EN writer travels across the country during vacation

As I strode through the halls of FGCU, making my way in and out of my marketing classes, completing my workouts at the school's Aquatics Center and keeping up with the social aspects to my college lifestyle, I felt incomplete.

 

I was in Orlando with a photographer friend out of Fort Lauderdale, Florida, named Andre, who was also feeling as though self-fulfillment was missing in his life. He randomly burst out with the brilliant idea to go on a cross-country road trip in order to set his feet back on the road of happiness. I teasingly volunteered to go with him, and what had started out as a joking manner turned into all seriousness … I was about to embark on an incredible journey at his side.

 

It took weeks of preparation plus hours of packing to reach that endless paved path of freedom. I traveled thousand miles in a car, from the soils of Fort Myers, Florida to sands Portland, Oregon, loaded down with everything from endless shoes and clothes to an eyelash curler and toothbrush

 

Only an hour out of town, I was inhaling a new excitement that filled my body and invigorated my soul. Following the never-ending straightaway road that lead me out of Florida, I witnessed the vegetation enhancing around me. Tall tan skeletal-like trees transformed into weaved rows of lush greenery; the farmlands rolled on endlessly and the traffic started to dwindle.  

 

A plan originally mapped out quickly morphed into determination to drive as far as possible until passing out was practically inevitable. The first day I made it as far as New Orleans, Louisiana, home to the French Quarter and ever-so-corrupt Marti Gras.

 

Drunks filled foul-smelling the streets making their way from bar to bar. Door attendants waved in the public to their promiscuous buildings where inside held pole dancing girls, lap dances and anything else your money could buy.

 

I quickly picked up the knowledge that Marti Gras, also known as Fat Tuesday, is celebrated the day before Ash Wednesday, the night Lent begins. This is holiday, celebrated for people to get out their last licentious urges before repenting.

 

After having left New Orleans we headed West on I-10 with hopes to drive continuously through Texas in hopes of reaching Phoenix, Arizona. We drove for seventeen hours, and at one point, almost broke down from a low fuel supply.

I learned fast to fill up at every gas station I came across, being as there was one only every two hundred miles.

 

The most captivating memory I have of Texas is how close I was to the Mexican border. The lights that lined the sky-high fences of our country's boundaries hypnotized with sparkle. We had to go through four boarder patrol stations total from Texas to California. Pulling up to the stations, I was anticipating intense searches through our car and interrogating questions relating to our travels. Instead, I was simply asked if I was a United States citizen, to where I was headed and told to have a safe drive. Even though border patrol fell short of my expectations, it was still enthralling to see our country's protection system at work.

 

The night wore on and we stopped on the side of the road for a little snooze. After having woken and back on the road, we passed a hitchhiker. Realizing it was not the smartest idea to put ourselves in a situation where we could be mugged, or worse, held at gunpoint, we decided to check into the closest Motel 8 where we had spent most of our nights stays.

 

From Tuscan, Arizona, where we made it tothe night prior, we got back on our trail to the Golden State of California. Going through the desert, the heat reached a high of 113 degrees Fahrenheit, perfect for the abundance of Cacti surrounding us. I knew I was entering California when the sand dunes' beige grains charting my course inward (through the state lines) grew into huge rocks of boulders set into the mountains.

 

Our route was a more dangerous than we had anticipated. We were driving through the mountains, reaching elevations of four thousand feet, going over bridges on a winding unlit road. Since cops rarely give speeding tickets in California, natives zipped by us at 90 miles an hour as I kept my steady pace at seventy. A couple miles outside San Diego, I finally reached familiar crowded highways that beamed with light; I found my bearings and my fear shifted to exhilaration … I was actually here.

 

The following morning I got to see what California was all about. I drove up Coast Highway to West Hollywood where the houses, instilled on the mountainside, looked like they were straight off MTV's Laguna Beach. The beach access ways had flights of stairs incorporated in their entrance paths; people lined the streets with signs in attempt to legalize pot and the shops were filled with tan teens sporting swimsuits and surfboards in hand.

 

The most beautiful state I had visited was next on the list: Oregon. These mountains, unlike the others, were covered in Pine Trees. The air was cooler and the landscape became more entertaining. The road crossed over flowing streams, cut through small towns and bypassed Elk spotting points. I veered off the interstate toward the coast where the eminent Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area is.

 

We pulled up to the Dune's gate and followed the entrance way to the back of the park. For all southerners, the Dunes arehome to one of the best four-wheeling spots in the country. Everywhere I turned, there was someone flying past me or trying to hold onto his or her vehicle.

 

After we parked the car far away from the crowded tourist areas, we got out and started to make our way up the gargantuan sand dune.I pushed my legs up the steep slope to the tippy top and found myself where land met sea. The Pacific Ocean waves crept into the shore as a silent mist floated overhead. I had never laid my eyes on something sobreathtaking. My struggle had been completely worth it, especially when I knew I needed to step up with the cardio when I got home.

 

Next stop, Las Vegas. Passing through the golden-gate doors into the Stratosphere Hotel, I gazed around the lobby in awe. Cocktail waitresses coursed through the casino floor fully clothed in provocateur. Tourists everywhere threw back their Gin Martinis while stuck in a gambling trance working hard to earn a profit.

 

The sun soon fell and a couple friends and I made our way out seeking those world-renowned buffets. We went to the Excalibur Hotel and Casino where the packed buffet was full of people, like myself, came to stuff their faces with Chinese dumplings, any meat selection of choice and endless fruit platters. After dinner, most families ventured towards those celebrity-look-alike shows, featuring impostures such as Michael Jackson, Britney Spears and Carrie Underwood.

 

I thought New Orleans would be a naughty boys dream spot, but Nevada brought home the win; it's the only state that legalizes prostitution. Playboy-type girls splashed across the front of every advertisement with attempts to lour in new customers. The New York Times would accompany escort and strip club ads in the newsstands. Vegas, the City of Sin, will forever be life as a party and the city that never sleeps.