Those days if you drove cross country and you broke down on the side of the road, and the sign says 200 miles to the next gas station, you knew you were so screwed.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
One of my most vivid memories from 1974 was the gas station at the foot of the hill below my Southern California high school - car lines snaking out into the street, heralding the failure of the government's price controls and lame ideas such as odd-even rationing.
I was a horrible limo driver: I ran out of gas with passengers in the back and I used to get lost on a regular basis.
By 1990 I went back to no gasoline; I was just riding around on my bike, taking the bus. I had a tiny little electric car that didn't go very far or very fast. People thought I'd lost my mind. Even my own family thought I'd lost my mind.
I never knew when I was gong to leave. I might be walking over to a kid's house, then of all a sudden I would just stick out my thumb and hitchhike across three states.
You look at the road you could have taken, you know, I just think that's interesting... I've been on a lot of roads and I had to hitchhike on a couple of 'em... I have to be very honest: There's not an awful lot of regret in my life. I think that, you know, you learn from everything, and then, sometimes, you don't.
Can you think of anything more permanently elating than to know that you are on the right road at last?
There was one year that I was on the road.
For years I drove cross-country, back and forth a dozen times, sometimes on book tour, sometimes just to get lost and found.
I saw a sign it said left lane closed so I went someplace else.
That's the first sign you know you're a Libertarian. You see the red light. You stop. You realize that there's not a car in sight. And you put your foot on the gas.