When the sun rose the following morning my odometer had turned nine hundred miles. The Midwest lay far behind. I'd kept a vigil, and unless Max Hess had mastered the art of driving in blackness, we'd made this moonless journey in isolation. The Colorado Rocky Mountains were in the rear view mirror as we descended to Utah's southern plateau. A stunning terrain of sandstone monuments, deep canyons, and towering granite cliffs passed us, the morning sun reflecting off red, orange, and purple formations. We stopped for fuel and food in Moab, and pushed westward, but tourists were out in force by now, meandering, gazing at the sights.
I tapped the steering wheel. "Too busy for my liking."
My eyes were wired ...