Not literally. But Dad’s printed directions ended at a place called “Scenic Overlook 7.” The road after it wasn’t on the page. It was just a beige slit in the red earth, disappearing into a haze of heat.
“We go back,” Dad said. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. blog amateur
Then, somewhere outside of Moab, Utah, the map ran out of ink. Not literally
He smiled. I’d never seen him smile without a reason before. It changed his whole face. somewhere outside of Moab
I didn’t have a compass. I didn’t have a GPS signal. All I had was a sunburn and a stupid sense of direction. But I pointed left, and he turned.
I shook my head. “I guessed.”