End of party

Party's over. This is when everything is wrapped back up. The idea "Leave No Trace" is absolutely respected by all. Not one piece of paper or a cigarette butt is left behind at any camp. I admire how serious and strict everybody holds to the rule. And little by little, the desert is returned to its original emptiness, and the feeling of emptiness grabs hold of me because the end of the journey approaches. Soon it will be the end of the line, along which there was so much that I saw, loved, and shared.

I head out for one last tour towards the edge of Black Rock City, there where the sea of sand extends infinitely. I come across this piece of cloth representative of the American flag that fills me with nostalgia, as I'm thinking about all the times gone by since coming here and about all the places I've seen. There are places I had intended to see but didn't and places I saw that I hadn't intended. Letting the wind carry you, I believe, has something to do with how to follow in Kerouac's footsteps. There is not one road but rather many different paths. Mine has lead me by many miles in an America that is both the same and different from Kerouac's... the same in its wide-open spaces and its immutable spirit of freedom... and different because it seems that it has lost a bit of its innocence since Kerouac took to the road. America has grown up, has become tougher, more self-conscious, more materialistic. And upon reflecting, I feel that Kerouac passed through this land as one would pass through a crisis of adolescence, something that is part of growing up, whether it be an individual or a nation.