I had been driving for three days, 10 or more hours a day, in my lime green 1975 Ford F-150, the night I rolled into Santa Rosa. I was incredibly tired. I was fearful of running out of money, so I looked for a cheap motel, away from the highway. I had driven further and further west that day, through herds of longhorn cattle in West Texas , and into New Mexico, and in both places, there were not nearly enough dwellings, traffic, or human beings to meet my definition of "civilized." It was barren and desolate. On each night of my journey from Michigan to California , I always parked with the back of the pickup near the door of the room where I would be sleeping, and this night was no different. I wanted to be able to hear someone if they tried to tamper with my truck, especially the camper top or tailgate. I had pretty much everything I owned, organized and stacked to the camper top in the truck. This motel was cheap, all right. I don't remember how much the rat...