So, we left the last gas station in Alamo with a full tank of gas and few bottles of hydro-florescent caffeine (a.k.a Mountain Dew). Back on the highway.
Soon we would leave the major interstate (if you could still call it that) and head west on state route 375. This would be where traffic would thin out to about a car every few hours. The closest town to us would be located about 25-30 miles away. It is here in the town of Rachel, Nevada (population about 100) where our closed gas station quietly slept. The sun continued to fall. They had sky changed from the magnificent clear blue of the day to a soft orange glow, then to a reddish, forewarning light. As if trying to remind us that we may be playing with fire. We crossed the last pass which blocked our view of the Tikaboo Valley. Then the dirt road and the Groom range came into view. We sailed down the other side of the pass and prepared to leave the smooth and secure path of faded asphalt.
Onto the dirt road we went (the road is very well maintained I might add.).
We quickly stopped, switched drivers, reset our Montero odometer, and just absorbed the atmosphere. We sat in the open doors of the Montero realizing that we were in a valley 125 miles from Las Vegas. In the middle of the fucking desert. Alone! We both panned around, gazing at the horizon and the red sky above us. In front of us we saw, the mysterious Groom Lake road leading across the valley to the Groom Range. The road, straight as a rail. On the other side of the range, non-existent research installations, secret aircraft, and possibly recovered UFOs. We now stood outside what seemed to be the indestructible Montero, thinking about the possibilities. Rendering the view permanently in our minds. And again – thinking about the possibilities.
A wind, similar to that which escapes as you open the oven door, blasts us in the face. Carrying with it, particles of once irradiated pieces of sand and dust. A valley filled with an only scrub brush, Joshua trees and….. wait…an unmarked, white jeep Cherokee?
We found the first Cherokee about 2 and a half miles away from the asphalt(although I’m sure he found us before we ever left the asphalt). He was far off in the distance and off to the right of the dirt road by quite a ways.
Our 40 U.S. dollar, 10×50 Binocs showed us a camouflaged Cherokee guy sitting in the driver’s seat with his door open. Resting on the open door window was a most impressive spotting scope. His scope was defiantly pined on us. Us watching him watching us. We continued down the public dirt road with a feeling that would not leave us as long as we were here. This was the feeling, placed somewhere in the back of our minds, that we were being watched. Why were we being watched? I really don’t know. We haven’t done anything wrong. All tobacco products and liquids in the Montero were perfectly legal. The speed on the Montero speedometer was about 45, which was well in tune with the posted speed limit.
It’s pretty obvious that something about having the public around this place makes the government extremely nervous. Even if the public, in this particular case, included not a middle eastern terrorist nor a Russian spy but only an art director from Utah and a software engineer who now lives in San Francisco. Why the surveillance on public land? Why are they not on their side of the line. The line they feel so important to protect. What are they doing over here (besides watching us watch them)?
We continued on, always keeping an eye on the Cherokee guy. He, always keeping an anonymous eye on us. We soon found the start the 4 wheel drive track which would take us closer to the restricted area. It came time to leave the dirt road. We stopped only for a second to change the transmission from 2 to 4WD, then off into the brush we went. The anonymous jeep behind us disappeared as we wandered between the rolling hills. We didn’t look back. I guess we didn’t want to see an anonymous jeep following us. It was easier to try and convince ourselves that there was nobody else out here – as there should be.
We sailed along the desert landscape close to the speed we used on the maintained dirt road until we could do so no longer. The road took us through the winding Groom Range, dipping across dry stream beds and scraping against nearby Joshua trees. (It was a good thing I remembered to initial the optional Joshua tree collision section of the rental car agreement.)
We continued on, as far as we could tell, without anybody watching us. However, that feeling is given to us when we left the asphalt (now about 15 miles behind us) never quite retreated. Yeah, we were being watched. We just didn’t know who it was this time doing the watching. Were they watching from the hilltops above us?
Or maybe following us just out of our sight. Then again there’s the high the possibility that we were being monitored by video cameras strategically placed in the middle of the fucking desert.
We came to an illegal roadblock (conveniently pointed out to us by the “Area51 Viewer’s Guide” which rested on the dash of the Montero. (“The Area51 Viewer’s Guide” is written by local Rachel resident, Glenn Campbell) We slowly crawled over the piles of boulders with our rental Montero. (Yes, I remembered to initial the transfer case collision section also.) We soon came to the end of the line. Actually, not the end of the line but the actual line itself.
The border to the Nellis Air Force Range. There were no electric fences or guard towers. This line was marked by only faded, orange, steel posts that were spaced every 30 yards or so. The outline of the posts marked the border which encompasses tens of thousands of Nevada desert acres.
(more to be added after the government soon withdrawals another 4,500 acres of public land)
Why? Well, ‘they‘ can’t tell us why. At the point where the 4 wheel drive track crosses the border, there are many signs. “Restricted Area“, “No Trespassing“, “Photography of this Area is Prohibited.” Yes, these signs make it perfectly clear that we were not welcome here. Why? Well, we don’t know – ‘they’ won’t tell us.