9/1/94

Yes, another trip. My second. For those of you who accidentally missed my first story let me give you a little background along with a few lame reasons why I do this to myself. There lies an area out in southwestern Nevada, about 125-150 mile north of Las Vegas (translation: the middle of the fucking dessert) which was used for above ground nuclear testing back in the 50's and 60's. This section of land is called the Nevada Test Site. Adjacent to this land is another area of desert called the Nellis Bombing and Gunnery Range. This land is used for military exercises and flight testing. Within this area, which is all controlled by the federal government, lies an smaller area know as Area51. This is a secret military (Air Force?) installation totally unacknowledged by the government. It's hangers, radar dishes, buildings and 7 mile long runway are built right next to a dry lake bed which is called Groom Lake (dry). It is at this secret (unacknowledged) base where the newest aircraft are developed and tested. History shows that the high altitude U-2 reconnaissance plane, the supersonic SR-71 and the new F-117 stealth fighter where all developed here. It is rumored that the successor to the SR-71 is being flown here today. This plane is called the Aurora and rumors abound about its technologies and capabilities..

There is also a second area southwest of the Groom Lake complex (about 10 to 15 miles) called Papoose Lake. For years it has been rumored that a section (dubbed Area S-4) is the official government parking lot for UFOs that the government has found over the years. The saucer base is believed to built into the side of the Papoose Range which runs parallel to the nearby Groom Range. There has be testimony from S-4 workers, including a public acknowledgment by Mr. Robert Lazar, that the government's goal is to reverse engineer the craft with hope of reproducing the technology with materials found here on earth. Although only stories and rumors identify the Papoose Lake Facility, the Groom Lake complex, its employees and security forces are real and active today. However, all activity remains untouchable by state and local laws (including tax laws) along with all environmental monitoring by the Environmental Protection Agency. Anything could happen here and there is no one on the outside who has the right to know about it.

My first trip to this desolate section of desert was quite the adventure. Although many 'locals' would deem this trip as boring and blown out of proportion. I tried to convey my feelings, anxieties and emotions which were happening at the time. I will try to do the same here as I tell of my return to Groom Lake. This trip starts off about 450 miles away from Groom Lake, in the smog filled valleys of Los Angeles.

I flew down to visit one of my best friends who was coming to Los Angeles for business reasons. After telling him of my first trip to Groom he was intrigued and wanted to go see for himself what strange things lurk in the middle of the fucking desert. I of course, wanted to return and finish off what I started two and a half months earlier. I arrived in Los Angeles at around 8:00am and was greeted by my friend the art director (a.k.a. 'The Den-man'). We wandered over to the Alamo rental car Agency and picked up our reserved, white colored (paid extra for that) 4 wheel drive, Mitsubishi Montero. This brand spankin' new Montero (about 9000 miles on it) was one of the nicest cars I've ever drove. It made my little white rental car from the first trip look like an old, 76' Ford Pinto. After initialing all the insurance acceptance blanks and signing all the proper visa credit slips we decided to pick up a few snacks and hit the road. (Snacks included: a nice barrel of Copenhagen chew, a pack of cloves, a bag of Scoop Fritios and some road sodas)

Interstate 15 from L.A. to Vegas was the road of choice. Actually, it was the only choice that would get up near the Nellis Range before sunset. We drove at 75 to 85 mile per hour (heading towards the highest priced gasoline station in America). We hoped to have extra time to ride the newly opened Stateline roller-coaster and do a little gaming before heading out into the vast and empty desert. In a way, we were already gambling. Our competitors, however, were not the slot machines or blackjack decks of the Las Vegas casino. Our first competitor was the California State Highway patrol. We continued cruising (stealth-like). After we were about a half hour outside of L.A., I started the newly bought, voice activated, 29 U.S.dollar, Sony microcassette recorder. This handy little piece of available technology would keep track of mile markers, interesting stories and screams if we were to be shot by the now annoyed government or abducted by our little grey (or green, your choice) alien friends (or enemies, again, your choice). This little device has also been extremely handy while writing this story. As expected, the drive was long and filled with only desert landscape and our insane, nutcase behavior which most people who have taken road trips will understand. The temperature outside at around ten in the morning was 99. The temperature inside the plush Montero was a cool 65.

