Itch stayed behind. Waited on the local law while Cory held his groggy and groaning father. The run-down house was nothing more than a pill operation—real opioids gotten with stolen or fake prescriptions. At least, that was what Itch and Hunter had pieced together from speaking with Cory.

Heat rises like gas fumes from the highway. Nugget’s bike eats up the long stretches of desolation—more cactus and creosote than actual trees. There isn’t much in the way of other vehicles on the road. For the most part, Hunter is alone with his thoughts. He likes that. More time to reflect, to think about his father. Their camping trips. Pitching tents, fishing. Scaling fish. Cleaning them and frying them in cornmeal over an open fire. Enjoying the mouthwatering meat of fresh-caught stream fish. There were long hikes in the woods. His father was on the road five or six days a week, but when he was home, he had made time for Hunter. What Hunter hadn’t realized then—or even until this trip—was how, with his father, he always saw the world through a different lens. New eyes that readjusted one’s beliefs about the world and the people in it. That there was good in others—you just had to find it, to point it out. Which explained the stories. The situations his father found himself in on the road. Regardless of how grim the circumstances, his father had always seen a solution, always had an eye toward betterment. And he was a good salesman. Could sell anything.

The bike is gliding along on silky-smooth pavement, sun warming him and reflecting off the gas tank’s painted flames. Hunter wonders, where did that come from? His father’s penchant for understanding others, their situations. Maybe it came from his grandfather; he was an open-minded man. Or maybe it was just being on the road and seeing real life and following his gut. His natural instincts.

Riding Interstate 80 West into California, he has the same blue skies. But the soil and foothills have changed a lot since Utah, from dusty reds to tans with patches of green—a lot more green where there had been only rock and brown scrub. Everything is clean, vibrant. Rolling along, more cars are present. More bikes too. Hunter is no longer a lone soldier. Following long curving stretches, exiting onto Highway 20, cruising through the historical beauty of Nevada City, California. Hunter can see why his father and uncle chose to live here. It is pristine. Structures are well kept and colorful, and most have a breath-stealing view of verdant wooded mountainsides.