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been to most places in the United States, and was in awe that she was actually there, sitting, painting, riding, rocking, making love in, but all of the past was gone now and now she wanted what she had when she was in her early 20's, when life seemed more alive and new. She wanted to go somewhere now that would make her fresh, and youthful. Young.
     
    Cutting over to US Route 62, she rambled through the paradoxical roads early Saturday morning July 28, 1971, and took a very steep swing and headed for a rambling county and the valleys that were to be there waiting for her to capture her breath and take it away. She wondered if she was going to be all right for art supplies, as Mr. Cambria, the robust and eclectic man who commissioned her, wanted a total of ten grandiose paintings in which he specifically gave her directions to go see. Ten was the most she had ever done at one time for one client, and this was going to be a challenge among all challenges in her painting career. She had made it through the United States. Traveling from the West Coast, all the way to the Southeast, and was quite proud that her music, her random watching of a TV show in cheap motels, and her thoughts about Daniel, had kept her preoccupied enough to make it this far. It had been a long road trip, oftentimes lonely and abandoned, but she was a tough Cougar who could travel a million more miles if she had to. 
     
    It was a very hot day. Too hot. Meredith unbuttoned her shirt further, until it reached the top of her belly button. Through the wind, the shirt exposed little to the imagination, and showed off a pair of bra less breasts, but Meredith didn't care, as there was neither hide or hair of any signs of life for miles and miles around. Her last day wearing a bra was the first day that she had left. After that, she took it off, and felt the freedom of not wearing a bra, and allowing her breasts to breathe, as free as the wind that embraced her while she drove her jeep, top down. Her Jeep was feeling the pressures of the heat, and some steam began to easily envelope the hood, bouncing clumsily as she continued to drive on the gravelly road that seemed to lead to nowhere, except to more road.
     
    Meredith quickly discovered that even though she drove a four wheel drive, sometimes it just wasn't tough enough, for even the toughest of roads. This road was proving to be, one of those roads. Gravel seem to increase in size, and large rocks were now appearing, and the road became more of a challenge, than a road, and dirt craters appeared in their path like little devils taunting her. She plowed the Jeep into a swift second gear, and decreased her speed in half, so that she may drive down the road without damaging her truck. It was too late. A big rock seemed to appear out of nowhere, and she severed to her right, almost losing control of her Jeep. The Jeep tipped, but not over, but she lost balance and ran into a very rusty mailbox. The mailbox read, “Aspen, RR 34” She slammed her truck into gear, and turned off her truck engine. Smoke from the hood was now pouring out like a pressure cooker, and her windshield was cracked with a thin line that looked more like a lightening bolt, then damaged glass.
     
    From out of the yard, a young man in his middle 20's came running out towards her. He had a strong, thick southern accent that was as burly as his looks . “Hey, you okay?” A little shaken up, but not stirred, Meredith calmly answered. “Yeah, I'm fine.”
     
    Meredith was embarrassed. Her driving skills had never let her down before, but now it had, when she least expected it. And here she was, with a cracked windshield, a dent in her bumper, a damaged his mailbox, and injured pride.
     
    “Hey, I'm really sorry about your mailbox.” Meredith apologized. Her apology was sincere, and there was a genuine undertone in her voice.
     
    From the impact, the mailbox was down on the ground, dented and crushed, letters scattered everywhere on the