At some point in my teens, I became certain that ground travel across the United States, as well as staying in motels, were the moments to be most striven for, and once obtained, savored for every footloose second. I am aware that as a Californian, the concept of "car culture" - of road trips with stops at motels just off the highway, not so possible in parts of the country that don't live in a land of perpetual summer - is part of my home state's collective unconscious. But I haven't just driven. I have also racked up thousands of Amtrak and Greyhound miles, all across the country, countless times over. And as far as staying in motels, even when my heart was racing so much I was trembling, from sneaking out of my last house while my ex went upstairs for a second and was being crazier than usual, even then I still thought, "Well, at least I get to stay in a motel for the night." When I was younger, college age, a part of the Olympia Washington artistic ...