The car is a temperate 70 degrees. Gary is driving with one hand, his wrist casually limping over the top of the steering wheel as he checks his mirrors. Kait is eating an apple with both hands, Jessica is nodding off to sleep and I am deciding what music will go well with our moods and scenery. Quintessential Aha tour 2010. It’s the final day this type of scenario will manifest. We are heading back to California, the start and end point of the tour.

I could cast my mind back to some of the amazing things we’ve seen and done on the tour, but that’s what the blog archive is for. Instead it’s the small details of the tour that will get their moment in the sun. Playing frisbee in the parking lots of Flying J’s while Gary fills up the truck. The turning off of the studio lights at the end of the day of filming in the Airstream and the stories those lights illuminated. Asking for freshly squeezed orange juice in eating establishments knowing full well they will not have freshly squeezed orange juice.


Three and a half months of “do not disturb” signs, air-conditioning, clap boards, freight trains, trees and no trees, coolers, check in and late check outs, microbrews, Chick-Fil-A, fries with that, salad dressings, Uncle Lou’s Corruption, Satelitte Radio (specifically – 50s on 5, 60s on 6, 70s on 7, 80s on 8, 90s on 9, Classic Rewind, Classic Vinyl, Sirius XMU, 1st Wave, The Loft, Hair Nation, Spectrum), The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, Arcade Fire, LCD Soundsystem, USB cables, USA flags, U-of-[fill in the first letter of the state we’re in], college mascots, meat, squirrels, housekeeping, half destroyed shacks in fields, wisdom, ignorance, wastage, plastic, patience, housekeeping, generosity, cupcakes, state signs, housekeeping, free wi-fi, cows, leg stretches, anecdotes, battery chargers, water, ice, humidity, menus, elevators, bell carts, trucks, truckers, naps, LCDs, GPS, ETAs, ATMs, ASAPs, no RSVPs, the P38 military issue can opener, roadside signs.

And still I am not tired of the road, with its shredded tires, tried and tested from the travel, supermarket mazes and motion induced hunger pangs. Home is where you lay your head and some place far away. A whirlwind of whirlpools, room numbers and restaurants.

Matchbooks procured from bars. The likes of which I met Yancy in Tulsa, saw frisky fondlers in Memphis, the Gay-Black-Jewish-Italian-Hispanic man in Augusta, Chowder and Gazpacho (siblings in North Carolina), the man who told me he had died in Fresno, burlesque dancers in Athens, metalheads in Tucson, lessons in southern accents from Kelly in Asheville, gnats in the whiskey in South Bend, the opera singer who chimed in during my karaoke rendition of Nessun Dorma in Milwaukee, swing dancers in a dive in Providence. I went bowling, go-cart racing, played pool, mini-golf, cornhole, long distance darts, shuffleboard, air hockey, tetherball, basketball, pickleball, skeeball, bananagrams, and boggle.

But the best parties were to be found with Kait, Gary and Jessica in the pools and hotel rooms, looking out over the views of cities across the country, recounting stories, learning self defense tactics and discussing the challenges the world faces and how we can’t fix them. Friendships formed on starched sheets, held together by magnetic keycards, chlorined libations and the hum of rubber on tar.

I have a newfound love of photography, retro trailers, filet mignon and the musical saw. I have hopes as high as a rising star waitress at Cracker Barrel. I have experienced inspiration, and will be forever mindful to close a car door gently.

Since the tour started, both my sisters got engaged, Australia got its first female prime-minister and sporting teams won some monumental basketball, tennis and soccer games. All the while other remarkable people got on with the things they do – baking cakes, starting foundations, doing charity work, making art, making babies, writing, running marathons, addressing situations, saving animals, saving napkins, saving graces.

Stories engrained in everything, the tools to record all the stories sitting on desks with hotel branded notepads by their side. An appreciation for the small things, and the bigger things they stand for. Salutes to humble folk who strive to improve their lot, clean up where there is a blot, an ink flow to clear the clot.

So as summer slowly struts off down the road, handing out sun rays to anyone who’ll take them, it leaves behind some warm memories. And as its lessons resonate, I don’t want them to end. So if you hear a guy with an Australian accent inquiring about freshly squeezed orange juice, or a girl eating what looks to be bird food and taking small bites from carrots, or a burly man with a skull on his shirt ordering milk, or a girl sniffing coffee, come up and say hello and tell us a story. It’s what we live for.

Sitting down to record my final thoughts of the tour, I am hit by a wave of amazement as I think back. In retrospect, everything feels like a whirlwind; I can’t believe all the cities we saw and the incredible people we met! From Martin in Tulsa to Adelaide in Asheville and Dipesh in Milwaukee, we have heard so many stories and though I may not remember every name, I definitely remember the story behind every face. They’re real stories. Incredible stories. From real people. And yet they are some of the most powerful messages out there today.

I often heard people say, “You have the best job in the world!” and I couldn’t agree more. I was fortunate enough to visit 25 cities (and many in between), travel with an amazing crew, and experience the country as more than a tourist. Simply through meeting local people who came in the airstream, I felt like I got a behind the scenes tour of America instead.

