The AlCan roads continued to be positively lunar, the way back every bit as murderously potholed as the way up. With each bounce and jostle, Miracle winced in pain and I apologized—to her, to the bus, to Jolene, to the cars stacked up behind us. At least we had some good seats.
Last we left off, the engine had broken and our friend, Neil, came to fetch us south of Tallahassee. As we pulled away, I looked in the mirror and noticed that our trailer had a flat. Like a flat flat. Like it was squishy and plumed out on the packed sand road.