Maybe there's another sort of parent love out there, Mom, that Chris needs, and maybe Del is ready to give it to him.

Love, Charley

To: Mom

From: Charley

Subject: Project Gold Rush

August 19, 2016

Dear Mom,

The hydraulic braking systems we design and build capture the energy of deceleration so that it can be applied to acceleration, and when the price of gas is high, Chris describes eloquently the available cash savings in fuel alone. These days of cheap gas, however, make price less of an incentive for investment, so he emphasizes the costs. Lower fuel efficiency could mean that Los Angeles, San Francisco, even Reno may someday rival Delhi and Beijing for unlivable air quality, for nature-deprived children with asthma and poor muscle tone. Chris makes visible the connection between commercial vehicle fleets and the melting ice caps, makes the suits believe he can help them rescue a polar bear from drowning in an endlessly warming Arctic waterway. He makes the polar bears personal.

This deep analysis of price and cost is one of many reasons we should all be proud of Chris.

Thomas Edison was too difficult for public school. He was home-schooled by his mother and father; the latter had been thrown out of Canada for his firebrand, impolite politics. Thomas Edison's father taught him critical thinking and distrust of government. Chris and I agree that our own father taught us only distance: miles versus kilometers, synapse versus flesh, blood versus gasoline. Nevertheless, Chris wanted to make an effort, so we did.

You might be surprised that I found Del's mine, surprised at how I found it, but it's no surprise to me. We beat the LA traffic to the lonely Nevada highways today. The wind was steady and relentless, shaking the low-lying sagebrush on the steppe, but not angry enough to disturb the sandy ground. Spirits and heat vapors shimmered above asphalt and desert alike. Cirrus clouds formed mare's tails in the shape of maiden's braids. Raptors rode the thermals far above—so far away I couldn't tell if they were eagles or vultures. Let's dispense with the portent of the obvious vulture symbolism. Let's say they were eagles for the sheer joy of siding with optimism, said optimism likely the difference between the success or failure of any quest—mythic or modern. Chris and Chris's phone stayed in the car. They were both impatient with me. I licked the tip of my finger and it came up from the earth crusted in sand, sparkling with flecks of mica. It tasted vaguely of strawberries—mostly like sucking on a penny. A grain of sand settled between my canine and my first premolar and remains impossible to dislodge. I have annotated your AAA map, perhaps beyond recognition.