Arrived so easily into California yesterday afternoon, sun--or moon--shining the whole way.

My last night on the road was in Winnemucca, Nevada. The chain motels struck a gloomy vibe, and I tried instead The Santa Fe Inn. The woman at the desk played with my name, and told me stories about her name: Imelda. The room was very clean, the carpet was brown sculpted vintage 80s. When I arose in this travelers' strip kind of place, I walked across the parking lot toward the office for coffee. The past-full moon was still up in the west. To the east across the street, I could see the first hint of dawn. A flag drooping in the dark, and rows of familiar-shaped stones against the silhouette of mountains: a cemetary. This sparked cheer.

Perhaps because it was the last morning of my trip--or perhaps because of the unexpected serenity--this was my favorite overnight stop.