"I first met Dean not long after Tryscha and I hooked up. I had just gotten over a wicked fucking hangover that I wont bother to talk about, except that it had something to do with a six-foot-five douchebag and a beer bong. With the coming of Dean Moriarty began the part of my life you could call my life on the brod. Before that Id often dreamed of going West to see hot LA actress chicks and try In N Out burgers, always vaguely planning and never taking off. Dean is the perfect bro for the road because he knows how to fucking party. First reports of him came to me through Chad King, whod shown me a few Facebook status updates written by Dean from the Arizona State Beta Phi Omega house. I was totally stoked about Deans status updates because they were funny as shit, asking Chad to rate some pictures of girls he hooked up with the night before. At one point, Carlo Marx and I texted about the status updates and wondered if we would ever meet the epic Dean Moriarty. This is all far back, when Dean was not the crazy fucking jagoff he is today, when he was a young Communications major shrouded in Axe Body Spray. Then news came that Dean was out of ASU and was transferring to OSU; also there was talk that he was bringing some slam piece named Marylou."
"A raw fucking thing happened when Dean met Carlo Marx. Two total players that they are, they took to each other at the drop of a hat. Two hardcore eyes glanced into two hardcore eyes- the Natty-slugging player with the lacrosse shorts, and the MGD-chugging player with the popped collar that is Carlo Marx. From that moment on I saw very little of Dean, and I was a little sorry too. Their energies fucking tangled (no homo), I was a prude compared, I couldnt shotgun PBRs as fast as them."
"Now Dean had bought a hilarious new Big Dogs tee to go back in; red with Female Body Inspector written across it and all fifteen bucks at Target, with a can of axe and an acoustic/electric Fender guitar which he was going to start playing at ASU as soon as he got re-enrolled. We had a farewell meal of wings and Bud Light in Bar Louie, and then Dean got in his Land Rover with the Asher Roth bumper sticker and roared off into the night. There went our player. I promised myself to rock out the same way when summer break came. And this was totally the way that my sick road trip experience began, and the shit that was to come is too off-the-fucking-chain not to tell."
"Id been MapQuesting shit on my Samsung Galaxy for a few days, even checking out awesome bars and savoring names like Dicks Last Resort and ESPN Zone and so on, and on MapQuest there was one long yellow line called I-80 that led from Teaneck, New Jersey clear to San Fran. Ill just keep on 80 all the way, I said to myself and got fucking moving. To get to 80 I had to go up to Toledo. Filled with sick dreams of how Id party in Chicago, in Denver, and finally in San Fran, I took a gross-ass city bus up to Worthington and got out near the bank of the Olentangy River. If you dropped a rose in the Olentangy River, that would be a gay-as-hell thing to do."
"My first ride was a brewdog truck with a Bud Light logo, about thirty miles into bullshit boring Illinois, the truckdriver pointing out the truckstops on Route 6 where he had gotten his smash on with trucker chicks. Along about three in the afternoon, after a Bloomin Onion and a Miller Light in a roadside Outback Steakhouse, a woman stopped for me in a little coupe. I had an undercover chub as I ran after the car. But she was a not-hot cougar, actually the mother of sons my age, and wanted somebody to help her drive to Iowa. I was down for it. Iowa! Not so far from Denver where Dean was beasting it, and once I got to Denver I could beast it. She drove the first few hours, at one point insisted on visiting a gay-ass old church somewhere, as if we were fucking idiots, and then I took over the wheel, and though I dont like driving anything that cant off-road, blasted clear through the rest of Illinois to Davenport, Iowa, via Rock Island."