UPDATE: With the help of Ford, I was able to recover my book, tripod, and camera charger. Unfortunately, the little bit of rubber marble from Bristol Motor Speedway that Hilary and I received on mission 5 was not recovered.

Last night, I went down to the Palladium on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood for the official Fiesta Movement party. It was an extravaganza fit for the grandeur of the program and the personalities. For at least one night, all the agents were stars, bathed in media attention and opportunities to further their brand.

I left early, stopping for only a brief moment.

Outside the venue, front and center, sat our the Fiesta. Two days earlier, I was sleeping in the front seat while Jen hunkered down in the back. Now I was walking beside her, just another gawking bystander. I passed by with a simple pat on the roof, leaving behind the 39,000 miles I drove in 7 months, the blood on the roof from mission 5, the wrap baring the bad colonies' logo, the seats destroyed by my Swiss belt, all the memories and all the miles.

Earlier in the day, I had pulled our gear from the car deep in the basement of the London West Hollywood. It had all the sensitivity of returning a rental car, the forced pleasantries, the impatient attendant waiting as you scramble to find your bits and pieces, and the hurried walk away from the car with a bag breaming with belongings. They had cleared the bulk of our stuff out before I arrived, acting surprised that someone that just drove 3000 miles would have so much gear. In the end, I lost my tripod, camera charger, a few mementos, and a few books to this hurried insensitive process. It just didn't seem fitting of the work we put in to get here. But then the whole experience was coming to an end with a screeching halt.

The story of Fiestavus may end here but it started in Mongolia during the summer of 2006. Continued in part 2 of part 2.