*Side note to mom, who I think likes me enough to read these things: I was just kidding when I said I liked Barbra Streisand; I'm sure it was one of those prepubescent hormonal things. And I wasn't really singing along to Air Supply today. That was Ralgh, not me.


Then I arrived in Ely, Nevada (god, when will I be out of Nevada?!) and got suckered into paying $30 to stay at a KOA "Kampground" one hundred and ninety-nine miles from the nearest Wal-Mart. I would have "kamped" on the side of the road for free, like other nights, but I needed a buzz kut, and my modern clippers need electricity to work sothereyouhaveit. Plus, this KOA komes with Wi-Fi, which has been scarce these days.



*I think that substituting a KOA-style 'k' for any hard 'c' in your writing makes you look like a fun person, so I'm gonna do it. Either that or it makes you look like a member of the KKK, which a fresh buzz kut also does, so I'd better be kareful.

Speaking of the buzz kut, while I stood in line to buy ice, and elderly gentleman called me sir, and then quickly corrected himself when I turned around. He was clearly disappointed with my choice of hairstyle. Looks like we're not in Cansas anymore, Toto. I thought about making a comment about how well the chemotherapy worked, just to set him straight, but instead smiled, wiggled my Frazee behind, paid for my ice, and left.



And finally, three miles down the road in the center of Ely sits a crusty bar with a sign on the outside which reads, "karaoke every ight." Assuming the missing letter is an 'N' and not an 'F', I think I should ride my bike the six miles round trip (not nearly as bad as going to Wal-Mart!) and show them how it's done. Anyone kare to join?