Our rented Suburban rumbles over the blacktop. We’re chasing the yellow line that splits the Idaho plain—a succession of lifeless lava flats—and pulls us toward the snarled Sawtooths looming in the distance. My family flew from New Jersey to Seattle and then to Boise, where we piled into this SUV for the 170-mile drive to Sun Valley. The sun is setting, and I can see a look of awe and concern on my kids’ faces. For the first time ever, they gaze upon an austere expanse, void of life or civilization—save the car, the road and us. A broken fan belt compounded by a bad decision or two and we’d become a cautionary tale the locals—if there were any around here—would tell. NEXT