Mile marker number 1. We crossed the Nevada border early in the afternoon, (accidentally passing the highest priced gasoline station in America.) I believe we arrived around 1:00. Our first stop was to relax and stretch not only our legs but hopefully our wallets also. Our first stop was Jean, Nevada - better know as Stateline. Here we played some slots and blackjack. We road the newest tourist attraction to this barren land, the brand spankin' new Buffalo Bills roller-coaster. A bargain at half the price. In our case, the price was 3 U.S. dollars each, although the cost was, thoughtfully, paid for by the slots and craps tables at Buffalo Bills Casino. It was here that our microcassette recorder was temporarily confiscated. You see, we attempted to bring it aboard the coaster to bring our fans live coverage. However, soon after settling in to the molded plastic seats our cover was blown. We were asked to relinquish the recorder by a highly qualified, well trained in roller-coaster safety procedure, teenage attendant. So, much of the excitement and memories of the coaster-O-fun (and banged up and bleeding kneecaps) has be lost due to lack of tape - please forgive me. After several Cape Cod-ers, the disappearance of 10 U.S. dollars (to the slot machines) and several hands of blackjack, we were ready to drive on to Vegas. (Gaming summary: Dave +35, Den +16 U.S. Dollars)

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 arm pit 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 over stuffed 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 first time. The Montero, the WHITE Montero. Still powering on, through the desert landscape. It wasn't tired. 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 hours 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 6:00pm) 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 ourself 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 help 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.

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. The 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 being 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 possible 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 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, 10x50 Binocs showed us a camouflaged cherokee guy sitting in the drivers 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 tabacco 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 a 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 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 possibility that we were being monitored by video cameras stratigically 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 which 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 Tresspassing", "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.

We now temporarily abandon our trusty Montero (which is becoming more and more important to us as we get further and further away from civilization and closer and closer to a 'non-existent' government installation). We strayed out away from the dirt track, carefully walking along the border through the scrub. We peered across the border, looking for anything. What we would find as we walked was a huge chrome sphere mounted high on a steel post. This post was in-line with the border. We cautiously approach it, thinking back to the first time we saw H.G. Wells' War of the Worlds. Is it just a marker? Maybe there's a camera inside recording our slow movements. (Smile!) Maybe it's capacitors are charging as we stare into it. Possibly getting ready to cook us from the inside out if we decide to insanely make a dash across the border. Imaginations can easily run wild out here. There's certainly nothing sane around to stop them.

We headed back to the Montero, occasionally glancing back to make sure the strange silver sphere hadn't moved or change in some sort of way. We piled back in, closed the doors and glanced at each other. Both of us wondering if the Montero was indeed going to start. We've defiantly been conditioned (through T.V. programs and horror movies) to believe that there was no way in hell it was going to start. In fact, the actual program would probably go something like this. The setting, out in the middle of the fucking desert, two poor souls looking for excitement around secret government facilities. They see something in the distance. Then stop the car and anxiously grab the ignition. They turn off the car and run to identify what it what they saw. They get only three feet away from the car when a bright, white light blinds them from the south. They quickly turn, and flee back to the car screaming in terror. One fumbles with the keys, frantically trying to ram the wrong key into the ignition. Finally, orientating the correct key, the terrified driver, crams the key in the ignition and turns. Nothing happens. Then the film breaks and the man running the projector leans out his square window and apologizes for the mishap - back to reality.

Our trusty Japanese, beast turned right over and gave us a roar of relief. We then headed back a ways to the start of the 'Freedom Ridge Expressway' (again pointed out to us by Mr. Campbell's informative viewer's guide). This 'expressway' has he humorously likes to call it is another 4 wheel drive track which runs up the side of a fairly steep hill to 'Freedom Ridge' (also cleverly named by Mr. Campbell). We now switched the transmission to low 4WD and slowly begin our ascent up the side of the hill. The sun has now reached the horizon and things are getting harder and harder to see. The faded orange posts that is. The 'expressway' at times, runs incredibly close to the border of the neutral zone, um, I mean restricted zone. Both pairs of eyes are pinned on the orange posts as we wind close then away then close to the border.

