The raggedy sputtering bus pulled into an abandoned lot. It has been 16 weeks since a crew of nappy headed high school kids had hit the road to discover all they could about this wild, wasted of a country. Starting in the north east, they spent 10 whole days picking blueberries and mining for herikimer diamond. From there they travelled through Kentucky, sleeping in state parks, rolling in late at night, and out by dawn so they didn’t have to pay. Their bus, who they nicknamed Lilly, was steady and true. One of these granola headed kids had acquired from a distant cousin who lost it in a game of dice. It had travelled over 100,000 miles since they acquired it — bopping too and fro to Grateful Dead and Phish shows. On this particular adventure they had hopped to make it to the Oregon County Fair. Leaving Kentucky, they barreled through the flat and barren lands of Kansas toward the might Rocky Mountains. They stopped in their favorite town of Nederland. From there, they went to and fro, getting lost a few times, since in those days we didn’t have a fancy phone to find our way. We used a goddam map, an honest to goodness piece of paper that was dated and often indecipherable. They finally made it to Moab and right when they pulled in, the bus started jugging, and it wasn’t a good sign. The leader of the pack jumped out and started kicking Lilly that made the rest of the Nubs uncomfortable. It continued to inch forward, slow and steady, until it breathed one last thoughtful exhaust.