To think of making the trip, camping in my car to the end of the Earth, is to start with one first question.
Which direction do I go in.
Now, realize, when I start in one direction I will not backtrack. I may move to side to side, even radically ninety degrees change direction from North to East, but I will not go backwards any more than that, unless unknown circumstances mitigate and determine so thus yes. No, not unless.
So you decide, reader, listening, viewer, you decide which way I should go to start on the compass of this earth.
Three choices from my home, North, East, or South.
Not west, no, because I am not going in a boat. I am not going in a ship, either. I go driving my car across America. Yes.
Either North, or East, or South.
South is to go into Mexico and make my way through that precious garden of bougainvillea, and beyond, turning and curving as needs must be I make my way south and south and further south, all the way through Guatemala and Costa Rica to where the road stops in Panama. Beyond that who can say no ferry to South America.
North is to turn my eyes into the distant white Arctic, first by leaving San Diego through the coastal mountains, making my way north toward the Sierra Nevada and the great basin valleys of Nevada and Idaho, perhaps even Yellowstone and then Canada by turning aside to Seattle or whatever exigencies may present themselves to my wandering eye and typing hand.
East, yes, the third choice, is to leap from the back-country mountains of my home land and set off toward the Colorado river and all those vast territories beyond; Arizona, Colorado, Kansas, New Mexico, Texas and then the Midwest and all that lies east beyond that, too.
These are the three basic directions leading me away from home on that distant, sudden day when I depart for a camping trip to the end of the continent.