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I'd just left Flagstaff and decided that I wanted to put some distance between myself and Arizona. Heading west on Route 66, destined for Chicago, I decided to I wanted to at least make the Texas border and so, digging into my cash reserves, bought a bus ticket for Amarillo, hoping that city might provide me with as much material for the book I was writing as the other cities I'd been in up to this point. As you know by now, several fast-occurring events had propelled me on this somewhat lonesome journey. My wife of several years left me, informing me she'd become bored with me. I was fired from my job by some twenty-something snot-nosed bastard who informed me I'd been replaced. So, feeling sorry for myself, I fled to a Los Angeles hotel where I met Rosie, a sixty-three year old waitress who not only advised me to travel across the nation on Route 66, but to learn about myself and to write a book about my experiences. I was heading east on this sadly forgotten road, but I was enjoying myself immensely, happy I could choose where I wanted to stop, and for how long.

I've learned as much about myself during this journey as I have about others. And one important thing I learned was that despite being only thirty-two years old, over the course of my life I'd had a hidden desire for older women. The trip so far had placed me in the position of being with several women senior to me in years, and each occasion had been more enjoyable than I ever could have hoped for. And each older woman taught me something, some form of a life's lesson I know I'll never forget. Read about my exploits in past chapters and you'll ...

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