Rising above the 200-ft lump bequeaths unto you a valley and more highway than your eyes can properly establish. The whole thing seems to be equally divided by the blacktop: to your left, gray clouds hover above red rock, and to your right, blue sky kisses the tips of a distant canyon.
But you? You're right down the middle. You leave a wake of exhaust(ion) and keep an eye on the odometer because you're a man with a half-tank of gas, a cooler full of turkey sandwiches, and a destination.
Your car is drifted to the side of the road. Hazard lights ignite to the precise rhythm of the Replacements song pouring from your blown speakers. You pee into a small hole in the ground, manage to strike a passing tumbleweed, and re-enter the car two pounds lighter.
You're fresh as a daisy, itching for velocity, eyes on the horizon, wondering what's around the bend.
California's coming. Are you ready?