My father never traveled much until late in life, and he told me he regretted not having those experiences to call upon through his years. So when I drove from Minnesota to Los Angeles at age 23, I was thrilled not only by the spectacular scenery but also by the realization that I could use these memories for a lifetime.

Heading west on a winding road from Las Vegas at twilight, I found myself in a rose-colored canyon unlike any glen I had ever seen. I pulled over, jumped up on the warm hood of my rusty '77 Malibu, and my tired eyes watched night fall over the Mojave Desert for the first time. The jagged horizon and chilling breeze spoke to me in common terms: loneliness and vulnerability, promise and beauty. I'll never forget that sunset.〔