George Pyle: Meet the new driver. Same as the old driver?

Everyone else was gazing in wonder at the night sky. The pure night sky, unchanged by any human light pollution. The way it looks over, say, the Grand Canyon or, as it was that night, near Arches National Park.

There were so many more stars than there were supposed to be that some part of me was convinced that something was really, really wrong. That the universe was collapsing on itself or, maybe worse, that we had suddenly been transported to an alien planet.

Maybe one closer to the center of the galaxy, where the night sky looked very different and, come the dawn — if there was one — there would be two suns and a purple, low-hanging moon.

That’s all very well when you are watching a movie. But real life? Creepy.

So I got back in the car and refused to come out for the rest of the night.

That’s my explanation for why, while no organized religion has ever counted me as a member, I don’t look down on anyone who chooses to follow such a belief system. The universe can be a scary, scary place. It can help a lot to have some kind of order imposed on it, some kind of story or myth that explains it all in at least a semi-plausible order.

Sometimes, you just need to get back into the car and not come out.

It’s just mean to tell someone else that they shouldn’t be in a car. Or that they shouldn’t be in that car, because your car is simpler or fancier or older or newer than theirs. It’s their car and they love it. Or like it. Or are used to it.

Maybe that car has been in their family for generations. Maybe it is brand new. Maybe the steering wheel is on the “wrong” side. Maybe it’s electric instead of gas-powered. Maybe it smells funny.

Criticizing it is like telling someone that their mother is ugly or their kids are stupid.

Although, sometimes, they are.

The big car in these parts, of course, is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Not everyone is in it. Not everyone likes it. But it is, by far, the biggest and most powerful and burns the most gas and makes the most noise. People notice it even if they’ve never ridden in it, or rode in it a long time ago and swore never to get back in.

Because that car is so much bigger than all the other cars, it takes up a lot of the road. It can even determine, maybe without even meaning to, where roads get built, where they don’t, when they are closed or snarled or one-way or no-left-turn. And everyone else just has to deal with it.

That’s why it is such big news when that car goes anywhere it hadn’t gone before, gets a new paint job, takes a wrong turn, backs into someone or, most of all, gets a new driver. And a couple of new people who called out, “Shotgun!” before it started up again.

I’ve been amazed at how many times folks around here object when this newspaper devotes a lot of space to covering the comings and goings and turns and driver changes of the big local car.

Even if you aren’t a passenger, all that is big news here. And this newspaper covers it, in the same way that The Detroit Free Press covers General Motors and The Los Angeles Times covers Steven Spielberg and The Seattle Times covers Microsoft and Amazon. And, in the same way, some readers think all that coverage is too cozy and others think it is too critical and both are probably right.

This auto analogy is really even better than I thought it was when I started writing it, as the drivers and the passengers of the Big Car are living in a world where, increasingly, fewer people are comfortable in their old vehicle. Folks, especially the younger ones, are trying out smaller, more modern cars and, more and more, they don’t have a car of their own. They are perfectly comfortable sharing space on public transit with people who are different from them. They strike out on foot and, when a return to conventional transportation is desired (wedding, funeral) they call an Uber. No commitment.

It’s because more and more of them are not scared of all those stars.

It’s just a question of whether the new drivers of the old Pontiac notice. Or care.

George Pyle, the editorial page editor of The Salt Lake Tribune, enjoys nothing more than sending critical tweets to the unfortunate social media folks at the Utah Transit Authority. gpyle@sltrib.com