![\"EndofRoad-web\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.cemeterydance.com\/extras\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/05\/EndofRoad-web.jpg?resize=468%2C60\")
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The day before I left for California, my eight-year-old son and I spent the afternoon in the woods. After hours of swimming in the creek, avoiding snakes, catching turtles and frogs and then letting them go, and pretending we were in a \u201creal-life\u201d game of Minecraft, we sat down on a big rock. Both of us got quiet for a moment.<\/span><\/p>\n Then I asked, \u201cSo, do you want to talk about me leaving tomorrow? I haven\u2019t done a tour like this since you were born. Is there anything you are wondering about? Are you worried or scared or feeling sad?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He thought about it for a moment and then said, \u201cWell, Dad, I\u2019m worried you\u2019ll get lost.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I suppressed a smile because I didn\u2019t want him to think I wasn\u2019t taking his concerns seriously. After I explained to him that the airplane pilots knew where they were going, and that Kasey Lansdale and Tod Clark (who will be driving portions of this leg of the tour) also knew where to go, he seemed better with it. Fears put to rest, he then asked me to bring him back Freddy Krueger and Jason action figures.<\/span><\/p>\n The next day, I told him goodbye. He took it well. Gave me a big hug. Playfully punched me in the belly. Gave me another big hug. Didn\u2019t cry.<\/span><\/p>\n On the way to the airport, I cried enough for both of us.<\/span><\/p>\n * \u00a0\u00a0* \u00a0\u00a0*<\/span><\/p>\n Things I always travel with:<\/span><\/p>\n Toshiba Laptop<\/span><\/p>\n Sony Digital Voice Recorder so I can dictate things while driving.<\/span><\/p>\n Three Blue Yeti Microphones so I can record a podcast interview if an opportunity presents itself.<\/span><\/p>\n Four Moleskin Notebooks in case I want to jot something down when not driving.<\/span><\/p>\n Kindle Paperwhite<\/span><\/p>\n Chargers for all of the above.<\/span><\/p>\n Assorted pens and markers.<\/span><\/p>\n Pictures of both my oldest son, my youngest son and his mother, my girlfriend, and my cat. <\/span><\/p>\n Nobody carries photos with them anymore. Instead, we keep pictures on our phones. But I always bring these pics with me.<\/span><\/p>\n I miss them all already.<\/span><\/p>\n * \u00a0\u00a0* \u00a0\u00a0*<\/span><\/p>\n I always fly out of Harrisburg International Airport, which is right next to the Three Mile Island nuclear power plant. Those cooling towers loom over Central Pennsylvania like Lovecraftian monoliths, reminding all of us locals just how fucking close we came to dying many years ago. <\/span><\/p>\n They are always the last thing I see upon flying out.<\/span><\/p>\n * \u00a0\u00a0* \u00a0\u00a0*<\/span><\/p>\n While waiting to board the plane, I meet an opera singer and his wife. They are in their seventies, and on their way to Kansas City for vacation. I was unaware that people went to Kansas City for vacation, but whatever. <\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m not really in the mood to talk to strangers. I\u2019m already missing my kid terribly, and I can still feel the psychic shadow of those cooling towers falling over me, and I\u2019m pondering what it means. I\u2019ve got Mayan Blue<\/em>\u00a0by Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason on my Kindle, and I\u2019d really like to read it, but find doing so is impossible because the opera singer wants to talk.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d he asks.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cLos Angeles,\u201d I reply.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh, on business?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I nod an affirmative.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat line of work are you in?\u201d he asks.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m a writer,\u201d I admit.<\/span><\/p>\n Our plane is late, and he spends the time telling me all about the book he wants to write and maybe I can write it for him and we\u2019ll split the money, and how does that work anyway, and do I know Stephen King, and why are movies never as good as the books?<\/span><\/p>\n We board the plane and as luck would have it, the opera singer and his wife are one row behind me and across the aisle.<\/span><\/p>\n I get no reading done.<\/span><\/p>\n * \u00a0\u00a0* \u00a0\u00a0*<\/span><\/p>\n One-hour layover in Detroit while I change planes. The opera singer and his wife are gone. I break out my Kindle and finally start reading Mayan Blue<\/em>. It\u2019s off to a good start. Once again, I am blown away by the number of fantastic new horror writers that I\u2019ve become aware of this year. 2016 has been a shit year for the entertainment industry, but it\u2019s been spectacular for horror fiction.<\/span><\/p>\n I sit in first class for this section of the trip. I like first class. Can\u2019t always afford it, but when I do, I enjoy it. One of the things I like about it is that usually, the people in first class aren\u2019t there to fuck around. They are serious business people and not prone to idle conversation. You can get work done in first class. I\u2019ve never been able to write on airplanes, but I do use the time to get caught up on my reading.<\/span><\/p>\n Except I get the one exception to the first class rule. I get a lady who wants to chat.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOn your way to Los Angles, too?\u201d she asks.<\/span><\/p>\n It seems like an odd question, since if I was on my way to Kansas City, I\u2019d be sitting on a different plane with the opera singer\u2014but I confirm that yes, I\u2019m going to Los Angeles.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOh, on business?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I nod an affirmative.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat line of work are you in?\u201d she asks.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m a political pundit for cable television news stations,\u201d I lie.<\/span><\/p>\n She leaves me alone for the rest of the flight, and I get to finish Mayan Blue<\/em>\u00a0and start Laird Barron\u2019s Man with No Name<\/em>. I enjoy them both.<\/span><\/p>\n * \u00a0\u00a0* \u00a0\u00a0*<\/span><\/p>\n Land in California. Los Angeles is a weird mutant bastard of a city. It is both wonderful and terrible, but I am glad to be back in it.<\/span><\/p>\n On the way to the hotel, the heat blasts the cab. The driver apologizes for his faulty air conditioning. The windows are down, and the wind blowing through them feels like I\u2019m standing in front of a hair dryer\u2014warm and electric.<\/span><\/p>\n We stop in traffic. A car next to us is playing Alice in Chains.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSo I found myself in the sun, oh yeah. Hell of a place to end a run, oh yeah. California\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n Despite the heat, I shiver. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I think about dead friends, and I rummage in my bag, and pull out the pictures, and glance at them one by one. Then I put them back in the bag and look out at California flashing by, just in case I don\u2019t get to see it again.<\/span><\/p>\n