On September 11th, I was waking up early in my RV, parked at a KOA campground in the middle of Nebraska. I was watching the Today Show, making hard boiled eggs and tea.
While on the road on September 11th, trying to figure out where I was going, I stopped into gas stations along the way to watch events unfold on the television, to ask people what they had heard, to figure out if I was heading toward safety or danger.
I was initially on my way to Manhattan to start a book tour but opted for a detour away from the East Coast, ending up at the home of a friend's mother in Salina, Kansas for a few days. Then I headed to Richmond, Virginia to stay with my sister for a month.
When I returned to Manhattan, dark jets flew low overhead and on the day I arrived and switched on the television in my tiny studio apartment on the Upper West Side, the regular program was interrupted by news of anthrax discovered at the NBC studios.
That's when I knew I'd be moving out of the city permanently. That's when I decided Wyoming was a much safer place.