Alessandro had to admit this drive was a pleasant one — the highway wound away south of Santa Fe, through land that rolled in what seemed like huge waves covered in golden dry grass, with an edging of mountains off to the west to give the landscape some depth. There were homes here on large lots, set off from the road by their own private lanes. And they passed over a river, low in its banks at this time of year, but still edged with the graceful, frilly-leaved trees he’d learned were cottonwoods.
They hadn’t encountered much traffic during the first part of their drive, but once they crossed the river, he noticed that there were more cars on the road, as well as large groups of people on big motorcycles — noisy Harley-Davidsons, from what he could tell, very different from the sleek elec
