I left Las Vegas an ounce of mushrooms richer. Some kind stranger benevolently sold them to me at a great price, and I stowed the psychedelic morsels in my bag. My run led me west to San Bernardino, then I turned north to go to Seattle. The Burning Coast flew by over the next couple of days, and I made it to the Emerald City in record time. From there, I turned ninety degrees and bombed down the 80, East Coast-bound. With winter coming on strong, the winds were less than favorable, and in Wyoming, they turned absolutely foul. Eighty miles an hour sustained, with one hundred twenty-mile-an-hour gusts. As a result, the Department of Transportation shut I-80 down, and I parked Ol’ Beatrice off of the main drag in Rock Springs, Wyoming.
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