The sun has almost disappeared now and our eyesight has withered away with it. About half way up the track our new driver(a.k.a the art director, a.k.a the Den-man) spots a few spooky objects in the distance. We grab our 40 U.S. dollar, 10x50 binocs and try and get a better image. What we see on the other side of the border is another mysterious chrome sphere and tripod. The sphere was exactly like the other we examined earlier. The tripod stood there carrying an enclosed video camera, a relay antenna and a small solar cell obviously used to power the camera and transmitter. Unidentified movement was spotted in the distance a little farther from the equipment. There was defiantly something out here interested in us. Later we both assumed it was more anonymous Jeep Cherokee guys. We cruised by the camera (smiled!) and continued up to 'Freedom Ridge'.

Once on top of the ridge we had a clear view of the non-existent installation. We could see the dry lake bed (a.k.a. Groom Lake), several huge hangers, satellite communications equipment, a whole city of buildings along with the 7 mile long runway (one of the longest in the world I might add). We watched as a pair of Cherokee Jeeps drove away from their latest contraption which stood on a nearby ridge on the other side of the border. Even with the 40 U.S. dollar binocs we couldn't really tell what they had left behind to monitor us with. All we could see was another tripod setup with something of some sort pointed directly at us. Was it a camera? A new security device perhaps? It was also draped with camouflage netting. Actually, it looked like a really bad attempt at mimicking a Joshua tree. This particular tree was made out of aluminum and had three shinny trunks instead of one dull brown one. Nice try. It was also up here where we met another curious person. Please forgive me but neither of us can seem to remember his name and no, we didn't get a chance to interview him on the 29 U.S. dollar recorder. I know, I know, pretty lame. I can tell you though, to us, he seemed quite genuine and friendly. He was a man from Las Vegas who had heard the stories and rumors also. He had read articles and seen pictures of the non-existent base, as had we. Basically, he wanted to see if this non-existent nonsense really did existent. He wasn't here to look for UFOs (although that's what I like tell people who ask me), but just to see something that our honest government says isn't here. Mr. Campbell sums it up nicely by offering you the "chance at espionage without ever breaking the law". We talked with the gentleman for awhile, exchanged backgrounds and recited stories which we had heard. We then returned to the comforts and high tech amenities of the built-in Montero observing deck. (Our observing deck consisted of the roof of the fabulous Mitsubishi Montero, a pillow or two and our 40 U.S. dollar, 10x50 binocs - very plush I know). There we stayed, watching the stars appear from their light draining sky. Of course we also kept a close eye the non-existent base as it tightened down for the night.

We stayed up on top of the roof for quite awhile. We tracked numerous satellites, saw several bright shooting stars and simply enjoyed the now lowered temperature. Actually, the wind was kind of howling and it was getting pretty chilly out. Another extreme was the desert itself. During the daylight hours, the temperature easily burst past the hundred degree mark. At night, it quickly cooled to the low sixties or even fifties. The extreme temperature difference was responsible for the wind. A few beers, some left over Fritio crumbs and a non-existent desert base. Yes, it was a weird kind of way to enjoy a Thursday night. However, the change of pace was actually kind of nice. We scoped out any movements we saw around us, which I must say were many. Behind us, looking back towards Groom Lake Road, every now and then we saw a bright light turn on and drive around the valley below. It looked as though it came towards the dirt road, traveled on it for awhile, then off the other side. All we could see were the bright, white lights tooling around the valley. The valley was lit only by the moon (which was not full) and the stars (O.K. and maybe the glow of Vegas in the distance). Was it a another Jeep Cherokee guy out on patrol? Maybe. Possibly setting up more surveillance equipment? Probably. The odds pointed in that direction anyway. We saw this light all night long. There was also another strange light closer to us. It was a small, white strobe light of some sort going off just to the northwest of us. One odd thing was that it's delay between flashes was not consistent. It didn't flash at regular intervals. Sometimes it would stop as we tried to make out what it was through out 40 U.S. dollar binocs. We could tell, from earlier viewing of the border that it was positioned on the other side - in the restricted area. It was located a little below us on a nearby hillside. It was also close enough to make us a little uneasy. Strange unidentified lights near anybody's campsite would probably do the same. On the south side of us, near the beginning of the four wheel drive track which lead us here, we saw another Cherokee patrol. This one drove around, pretty much all night also. It's headlights illuminated the barren hills, feeding our imagination with more vague information which would later be used to build instant horror movies in our minds. The secret base below us and to the west sat quiet most of the night. Occasionally, a bright spot light at the base would come on. Defiantly, much brighter and whiter then the amber lights which outlined the hangers and buildings. This light would come on for ten or so minutes, then turn off. I must say during the night I was battling with my imagination. Trying to keep it from running away with all the lights and movement which took place close to our campsite. In the middle of the fucking desert. I thought about the many times, as a kid, when I'd draw the drapes or close the door in my room after watching the violent 10:00 news with my parents or after viewing a scary movie. Having that same feeling that I had now. There's somebody watching me. Although, I can't see who or what it is. Feeling a little spooked we then decided to head in out of the wind to the plush interior of the Montero.

