Growing up, I was fascinated by a road sign pointing to Barstow, California. Years later, I set out on a road trip to discover whether a matching sign existed 2,554 miles away at the western end of Interstate 40.

My first visit to Las Vegas was a collection of simple moments: a box full of vegan donuts, aching arms from vintage suitcases, an impromptu photo shoot at the Wynn, and an hour spent laughing with Chucky on the Strip.