As the road began its trans-continental blur, the coastal wine region became the fertile San Joaquin Valley which morphed into high desert, and soon the lights of Las Vegas emerged from the desert like fireflies flitting about on the horizon as twilight settled across the desert. Now the city itself was right in my face, a huge vacuum of electricity and plasticity, begging me to stop and play and lose, but the trip had just begun – a cross country trek to visit and go surf with a good buddy - and I knew I could blow the whole budget with a few bad hands. So after a fun night and moderate blackjack playing, I carried on.
The next day, Sin City rocketed past the window and the horizon and desert mountains faded from pinks to purples and finally pin-pricked starry night, and Zion National park emerged with towering rock cliffs under the blanket of night, and once shooting stars ceased visibility with the come of daybreak, the palette of the mountains red and orange and yellow on all sides beamed out, and while I wanted to stay, the timeline was set, and the longest drive had only just begun.