“Liberté” is how Josef described his life to me, distilling it down to a single word. As he said it a second time, he lifted his hands, palms up, toward the sky and faced the sun, smiling, “Liberté.”

Kurtahs Mikhael and Parker Viers joined Kooky's Road Trip today for a photowalk around Globe, Miami, and Superior in Arizona.

Yesterday, after a short stop at Allsup's in Santa Rosa, NM for, well, you know why I stop at Allsup's...I headed south on 54 to Las Cruces.

It doesn’t take much to get me off the Interstate. I’ll take U.S. or State Highways any day. County roads are even better.

There’s a lot more to bobsledding, I’ve learned, than the push, getting in quickly on an icy surface, holding on for dear life, and screaming at the top of your lungs while racing, as quickly as possible, to the finish line…and stopping.

I arrived at the hotel where I like to stay in Zumikon, Switzerland, just up to hill, outside of Zurich...

They say “you can’t go back.” Well, I just did it. I threw a few clothes in a bag, packed some cameras and film, put on my boots, my hat, and headed south toward Lamar, Missouri in my ‘96 Ford F-150 with Biggie in the back seat.

As we pull into the lot in front of the big sign, I realize just how right Kurtis was...this is fantastic!

I was up the block a ways when I saw her, singing an old country tune. I dropped a dollar in her basket and asked if I could take her picture.

I pulled into Tombstone on a warm and sunny late Tuesday morning and was immediately underwhelmed. I’m not saying don’t go there, I’m just saying I’m not a big fan of things that smell too “touristy.”

“I’m hungry,” I said to myself after getting my tires fixed in Shamrock, TX. Hmmm...Wynoka is only a few hours away.So with German food and bier on my mind, I texted Dieter to see if he had room. He replied with some obscure text I didn’t understand so decided to call.

A week ago Tuesday started out simply enough...we woke up early and hit the road north to Marceline, MO to tour the Walsworth Publishing plant, then lunch at Tall Paul's in Bucklin, MO with Meghan Viers Jolliffe, Joe Cupp, and Beverly Cupp. From there, Jonathan and I would wander rural Missouri so he could get a glimpse of life out here.

I saw what appeared to be a homeless man, on his knees curled over, forehead on the ground. He wasn’t moving....

I stopped along the back roads I was taking home in a little ghost of a town named Prescott. I let Biggie stretch her legs while I had a cigar and enjoyed the quiet of the neglected baseball Diamond on the edge of town. As we sat there, I watched a young father giving his toddler a ride on his motorcycle. Around the block he went...then again....

I'm planning a short, impromptu Kooky's Road Trip to the Lamar Free Fair, in Lamar. MO. I'll wander south this afternoon, drop by the fair tomorrow and blow through some film, then head back north at some point.

The conversation I would like to hear happening at our southern border: Border Patrol Officer: “Welcome to the United States of America. How may I help you?” Asylum Seeker: “We would like to apply for asylum in this country.” BPO: “Oh, I’m sorry that you felt you had to leave your home and family to do this. Please, come with me and we’ll start the application...."

Every time I get a little cocky about my traveling prowess, something will happen that reminds me that I’m just a dope. Case in point, two nights ago I arrived in Oslo, Norway. Now this isn’t my first time here, and I’ve learned, after many trips, that Oslo is very expensive. But there are a few tricks to save a few Krone.

As I walked along the sea in Reykjavik, Iceland on this perfect afternoon, taking shots of the rocks various people had stacked on the shore and enjoying a cigar, an older lady stopped her bike behind me and started talking to me in what I assume was Icelandic.“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,”

I want you to drive me to Colfax Ave. so I can photograph old stuff....

Motels are always iffy. One must keep the expectations low and hope for vacancy...

It’s strange to drive on I-29 and be the only car, going either direction. Period. It’s like a scene from a movie.

The first time I heard Navajo spoken as a natural course of conversation was in Holbrook, Arizona. I was in an art gallery that sold various Indian art. The owner, Nakai, spoke to one of the locals, who dropped by, in his native tongue. He sold me a ring in English.

Day Eight: For the whole story here, I need to backtrack about seven years, maybe. Not sure, my life’s been a blur. I was driving home from Pampa, TX and staying off the main roads. I wanted to see what was going on behind the scenes...

Day Seven: I needed a cup of Joe to keep me homeward bound. I stopped in this tiny town and am at the only place in town, having good coffee and talking with the old timers. I love this stuff.

Day Six: I’m stopped for the night at the famous El Rancho Hotel & Motel in Gallup, NM right on Route 66. That’s Leroy...he checked me in. Each room is named after a movie star...I’m in the William Bendix room. ... I’ve never heard of him either.

Day Six: I love waking up without an alarm. There’s a reason it’s called “alarm” and I can’t think of any good ones.

Day Five: I finally made it to Route 66! Can anyone guess which motel I’m staying in tonight?