This Easter, like every other year, we packed up all the booty, the dog and a bunch of food we’d regret taking because there would already be too much, and headed out to Mike’s parents’ place.

In good weather, it’s a forty-five minute drive on a rural highway notorious for aggressive drivers. The highway runs by a couple of wineries, a drag racing track and a speedway, in between which is a whole lot of high desert and the occasional cow.