da Civic
Wagon, respectively. Then we drove east by northeast into Los Angeles,
the high desert, and southern Nevada.

Rama had divided us into four groups, with three cars per group and two
or three disciples per car. The groups caravanned separately, and we
met two or three times a day, typically at a Denny's restaurant or at a
Best Western motel. I rode with Alexander, a spare, devout UCSD
recruit who had impressed the Centre with his ability to place second
or third in a marathon. Perhaps from a lack of social self-esteem,
Alexander never said much, but he spoke with me, and I enjoyed his
company.

The following day, Rama invited me and Alexander to ride in his group.
It was at a rest area in southwestern Utah that Rama approached me and
said, "You had better stop vibing Laura. I am fucking her."

A UCSD recruit in her early twenties, Laura had large, dark eyes and
ample social self-esteem. She spoke so fast that she often slurred her
words. She was currently riding with Rama.

"Sorry, Rama," I said, startled by his raw honesty.

We pushed on to Denver and then to Boulder, where we stayed in a motel
near the university. We assessed the city in terms of jobs, housing,
computer courses, and mystical power spots. Two or three days later,
Rama asked us to *see* if we should stay or move on to Boston. He
seemed pleased that we voted to stay. Boulder, after all, was
commuting distance to computer jobs in Denver; it had a respectable
university; it was beautiful in the winter and cute the year round; it
felt at least a mile high until several days later, when Rama accused
us of destroying it with our powerful Negative Energy Field.

"Pack your things," he ordered, and we cut a path south toward
Albuquerque along the Rockies' edge.

There was something about the open road and the blue Colorado sky that
absolved us of our guilt from having decimated a city, because
Alexander and I were anything but upset. The Beatles' White Album was
playing Sexy Sadie, a song satirizing an Indian guru. I asked him if I
could turn up the volume. "Sure." Soon he asked me the same. Before
long, the music was blasting, and we were singing Helter Skelter at the
top of our lungs: "WHEN I GET TO THE BOTTOM I GO BACK TO THE TOP OF
THE SLIDE, AND I STOP AND I TURN AND I GO FOR A... "

Several nights later, near Tucson, Arizona, the disciples looked out
from a hill at the lights of the city below. "This is a real moment of