We started the list on Interstate 80, somewhere east of Lovelock but most definitely before the blue-dome skies and dun hills around Dunphy. We passed them, one by one. Dutch Star. The Manor. Wanderer Wagon. The Contessa. The drivers looked down at us while their tailpipes coughed black. Southwind. Four Winds. Trade Winds. Sea Breeze. Lisa and I were on a road trip from San Francisco to Salt Lake City to meet another friend, then head down south to Bryce, maybe hit Escalante for a few nights down in Coyote Gulch, then north toward Capitol Reef to sleep on rocks and rehydrate powdered hummus on the trail and wend down trails with names like Muley Twist. She’d just started paperwork to divorce her husband, and had three more weeks before moving to Mongolia to live in a Peace Corps ger. My magazine job had been relocated to Birmingham, Ala., and hell if I was going with it. My severance; her itchy feet; a 1992 Honda Accord with a honkin’ muffler. All of us wanted to put some miles behind us.