Ever since I started living in the US, I have felt overwhelmed by the amount of people that occupy it. Driving to LA around midnight on a Thursday night, the highways are packed headlight to tail light, campgrounds in obscure places require bookings months in advance and permits for popular hikes are pretty much a lottery. I did not feel any of this today, it was quite the opposite.
I was ignoring the time change for now, just shifting my habits forward by one hour, so I was still up with the sun. My left hand was throbbing a little and as I made breakfast I realised it had reduced functionality, hopefully that feeling would disappear. All I had planned for today was driving. From what I’d heard, there wasn’t much to see in Nevada, so it would be a big drive north, towards my goal of Glacier National Park. I’d camped just outside a town called Overton, where I stopped at a Maccas to use some Wifi and download some podcasts and a few audiobooks for the day, thoroughly fed up with my music having listened to it for most of yesterday. After Overton, there wasn’t much to come across. When I got to highway 93, most of the traffic continued on the main highway towards Vegas, which I was happy to see the back of. From there, I was isolated in a seemingly never-ending desert. I finished the second season of the “Serial” podcast before I got to my only tourist destination for the day, the extraterrestrial highway. A quick side note on “Serial”, those people do not know how to end a story! You might have read that I was upset with the first season because there was no conclusion. Same with this one, they go round and round in circles, gathering information, digging deep into every possibility, only to conclude nothing. It leaves me feeling that I’d wasted my time.
Anyway, the extraterrestrial highway is so called because it is right by an army airforce base and has had the most UFO sightings in the US. I know…. Weird right? I was driving east along the highway to reach the town of Rachel, which is the main touristy spot. Between Hwy 93 and there, there isn’t much that lets on to any weirdness, unless you count ridiculous lengths of dead straight road. There had been a sign just after joining the highway that the next fuel was in 150 miles. Definitely isolation. I counted the cars it took to travel the seventy or so miles to Rachel – it was eight. At Rachel, as soon as I stepped out of the car, I heard the exhaust of a plane. I looked and looked but saw nothing above me. Eerie.
The town of Rachel consisted of a few homes dotted around, a campground that was nothing more than a field, and the Ale-inn, essentially a roadhouse filled with souvenirs and memorabilia, old photographs of UFOs and dollar bills signed and stuck onto the roof. I desperately needed the bathroom, so used their facilities, then ordered a coke because I didn’t want to skimp. It was a small price to pay for perusing the countless images on the wall. I have to say, they were pretty convincing! Most of these look like photos taken from disposable Kodaks, printed on that shiny paper so couldn’t possibly have been edited. Most of them are just normal photos of people posing with a fish they’d just caught, a snap of their campsite, all with UFOs somewhere in the frame. There was a collection by one particular woman who must have been an enthusiast. It seemed to be common knowledge that UFOs are invisible to the naked eye, only showing up when exposed by film. I spoke to the owner of the inn for a while and to the group of army guys that were enjoying an Alien burger with an Alien stout. Outside, we were all walking around taking photos of the various pieces of alien-type artefacts. The town was so weird even their fire trucks are yellow instead of red.
The army guys were predictably heading to the airforce base, but were tourists just like me. I find the attitude towards veterans here interesting. They are famous, thanked everywhere they go for their service with gratuities handed out from place to place, whether it be discounts or in the case of the Ale-inn, a free Alien burger. It’s a great thing, and I wonder if we don’t see it in Australia because we just don’t have that big of a military, or if it exists and I just don’t know about it.
Onwards from Rachel and the isolation continued, but I didn’t mind it. I was enjoying the audiobook I’d downloaded. At the end of the highway where I wanted to turn due north-east, I’d travelled 100 miles and I realised the fuel that was 50 miles away was to the south-west, the opposite direction that I wanted to go. My fuel gauge was just over ¼ so I judged that I would be ok to reach the next town. Soon after turning off, there was a sign stipulating it was another 70 miles to the next gas. Eek! I would be cutting it close. I became a very assertive driver, coasting in neutral down hills and hoping like hell I wouldn’t regret ditching the jerry can when I packed the van. I was pissed off that it used up so much space so figured I didn’t need it! This could be embarrassing…
The desert persisted as I travelled. I kept my eyes peeled for animals, determined to see a desert tortoise, but I settled for what I think was a bobcat scurrying away through the dry grass as I drove by. At a rest stop, the silence of the landscape hit me. Then, as I sat on a picnic table in the shade of a single tree, I marvelled at the noise of the place. You can hear the shuffle of a tumbleweed scurrying across the dirt, the groan of a cricket somewhere in the grass, the exhaust of a plan miles and miles overhead so that it was only a spec. As I sat, I watched a car come towards me from when it was a glint on the horizon. The roads are so straight you really can see for miles. By the time it had reached me, it had been two and a half minutes, and it wasn’t a car, it was two trucks. Both drivers waved back at me when I gave them a wave.
Onwards and I continued looking at my fuel gauge as I drove through more desert with only a few towns (meaning a patch of land with one or two houses on it). My audiobook was doing a good job of keeping my distracted. Within ten miles of Ely, the next major town, I relaxed a little. Worst case, I could ride my bike into town and get a jerry of fuel. Fortunately it didn’t come to that. I drove through the beautiful little town and filled up. The Astro took 23.4 gallons, and I’m pretty sure the tank is 24 gallons! Phew!
I stopped in at the visitor’s center to check if there was anything I should stop and see on my drive north, the guy was not a salesman, he pretty much said I should head north through Utah instead of Nevada. When I asked him how to determine what was BLM land, he said in Nevada it’s easy because 86% of it is. Wow, definitely nothing out here.
As I left Ely and head east towards the Great Basin National Park, the landscape changed. There were more trees, less sand and more fields of dry wheat or grass and even some blue lakes. It was a nice change. I could also feel that the temperature had cooled off and I was in snow territory based on the markers by the side of the road. I pulled in on one dirt road, then decided it was too early in the day for camp (3:50) so I kept on. I’m glad I did because not long after I summitted a peak that lead me down into a valley full of wind turbines just as the sun set behind me. It was such a nice sight to see after the barren landscape I’d become accustomed to. I drove past a state prison and before it a sign that read “Prison Area, Hitchhiking Forbidden”. I’d say that’s a fair enough policy.
I drove past a dirt road that looked like an ok camp, but didn’t stop in time to pull in. I figured I’d get the next one, then after a mile, decided to turn around to check it out. Oh wow am I happy that I did. It was a little windy, but there was a campfire ring and dry wood just sitting on the ground so I fancied having a fire! I sat and watched the sunset from the van out of the wind, then got going on the fire. I was pretty happy with myself to get it going within minutes. The wind helped a lot, all I had to contribute was a few pieces of newspaper. I really had only started the fire because I had all the available tools and for something to do, but it turned out to be an almost-necessary source of warmth and meant I could sit outside to have dinner, sitting on a log by the fire, the only one I didn’t burn. My view from bed was the embers of the fire against a backdrop of twinkling red lights from the wind turbines.
Moral of this story? If you drive past a potential camp, always turn around.
