We are being transported, as David Kranes says, from "practical to possible." Kranes, a retired University of Utah English professor, has long been fascinated by what he calls border realities and dream spaces. He has written novels and plays set in casinos, and he currently works as a consultant to help casinos design those spaces better: less frantic, more open and ordered.

"And what happened in The Crossing — from state to state," writes Kranes about his first car trip to Nevada years ago, "was: The rising of Expectation, increase of Appetite." The first time he ever drove across the Utah desert toward Nevada to gamble he says he felt like he was on some kind of Homeric journey, piercing the dark, battling the elements, crossing an Ancient Sea.

When we get to Wendover, the bus stops at all the casinos. Like Ballard and Francis, we get off at the first stop, Montego Bay. We step inside the casino, into the dark, timeless space. At 11 in the morning the place is fairly empty, the whir and ping of the slots subdued.

Beverly Stromberg and her husband drive to Wendover every Tuesday from their home in Grantsville. "We should be going to the temple," she says. In fact her daughter is kind of shocked at this new development in her mother's life. "My answer is: 'I'm not hurting anyone.' " To which her daughter replies, "Yes you are. You're setting a bad example."

But Stromberg sees it this way: "I don't buy jewelry. I don't buy clothes. I can't read, because I'm going blind from diabetes." And she hates going to the movies these days. "Do you know how tired I am of seeing what people now call 'boobs'?"

"Old people come (to Wendover) for one reason," she says. "To get out of the house. To be entertained." Not that she really likes the newfangled machines.

Francis, on the other hand, is fascinated by the technology, the newer and fancier the better. The new penny slots, she says, with their changing themes and even minor plot lines, tickle her. Ballard, the consummate good sport, doesn't care much for the new machines but happily keeps Francis company as she plays them.

You can take the fun bus in the morning and come back in time for dinner, or you can keep gambling and take the 1 a.m. bus. Or, like Ballard and Francis, you can stay overnight and gamble for an extra day. Or, for that matter, stay for as long as your luck or your money hold out.

On the bus back to Salt Lake City the mood is usually more subdued. There aren't even any bingo games, maybe because some riders wouldn't have a dollar left to play with. Asked if he broke even, retired auto mechanic Jim Boyd answers "Partially."

We are driving east now, away from glitz and promise, back to our real lives.

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E-mail: jarvik@desnews.com; lois@desnews.com