LOS ANGELES _ The Rev. Suk-ki Kim rubs the bleary eyes under his glasses, straining to see the pavement ahead.
It's not yet 5 a.m. on a Saturday and traffic on Interstate 5 is sparse. A light drizzle is starting to taper off.
After eight surgeries for glaucoma, he can still drive _ at least for now _ but not in the predawn darkness. This morning, his wife, Kyung-suk, takes the wheel of the minivan.
During a stop, she rifles through a bag of snacks she's packed for the road trip, fishing out steamed sweet potatoes cocooned in foil and a thermos of hot coffee.
The GPS shows another four hours to Chowchilla, where Valley State Prison rises in the midst of a vast stretch of farmland. For Kim and his wife, it's a short drive. It's a breeze compared with the trek to High Desert State Prison in Susanville _ 10 to 12 hours with meal breaks _ or Pelican Bay, which takes 14.
The pastor and his wife have been making these visits for more than 25 years. They're regulars at all of California's 35 state prisons and six federal penitentiaries. They've traveled to prisons in Arizona and Texas as well, at times spending nights on a mattress wedged in the back of their minivan along the way.
But the discomfort of a lengthy road trip pales in comparison with the prison life of those they visit: Korean and Korean American prisoners the community, and sometimes their own families, have long since written off. Their time is measured in years, decades, a lifetime.
Which is why the 67-year-old pastor and his wife take to the road most weekends. They talk about God and Gospel, but more often they listen, as the inmates talk about life, family, anger, regret.
