Restlessness is hard. Sometime, somewhere, along the way, I simply forgot how to give a fuck about most things.

A lot of separation is needed at those times. I will delete everything until it’s quiet, then wonder why it got so quiet.

—ooOoo—

The next morning, I woke up early, and I rode about 400 miles from Tonopah, Nevada to Kingman, Arizona, riding the infamous Extraterrestrial Highway next to Area 51.

It was hot, fucking hot, and there were very few cars or signs of life. Twice, a blacked-out government-looking SUV drove by, but they just seemed to be checking me out.

The ride was not an easy one. One reason for so much experimental aircraft flying in the area is because of the geography and winds, which were constantly beating me.

I rode the entirety of the Extraterrestrial Highway with a lean just to keep the bike going straight, and large animal carcasses along the highway made the scene cartoonish.

I wouldn’t ride the Extraterrestrial Highway alone again. Once was most surely enough for me, especially in that heat. I carried water, but not enough to walk outta there.

I pulled into Kingman before the sun went down, treating myself to a cabin for the night. Not much to them, just four walls and a plastic mattress, but it’s at least off the ground.

—ooOoo—

The next day was a positioning day. I wanted to get down near Tombstone and the Mexican border, which was about a 450-mile ride taking the long way south toward Havasu.

My reason for choosing to take the long way south was to avoid Phoenix, to see something new, and to ride more along the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge instead of a city.

I picked up Interstate 10 around Casa Grande, after riding through Gila Bend and the South Maricopa Mountains Wilderness Area. Definitely better to go around Phoenix.

I ended up at a camp in Benson, Arizona. So peaceful watching the sunset over a barn. There was something about that night, that light, that made a magical moment.