Santa Fe Spirits

The desolate drive from the blue bays of San Diego to the naked red mesas of New Mexico slowly equipped my mind and body for the change.
As the six of us sweated through thirsty desert, crushed into an airless turquoise Pontiac, we soon craved any respite from close quarters.
To make matters tortuous, my father--a large, darkly handsome wanderer--saw travel as a mission to get from point “A” to point “B” in Guiness-World-Record time. Since we never fed in restaurants and rarely stopped for gas, my opportunities to escape the congested rear seat were few.

--From my novel