I can tell you this much: you haven’t lived until you’ve searched for silver in a real ghost town or peed on a tumbleweed in the Mojave Desert.

With a few days off from school, Angie and I took a road trip through Arizona, Nevada and Southern California. We drove through the Mojave — which looks like a never-ending sandbox for a family of giants — and into Las Vegas, which Angie aptly described as Chuck E. Cheese for grownups.

We went just to see it all, because some things need to be seen.

My new friend came with us. I would call him my boyfriend, but I’m a 38-year-old divorcee and that word feels silly in my mouth. So I’ll just call him James.

It was a spring break to remember, mostly because Angie and I argued almost the entire time. She was overwhelmed, over-tired and a bit bratty, but perhaps I expected too much from her. Vegas can be mind-boggling for anyone, but probably especially so for someone who has not yet celebrated her sixth birthday.

On our way into the big city, we stopped at the Hoover Dam, which can only be described as awesome. We watched a bald eagle fly silently over Lake Mead carrying a white fish in its beak. It was breathtaking.

“This place is named after a president,” Angie said. “But I don’t remember which one.”

Farther down the road, the three of us took turns posing for pictures beneath the world’s largest thermometer. I squinted into the scorching desert sunlight, while Angie pretended to have a fever.

We stopped for lunch in a real ghost town, a place where miners once made their living pulling silver from the earth. We could see the great hole in the ground where they went in. I bet many of them never made it out.

As we stood along the dusty Ghost Town Road (really, that’s what it is called) searching for rocks with silver flecks, I was reminded that sometimes the best things happen when you are on your way to someplace else.

The most special moments come when you veer off course, when you allow yourself to say what if and why not, when you let go of what you think your life is supposed to be and let it become something you never expected.

Just a few years ago I was happily married. My life had a very clear direction, a very specific trajectory. I had a plan, but you know what they say about plans.

These days, I’m happily unmarried, with no rules for the future and no expectations for tomorrow, and I’ve never felt more alive.

It’s a wonderful feeling. I wouldn’t trade it for all the riches in Vegas.

Oh yeah, Vegas!

We finally made it to Sin City, which, turns out, smells like cigarettes. And you probably already knew this, but Vegas is crowded and noisy. You have to wait in line everywhere you go, and everything costs three times more than it should.

“It was bright,” Angie said. “And it made me act all crazy.”

We did have some fun there, though.

The three of us had an excellent dinner on the top-floor patio of the hotel restaurant, where the wait staff brought Angie and me two fluffy red blankets to keep warm after the sun went down.

Angie enjoyed watching Saturday morning cartoons while soaking in the hotel bathtub. James played a few slot games and then we all went over to the shark aquarium, which sent Angie into a tailspin. When a sand tiger shark floated inches from her face, she squealed, “Now this is my idea of paradise!”

My spunky 5-year-old also let loose on Fremont Street, a place so brilliant and energized that it can be seen from outer space. Angie danced with such zeal that she caught the attention of the DJ, who showered her in silver beads.

Vegas is nice in its own special way, but it’s not quite for me. I had more fun on the road, arguing with my daughter about bathroom breaks and taking pictures at bizarre tourist attractions. Did you know there’s an alien museum in Death Valley that sells alligator jerky? And a diner with a tyrannosaurus rex made entirely of scrap metal?

I’m telling you, some things just need to be seen.

Wendy Fontaine’s “Party of Two” column appears every other week. Her e-mail address is: [email protected] or follow Party of Two on Facebook.