26 hours 55 minutes and 1053 miles after starting in Moscow, I am at Durango Joe’s in Durango. My brain has that chaffed feeling of too little sleep and too much heat (the latter being the reason for the former) as I got a solid hour, maybe; “solid” not indicating the calibre of the sleep itself, that being of the sort drifting in and out of waking, when the mind dialogues with itself without ever truly sinking into dreams. But it was a good trip; I raced the dawn to Moab along the black highway, hurtling towards some fuzzy destination, just myself in the peace with the moon above me.
Now I’m going to camp. If I can find the way. I have not gotten lost yet.
Botkin Creative 
“I raced the dawn to Moab” has more in it, in six words, than most of the massive published writings of the last fifty years. GTB