Less is more

Eight miles away from Las Vegas, I exited interstate 15 and cruised in to the parking lot of the Jack and the Box that caught my eye from the road. That was the last healthy turn my car would ever make.

I tried to drive the 1994 Nissan Altima in reverse. Nothing. I tried to drive it forward. A bit of hope for a few feet until the sound of metal hitting metal became too much for my ears to take.

"Pretty sure your transmission just gave out," Lothar said.

My German friend knew a lot about cars. I didn't question him, certain that our cross-country road trip had seen its last stop.

It was a valiant effort -- 2,951 miles out of the 2,959 it takes to get from New York City to Vegas. It passed out just before the finish line, but it was still a winner in my heart.

I've had the car for five years. It's taken me a lot of wonderful places from coast to coast. So when I sold it for $100 this morning outside the Holiday Inn Express parking lot in North Las Vegas to a guy with a tow truck and no more than seven teeth, a little piece of me died.

And, as if selling your most expensive possession for $100 isn't hilarious enough, there are two other details that add to the story. First, the payment didn't come in the form of a check. It wasn't a crisp $100 bill either. No, Cliff handed me three greasy twenties and four waded up tens. The second detail is that my new fortune is exactly the amount I lost in Vegas last night.

Lothar and I have spent the day hanging out on the patio of the HIE, ordering pizza and chicken wings, drinking Bud Light, and playing guitar. We went through all my possessions, throwing the less important half into the dumpster outside since I cannot carry everything that was in my car on to my future destinations. In my opinion there is nothing to do but laugh in a situation like this, and that's exactly what we've done all day as we wait for the Greyhound bus to take us to Salt Lake City.

As he grabbed another slice of pizza, Lothar analyzed the situation. "We don't know where your car is and half of your possessions are in a dumpster," he said, in his matter-of-fact tone with a smile on his face. I'm going to miss the guy.

Lothar and I will part ways tomorrow. He says he can't wait to tell this story back to his friends in Germany. The story of a kid from Iowa who agreed to drive him across the country from New York to Las Vegas. The story of a kid traveling, homeless, planless, and on the final day of the journey, carless.