At Perdido, we caught the 126 heading inland. The power lines disappeared. There was a dusting of snow on the distant mountain peaks, an odd contrast to the vivid green in the fields below. In the citrus groves, oranges hung on the trees like Christmas ornaments. The road-side fruit stands were boarded up, but they'd be open for business in another month or so. We passed through two small agricultural communities that hadn't changed in years. This section of the road was known as Blood Alley: only two lanes wide with an occasional passing lane in which the fiery crashes usually occurred. I kept a close eye on Dolan in the event he was on the verge of conking out on me.

He said, "Quit worrying."

At Palmdale, we turned east off Highway 14, picking up the 18. Ancient, cranky-looking billboards indicated land for sale. I saw a sign for 213th Street with a dirt road shooting off to a vanishing point. We passed a hand-painted sign that read PAIRALEGALS AVAILABLE: WILLS, CONTRACTS, DIVORCES, NOTER REPUBLIC. According to the map, the road we were on skirted the western border of the Mojave Desert at an altitude of 4,500 feet.

I checked the map again and said, "Wow. I never understood the size of the Mojave. It's really big."

"Twenty-five thousand square miles if you include the portions in Nevada, Arizona, and Utah. You know much about the desert?"

"I've picked up the occasional odd fact, but that's about it."

"I've been reading about scorpions. Book claims they're the first air-breathing animal. They have a rudimentary brain, but their eyesight's poor. They probably don't perceive anything they can't actually touch first. You see two scorpions together, they're either making love or one of them is being eaten by the other. There's a lesson in there somewhere, but I can't figure out what. Probably has to do with the nature of true love."

I don't know why, but the information made me smile. We passed a sign that read PEACHES, POP. 897. The town was marked by a scattering of Joshua trees and was notable for its abundance of abandoned businesses. The San Gabriel Mountains loomed on our right, antiqued with snow, which had settled into all the crevices, defining them in white. Timbers formed a windbreak along the crest, while below them, I could see stands of evergreens laden with white. A freak spring storm had left mounds and patches of aging snow on the ground. Five cars had pulled over and parked on the berm where five sets of parents stood by chatting while their respective children played in the drifts. Most of the kids looked underdressed. As with the ocean, they'd frolic in the elements until their teeth were chattering and their lips had turned blue.