The car-house carried us over the mountains, past oodles of drowning trails. It rained on the up-side of mountains. It rained on the tops of mountains. It rained on the backside of mountains. And it rained when we arrived in the Nevada desert, where it's not supposed to rain.
The trees stayed in California, so I should've been able to see all the way to Utah as we dropped into the desert, except there were too many clouds in the way.
"Sheesh, there's absolutely nothing here," Mom narrated. "There have got to be trails around here somewhere. But why the heck aren't they on the map?"
"Maybe they still need to be discovered," I copiloted.
Mom's bored eyes drifted off the road and onto the Witch's face. "The road at the next exit just goes and goes into the middle of nowhere. How about we see what's out there?"
The car-house click-clacked in agreement.
The orderly road seemed lost among the ripples of earth spilling from the mountains. Like a City person walking through a small town, the road barged through lumps and bumps, elbowing rocks out of the way on its determined charge to nowhere.