Posted on 09/23/2008 8:33:10 AM PDT by 60Gunner
Fallon, Nevada to Kingman, Arizona:
I have been all over the world, and have seen some interesting terrain in my travels. But the landscape of western Nevada was just, well... eerie. The outside temperature was 110 degrees and rising, and it was only mid-morning. I had cast a lot of glances out of the side windows for the first 100 miles of this leg, but as the environment became more barren and forbidding, and the atmosphere thinner and drier, I found myself retreating inward with a strange sense of isolation and vulnerability. And that only caused me to become more aware of my injured toe, which seized upon the opportunity and commenced to hurt like hell since it had no competing distractions.
I concluded that whatever it was that pressed down upon me and triggered my brooding thoughts, it was certainly not the sense of being at great personal peril. Having nothing better to do, and rather desperate to get my mind off that damned throbbing toe, I cast about for a single word that most accurately described the sterile nothingness across which I drove. Looking out at the vast, gray-brown, treeless valley over which loomed a jumble of distant hazy and sinister-looking mountains, I found the word: Desolate. All that was needed was a big sign that read: SAURON WAS HERE.
I nodded to myself. "Desolate" covered it. I sped up a little without really thinking about it, and yelped a startled Whoops! when I looked at the speedometer and found I had reached 110mph. I prudently curbed my urge at that point-I say prudently, because as I rounded a curve at a more sensible speed I passed a Nevada State Trooper going the other way- a trooper who was clearly giving me the Evil Eye as we neared each other. I guess a lot of drivers get a little "goosey" out here. I took a deep breath and shook off the spookies as I pulled into Hawthorne.
Hawthorne, Nevada: an idyllic paradise where one can find a girl behind every tree- provided one can actually find a tree. The place is notable for being home to a US Army munitions factory and depot. I imagined that its placement in the middle of frigging nowhere was probably due to the nature of the munitions being produced. Just a guess, mind you. But think about it...
I gassed up, grabbed some hot chow and high-tailed it out of town, eager to get to my next stop on this traveler's paradise: the teeming metropolis of Tonopah, home of the Fighting Muckers. (It's a good thing that the sign over their high school wasn't painted by a person with dyslexia.) Tonopah is basically Nome, Alaska at 6,100 feet above sea level: Dusty, tiny, and wind-swept. Except for being about a hundred degrees hotter, I could swear I was in Nome again. (I made a vow that the next time I saw Nome, it would be through a bombsight. But that's another story.)
I had droned through half of my day already, and I felt somewhat peeved that I still had a long, long way to go to get to Kingman. This would not do; it was time to push things a bit. When Tonopah had vanished from my rearview mirror, I decided to see if Baby-san felt as inclined to kick up some dust as I did.
She did, in fact, feel so inclined. I accelerated through to fifth gear and when I hit a long, long straight stretch, I gradually opened her up as fast as I dared. My engine has a rev limiter at 6,000 RPM, and I buried the needle at 140MPH before I hit 5,000RPM, and I was still accelerating. In this realm of her performance envelope, Baby-san's voice was no longer the sultry resonating rumble for which I loved her- it became a malevolent, tooth-rattling bellow that vibrated the mirrors and drowned out all thought. From this, I understood her answer to be It's about damned time, loverboy!
Having successfully scared the crap out of myself, I backed 'er down to just under 120 and started breathing again.
The Pirellis were loud as hell at this speed on the baking asphalt. They were nice and hot and sticky. Baby-san and I ripped through the gently banked curves and long straightaways, howling through unpopulated central Nevada like a hellbent banshee. I flexed my fingers around the wheel and, wearing a truly wicked grin, danced with Baby-san right along the ragged edge.
I reeled in my evil twin long enough to gas up and snack in Death Valley, and then let him out to play some more until a little north of Nellis Air Force Base. I droned on into Vegas at a sedate 90MPH, but sensed from the number of cars that passed me that I was actually being a little pokey. Still, I felt that I had tempted fate sufficiently for one day. Deafened slightly from the engine noise, I stopped to recover and eat at Vegas before heading to the second item on my list of Landmarks I Have Never Seen Before (Lassen Peak was the first): Hoover Dam.
It was really big. I took lots of pictures. My foot hurt a lot. Okay, time to go.
The drive to Kingman took place as the sun began to descend towards the horizon. The desert was a most incredible shade of red, the sky was clear, and my backside was ready to call it a day. My injured left great toe was beginning to throb from being in a dependent position, in spite of the ibuprofen and Tylenol. I was ready to be done.
I pulled into the hotel, paid for the room, then went across the street to a Sonic Drive-In that beckoned me. I gorged myself on a coney, fries, sundae and root beer. I ate at an outside table, massaged by a hot desert breeze as I watched a distant thunderstorm light up the eastern sky, its towering anvil-topped cumulonimbus clouds painted a shocking pink by the setting sun.
I hobbled back to my room and examined my seriously hurting foot. The toe was bruised and swollen. I took some more ibuprofen, applied ice, propped my foot up and I pulled out one of the bottles of a very potent Belgian ale I had stocked for the trip and pulled out my laptop to post my experience. At that point, I discovered that the infernal thing had decided to eat its operating system and become an expensive paperweight. Cutting my losses, I pulled out my summer book and was asleep within seconds.
ER Nursing, Travel, Road Trip Ping!
1) How’d you hurt your toe?
2) Did you consider that going well over 100 mph in 100+ degree weather on asphalt that was certainly a lot hotter than that, put you at serious risk of a blow-out? Surely as a longtime ER nurse, you have some concept of what happens to bodies in cars that suddenly go completely out of control at over 100 mph.
Fergit the toe, How he post this with “an expensive paperweight”???
Your writing is very good. You ought to write a book.
Oh wait. You are. How’s that coming?
Thanks for the ping. And don’t wait so long next time before the next installment, OK?
BTW, you do have a definite flair for writing, are you descended from Celtic bards.:) Keep on writing, you're damn good!
Still enjoying your tale!
I had a friend who was speeding out in the middle of freaking nowhere get stopped by the cops. When asked how they got him, they said they were up in the mountains not far away and clocked him from there.
I somehow missed Part 2. Do you have a link?
Written with flair, another pleasurable read. One of many touches, I especially liked the line about a girl hiding behind every tree - if you could find a tree. :o)
Sorry about your laptop, though!
Clicking the keyword enursing stories would get ya there, but here’s a quick linky:
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-chat/2071892/posts
Thanks!
That explains the hurt toe.
The tires were brand-new and rated for speeds greater than 150mph. I had adjusted the air pressure to accomodate for expansion at higher rates of speed while at Tonopah. I guess I should have included that.
I also went through a high-speed race driving course (a gift from Mrs Gunner) about ten years ago.
Had there been a single car on that long stretch of road, I would never have gone that fast. I’d rather wrap myself up alone, thank you.
Thanks for your concern, my friend.
Gunner sends
Great writing!
Please take care of yourself!
One day, we’ll want to be able to say we knew you when. :)
Glad to hear you had it all calculated out. Sounded like you got surprised by the nearness of that trooper, though.
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