When I was 18 I took off on a solo trip in January in my very questionably maintained 1968 Ford Falcon from Denver, to L.A., then San Francisco, and back again, with $900 in my bank account. Along the way I broke down in a blizzard, slept in my car a lot, stayed in a Motel room with a Vietnam Vet I had met 20 minutes earlier, drove all of Highway 1 between LA and SF - where I slept in my car on the massive cliffs that overlook the ocean. I also said “hi” to the Grand Canyon, where I had just quit a job a month and a half earlier, and drove most of Route 66 between Flagstaff and California. It was an amazing - stupid and dangerous in retrospect - adventure that I’m glad I did, but would never do now so cavalierly. That was about 7 years ago now, and I’m still driving the same car of course, just in slightly less crappy shape.