Let me say that the inside of the Montero was indeed very plush for driving. However, for sleeping, you could somehow tell it wasn't designed to simulate a popup camper. My friend (a.k.a. the Den-man) quickly snagged the back seat and I was left with the front. Our packs, clothes and AM/PM Mini Market styrofoam cooler occupying the far back. The 29 U.S. dollar microcassette recorder was now set for VOR (voice activated recording). It would automatically turn on and start recording the first sound it heard. Talking? Screams? Pleas for our lives? --- Snoring? The Den-man fell asleep and I tried to rid my mind of all the terrible things I dreamt up watching the anonymous lights wander about our site. We were both extremely tired from the drive (6 hours in the Montero and 450 new miles on the odometer). I eventually faded away, getting used to the fact that we were to be watched closely all night long (also somehow getting used to the incredibly loud snoring which was resonating from the back, comfortable seat). I didn't sleep that good. Actually, I slept just beyond the line of awareness. Not very refreshing...

I woke up for no apparent reason. (although my aching vertebrae, displaced from sleeping over the parking brake, probably had something to do with it.) I then (somehow) managed to make enough noise to wake up the 'Mad-Snorer' in the back. He woke, slurring out the expected "What the hell are you doing!" greeting. After completely waking up, we looked out the windows at the wandering lights and looked at each other. It was now around 2:00 in the morning. The wind had died and the temperature had dropped still further. It was pretty obvious that we hadn't gotten enough sleep. We started chatting about how hungry we were. (A bad dose of Value Menu Wendage and some Scoop Fritios was all we ate all day.) Out of the blue, The Den-man then, very politely, asked our nice Cherokee fans (who were most likely monitoring everything we said) to bring us up a few extra supplies. "Toothpaste, please. Oh, and maybe a bottle of Listerine if it's not too much trouble.." This sent laughter through out the Montero and surrounding Tikaboo Valley. (You have to understand - We were extremely tired.. It may not sound as funny now but then, it brought tears to our eyes and cramps to our stomach. Making our hunger even worse.) Our conversation quickly got worse. (and you thought it couldn't go any lower.) We talked about setting up a lemonade stand up here on the ridge. A small business to furnish those other thrill seekers with a rewarding, refreshing glass of lemonade. How thoughtful. How tasty! We'd be sure to make millions. We'd obviously call it - Groom Lake Lemonade. After catching our breath and wiping the tears from our eyes we started thinking again. Our establishment soon was taking on competitors as we conjured up the new Groom Lake KFC and of course a fabulous Groom Lake T-Bell, which would soon follow (that's Taco Hell, for those of you who don't visit quite often enough.) We would continue to talk about stealth paint, aliens, night-vision goggled camo guys, Groom Lake Denny's, breakfast, and where the left over Fritio's bag hid. 4:30am is the last time I have on tape before morning..

