FOR a moment I doubted my eyes. Was I wishing it into existence? Dreaming it?

Then, drawing closer, I grew certain that the stripes on the horizon — the ones rising above a fast-food tree line of McDonald's and Taco Bell logos — were indeed orange and white. That they did form a telltale consonant near the end of the alphabet.

That after 4 days, 10 states and 20 drive-through meals, I had the shimmering W of a Whataburger in my sights.

"There!" I pointed. "Look!"

"I don't see ...," groused my companion, groggy from the fried chicken at Popeyes, the fried fish at Captain D's Seafood and the other fried things at the other fry-happy establishments we had visited that day.

Her protest trailed off, because then she saw. How, she asked, had I spotted the sign from so far away?