269 miles.
The free campsite I was aiming for ended up being super creepy – hidden behind a disused, bad road. The sun was too low to turn around and head back into town, and the storm that I had been eyeing from a distance was catching up with me. I pitched my tent in the lee of some large bushes, next to what turned out to be a pile of bullet shells. Once rain covers were on everything, I lay in the muggy tent, watching the lightning illuminate my scooter until the rain became too heavy and I zipped the panel closed. Lightning was everywhere. I fell asleep to the periodic glowing around my tent spokes, the sound of thunder, the wind trying to steal my tent, and a few swigs of whiskey in my bloodstream. The safest place for me right now is lying flat on the ground, right?
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