It was now about 7:00am. The Den-man was up and out before I. I finally got up and went directly for my toothbrush. It was another clear day in the desert. We could now see the entire base still sitting silently below us. It was around this time in the morning when the workers would start coming to work. Strange as it may sound we only saw one car drive in from the asphalt (U.S. 375) over the border and to the base itself. However, we did see the unmarked Boeing 737's land on the (7-mile long) runway attached to the base. These privately run jets came in roughly about every hour from Las Vegas. Bringing the people (carrying extremely high security clearances) to work. It was really strange to watch these jets land. The distance from touch down of their landing gear to the almost complete decelerate of the plane took less than a tenth of the entire runway. That was one hell of a runway down there. After the plane slowed, it would taxi to a 'parking lot' by a nearby hanger. A bus with blacked out windows would meet the plane. It's job was to take the workers to their designated working areas. At the same time, not letting it's occupants see what was on the outside. There the plane stood parked. About another hour (or sometime half hour) later, another would land. It would pull up next to the previous one where it would sit all day before ferrying it's workers home in the evening (we didn't hang around long enough to see that, however.) I've read (again, in the "Viewer's Guide") that there are around 12 flights a day. All I can say to that is - somebody has lot's O' cash! What ever happened to the train?

We then packed up the Montero, bid our curious friend farewell and started back down the four wheel drive track. We weren't as careful going down as we were going up the day before. I glanced at the rental car agreement and was reassured that I had indeed picked up the accidental trashed springs and bent frame coverage. It was a great drive back to the asphalt. We sailed over several streambeds (catching big air along the way and eventually breaking out the bottom of our AM/PM Mini Market styrofoam cooler as it popped up into view then crashed down behind the back seat. Yes, it's contents ended up all over our clothes and floor of the Montero.) We got back to the asphalt road and headed north.

We had to get come food in us. The place for breakfast was The Little A'Le'Inn located about 30 miles north in Rachel, Nevada. A great place to visit while out in the middle of the desert. It was, not only the only bar around for 80 miles, but also the only restaurant and motel as well. We walked in, was greeted by the owners (Joe and Pat Travis) and sat down for a nice breakfast. After eating (the meals consisted of one ham & cheese omelet, one chicken fried steak, about 11 cups of coffee (each) and spuds galore!) We wandered around the place (grasping our coffee), played a little electronic poker (Gaming Summary: Dave: +36 Den +17.25 U.S. Dollars) and read the articles and looked at photos of UFO material which lined the walls of the inn. I think both of us wondered why we didn't seem something 'as cool' while camping. Actually, it was probably a good thing we didn't. I'd be spooked for life. Anyway, we chatted with Pat, who told us about a few abduction stories which she's heard first hand (kinda freaky) then started our long journey back to fabulous Vegas (Gaming Summary: Dave: -45 Den: +27.25 U.S. Dollars). After our horrible loss (actually, my horrible loss), we heading on to Stateline (Gaming Summary: Dave +35 Den +7.25 U.S. Dollars) From there it was back to L.A.(again, past the highest priced gasoline station in America). Here, we would finish the weekend off by spending all our Nevada winnings and more, on additional alcoholic beverages, tasty chinese food and random partying with the Den-man's brother.

Yeah, I know, this was a pretty long story. Especially since we didn't get abducted or see any cool spacecraft. (Which, I know, is what you were expecting.) Well, sorrrryyyyy! We tried, and who knows, we may try again. Let me tell you though - There is defiantly a lot of secret shit going on out in the middle of the fucking Nevada desert. And whoever it is who has the secret, is doing a pretty damn good job of keeping it. I think everyone knows, however, that one can only keep a secret for so long. Eventually, someone is going to find out. I just wonder if the world is going to ever be conscience enough to realize it when it happens (or if it already has happened). There's something going on alright, and a recent Gallup Poll shows that over 50% of America's population believes, "The Truth is Out There."

Dave Schmitz (a.k.a the writer) currently live in San Francisco.  He works as a Software Engineer 
(contractor) at the NASA Ames Research Center.  Feel free to send questions or comments to:

                                                                    schmitz@nas.nasa.gov 


Den Soltis (a.k.a The Den-man) currently lives in Provo, Utah.  He works as an Art Director 
(and Graphic Artist) for the Western Angler Fishing Magazine.  


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