A quick half an hour drive brings us to Las Vegas. You gotta like this town.
If not for the gaming, free drinks, and legal prostitution (For the record, I take part in the first two but not the third.), then just for the fact that people lead real lives out here. Here in the middle of the fucking desert lies the city. It’s a city built from one law. A law that says, it’s O.K. to give your money away if you want. Four hours east from Los Angeles is where it resides, for those of you who have never been here. Out in the middle of nowhere if you can imagine, for those of you who live in the crowded cities of America. If you wonder what this land looked like before Las Vegas was built, you can get a real-life picture by heading 20 miles, in any direction, away from the city. There is nothing around. Vegas is, to some, the armpit of America. To me, it’s a town of extremes. Anything goes here.
We stopped in Vegas only to eat and pick up things would need for our one night stay in the middle of nowhere (a.k.a. the Tikaboo valley – the valley adjacent to the Groom range and the Nellis restricted area). Our plan, once up there, was to go from the closest highway (U.S. 375) off onto the local dirt road (a.k.a. Groom Lake Road). Then off the dirt road, onto a 4 wheel drive track where we would climb, in our plush Montero, to the top of a ridge. Here, if we weren’t arrested in the process, or too scared by then, we would get our very own look at the top-secret (and non-existent) military installation.
We hoped we would see something amazing. Whether it be a supercool stealth prototype or a hovering alien spacecraft, we didn’t really care. So, anyway back to Vegas. Our stop was, once again, for supplies. Our supplier was the Fabulous (everything is Fabulous in Las Vegas) AM/PM Mini Market. We stopped, somehow managed to fill up the bottomless Montero gas tank, and bought other desert essentials. (Essentials included: A fabulous AM/PM styrofoam cooler, 12-pack of MGD, a quart of orange juice, a 750ml bottle of vodka, gum, and a 1 pound bag of ice.) Onward!
Back on the highway, heading out of Vegas. I must say at this point both of us became kinda grouchy. Our eyes were tired of looking at the color brown.
Our energy levels were just about empty. Any energy we did seem to find we used to peer into the practically stationary cars we sailed past on the highway.
I think we both thought, numerous times but especially now, about whether it was all worth it. Was it worth it to drive all this way (about 300 miles so far)? I think it was a natural feeling to have. A feeling induced by the now 5 hours of driving in the desert, several mouth fulls of chew, a half a pack of cloves, numerous cape cod-ers (cranberry juice and vodka – for those of you who haven’t figured it out quite yet.) and an overstuffed stomach.
(Filled with assorted condiments associated with the many Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers we purchased from Wendy’s fabulous Las Vegas franchise.)
We were bound to feel a little less than chipper. The Montero grew silent for the first time. The Montero, the WHITE Montero. Still powering on, through the desert landscape. It wasn’t tiring. 80 miles per hour for five hours didn’t mean anything to it. You could tell it wasn’t even trying, although it sure was damn thirsty.
Another hour’s drive brought us to what would be our last stop for a dose of civilization (a.k.a. the town of Alamo). The fuel gauge kept reminding me how horrible it would be to be stuck out in the desert. 30 miles to the closest gas station (which closed at 6:00 pm) and weird, secret stuff going on right over the mountain range you view towards your west. Not the most comforting thought. Thirty miles to the nearest, closed gas station and the only other car you’ve seen in the past hour was a rancher’s dusty pickup with a full gun rack mounted on the rear window. Also, not the most comforting thought.
It was now about 5:00 in the afternoon. The sun was continuing its downward slide and we were starting to wonder if we’d spent a little too much time playing in Vegas and the neighboring town of Jean. It was fairly important that we get to our destination (the strange but legal viewpoint) before sunset. No, if we didn’t make it before dusk our Montero wasn’t going to change back into a pumpkin, and no, we didn’t have to arrive early to prepare to defend ourselves from the undead who would rise after sunset. No, nothing like that, as Scorseseish and exciting as it may sound.
Our worry was not being able to clearly see the border of the restricted zone and accidentally straying across the line. This was the line that defined our legal rights. One side was like it was now, in the Montero. We had our rights to free speech, our rights to bare arms. Our right to get in a rental car and go barreling through the desert (as stupid and insane as it may sound).
More importantly, however, was our right to an attorney and our right to a fair trial. You see, on the other side of that line, you have no rights – or at least very few. On the other side of that line, they can lock you up if they THINK you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have.
On the other side of that line, they can hold you for as long as they’d like if you happen to tell somebody a ‘secret‘. On the other side of that line, they can shoot you for straying across and merely wandering around.
The sign reads “Use Of Deadly Force Authorized.” Authorized by who? We didn’t want to challenge their authority, whoever ‘they’ were. We merely wanted to see what a portion of our paychecks helps pay for every two weeks. It didn’t matter if it was for materials research, propulsion systems advancement, or reverse-engineering alien technology. We just wanted a glimpse.