I was so surprised by the hospitality you all showed us. Bakers brought us cupcakes and cakes and other goodies. Inventors left us with copies of their inventions. Authors signed their books off to us. Restaurant owners invited us to their restaurants for dinner. A generous restaurant owner in Augusta set us up with hot stone massages. Ryan, the President of the Memphis Symphony Orchestra, gave us tickets to their performance with KC and the Sunshine Band.

Through these and the rest of the people we met I was reminded of how great Americans are. Americans are creative, resilient, compassionate and entrepreneurial people. You’re willing to go out on a limb and follow your dreams, regardless of what people think. You push past terrible circumstances to continue discovering and creating. You’re not afraid to step inside a 34-ft Airstream and bare your soul to strangers you’ve never met.

Our tour exists as a forum for people to share their aha moments because they are some of the most powerful moments in our lives. We hope each video we record has a life of its own and inspires the rest of America–because your stories are worth it.

As I worked on a tour that would inspire the country, I in turn was inspired more than you’ll ever know. And for this, I owe all of you a huge thank you. You made my job the best job in the world.

Eugene, Eugene, why did we enjoy you so much? Your location is superb (in between the coast, mountains and desert), your weather is far from demanding and your residents are always smiling. There is such a peace in the community and the people we met were genuinely happy. We were set up downtown and never left a five block radius but what we saw, we enjoyed. I found a great thrift store across from the 5th Street Market (our filming location), and loaded up with all the remaining things I’ve been meaning to collect (vintage maps, anyone?).

Okay, now to some of the sad stuff: This was our last tour stop. Twenty-five of twenty-five. The final installment. It’s a strange sensation to work hard towards something definite–a finish line–and then finally reach it. I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to pack up for the last time. I wanted to go back a month and relive the moments playing frisbee in the street in Dayton or walking across the bridge in Jacksonville. But as many people who come in to record their aha moments discover, it’s not about the destination but about the journey getting there.

I will cut off here before I get too sappy (don’t worry, that post will come later this week), but before I do I’d love to highlight a few of the people we saw in Eugene.

Meet Haralee:
When breast cancer threw me into menopause with drenching night sweats and I couldn’t find any wicking and comfortable clothes for sleeping, I said Aha and started my own company! I now make cool garments for hot women at Haralee.com and sell a better night sleep for women like me.

Meet Dan:
My aha moment came in 1991 while looking at my late father’s logbook. Louie “Papa Louie” Pimentel had 25.1 hours logged when he was hit with a massive stroke that year and passed away suddenly. He had yet to solo, but I remember him telling me how happy he was to finally be starting flight training. I picked up where he left off and began flight training and flying planes.

Meet Yona:
I suffered a serious brain injury not long ago. I lost all of my basic functioning and had to relearn how to speak and walk. I have always been an artist and while I was in recovery I discovered some old paintings I had made before my injury. I realized that the pieces I had been painting foretold what was going to happen to my brain! That moment made me understand the complexity of the human brain and the resilience of the human spirit.

“Great, we’ll book it,” I say into the phone and hang up as we hurdle 65 miles an hour down the Idaho highway to our latest mid-city stop. The sun is setting and we’ve been in the car for eight hours; Kait has made a significant dent in her baseball-thick novel while dave has played deejay and quit twice now. We look out at the orange cascading colors sinking in the sky to our left and there’s a newfound energy about the car. I get out my notebook and sketch out a headline and look to the others.

“Grocery list. The usual?” I say with a smile. I just booked rooms at our favorite hotel brand and the car is buzzing with excitement. Why? Well, I’m sure you can imagine but we eat out all too frequently. After awhile everything tastes fried and you can only eat so many salads until they all blur together. Cooking in the hotel room, however exciting, is not a sustainable option either. Brett and Eric tried cooking in their rooms last year (read here), but I’ve found the iron and coffee maker can only go so far. Thankfully we were rescued by another alternative. In Troy, Ohio we made the fateful discovery that there was a hotel just for us: the Residence Inn.

Unlike the usual hotels we patron, Residence Inn rooms come standard with fully equipped kitchens (from spatulas to can openers), and outdoor gas grills. While it took us two months to make such a discovery, we have certainly been making up for lost time in the form of home-cooked meals. Grilled shrimp and corn by the pool in Troy, Ohio. Smoked salmon and spinach crepes in Wichita, Kansas. Fresh vegetable pasta in Carmel, Indiana. Steak and salad in Boise, Idaho. The list goes on and on.

Surely there are other hotels out there that offer similar services but none can match the friendly staff (shout out to Allen at the Troy, Ohio Residence Inn!), the tall, familiar maroon sign that beckons us home, and most importantly, late check-out times that allow Dave to prepare extravagant brunches. With a slogan like “Your home away from home,” you can’t go wrong with a Residence Inn.

So, to Mr. Bill Marriott, we thank you for the services of your extended stay hotels. And if and when this crew ever reunites for a reunion you can guess where it will be held: at a Residence Inn.