On this very day, three years ago, I rolled into Topeka, Kansas in my '97 Honda CRV. I was 31 days and a few thousand miles into a cross-country road trip that had not yet yielded the epiphany I had been searching for across all those miles. Against better judgement, I dragged my road-weary ass across the frigid Comfort Suites parking lot to have something to eat at the only restaurant in walking distance. It was a Hooters. And on that night, I think that practically empty establishment was the saddest place on the face of the earth. As I sat at the empty bar, silently sipping my oversized beer, the only eye contact I shared was with the worst quesadilla ever made, which silently stared back at me from a chipped plate. I was ill-prepared for what would happen next...