Standing in front of this great signpost of California gave me a feeling of relief and excitement. Only one step to cross this last time slot but unavoidably a step of one whole hour. I looked at my cycling gloves, they both had gaps all over them. Some gaps were there legally but most of them pushed themselves in front during the 4300 kilometres of wear and tear. While I was standing here I became overloaded with all kind of memories, about the beaches of Florida, about John in Juno beach, about smoking joints with Yogi Bear, about beautiful Linda, about the swabs and the alligators, the hills of Alabama, Stan from Seattle, the masseuses of the French Quarter, the cold sweet on the Mississippi bridge, the deserted fair, the Villages in Texas with nothing in between but still not boring. The "boys" from El-Paso, New Mexico with its tire-killing cactuses and Arizona with a sandy desert where the sun smarts your eyes. Reality awakened me from my thoughts and told me not to look back but to look forwards where the Rocky Mountain was wagging his tail at me.