The greatest American novel won’t come from an aisle seat on the cattle cars of the sky >>>>>> I gotta have windshield time. Fear of pedophiles in America’s restrooms, consumer debt on the rise thanks to Ikea, and the real prospect of Bill Clinton untethered in the White House has pushed me to the open road. Oh yeah, and I have a swim brother’s wedding in Lake Tahoe. 

5:15 a.m. Saturday

Set out of North Las Vegas running opposite the Electronic Daisy Carnival. (EDC to those in the know.) A hundred thousand partiers hopped up on a buffet of adrenaline, happy drugs, and youthful optimism. All exiting the Las Vegas Motor Speedway after the first of three nocturnal raves. Heading toward The Strip to either sleep off the high or continue the endless party. Damn locust! Peace be with the hotel help. Thankfully my solo journey is taking me north to Lake Tahoe.

The rental car upgraded courtesy of my former employer is well deserved… Wonder how long before the bean counters realize I’m leeching off their program? 200 hours of compact disc content for entertainment. When the cell phone signal is strong, unlimited tunes from the satellites tracking me. Technology is grand! However, fifteen minutes into the journey I find out Enterprise gave me the digital package. No compact disc player >>>>> just Bluetooth and USB. I sure hope Verizon’s signal is as strong as the “Can you hear me now” guy professes. Doesn’t matter how good the lies coming from cell phone cartels sound, without proper connectivity from phone to receiver I am dead in the water. Auxiliary cord is fried and Bluetooth wont pair. This is the lone and dreary world people, and I’m a steamboat captain without song. John C. Fremont explored this land and secured funds to support travelling companions who could hold a tune. Beatty, Nevada better have connectivity or 400 desert miles and the sounds of silence will surely drive me Manson.

Operation Red Flag is cluttering the skies north of town. The pilots pretending to be Russian “bad guys” take off from Nellis Airforce Base before the “good guys” come to find them. The actors portraying Russians in the sky speak Russian and drink vodka in the officers’ club to stay in character. Those bastards in the Pentagon still believe the USSR is still a threat. The Regan years paid so well!

Nye County, Nevada…Regulated and taxated whores! The Kardashian’s prodigal son-in-law, Lamar Odom went on a drug bender in this land. He blew $75,000 at the Love Ranch South just past Mercury, Nevada. Mercury is the gateway to Hell’s test kitchen. A closed town situated behind barbed wire fences, guarded by highly trained and well compensated private contractors. A fabricated Cold War town, Mercury staged the scientists and human Guinea pigs for atomic bomb test during the glory days of the Cold War. J. Edger Hoover dreamt of slipping one past inventory control and special delivering it to Berkley. He would’ve pissed on the ashes of the rabble unwinding America’s social fabric, blamed it on the Commies, and then invited All-American O.J. Simpson back to his suite for Twister.

Over the hill from “Nuke town U.S.A.” sits Armargosa Valley. Area 51 Alien Center welcomes people to see how the dirt people do things. A glimpse inside a prototype martian truck stop once Warren Buffet and Larry Flynt gain congressional approval to subdivide Mars. Food, fireworks, firewood, brothel, and an alien museum. No time to stop, the need for connectivity overpowers the curiosity to explore. This is the wide open America Eisenhower envisioned for the free flowing interstate system. The sort of location for an unrestricted speed zone the Nazi’s perfected. An American Autobahn! But not on the U.S. 95 between Las Vegas and Reno. The powerful whore lobby in D.C. secured multiple 35 mph checkpoints to ensure opportunities to purchase fireworks and desert sex.

Beatty, Nevada… One-hundred miles into this journey oh beautiful Beatty is before me. How I give glory to the sole convenient store is well stocked with accessories. I GOT ME SOME CONNECTIVITY!!! Once the panic of silence is calmed I notice the countless signs these people lost more than one hand of life’s poker game. Hard working, hard living, and hard water. No time to explore, I must continue north to have any hopes of making the party. The biggest struggles I see on the near horizon are dodging suicidal hares and not succumbing to the temptation of fresh jerky. What is it with desert folk peddling black-market dried wild game meat on the highways and byways of this region?

Hours of desert scenery can drive the most hardened trucker into fits of madness. So I am thankfully the mountain peaks shuffle for variety’s sake. With every new valley comes displays of bygone capitalism. Mummified homesteads of failed businesses – eerie roadside reminders that this land won’t be tamed. Surrender has never been an option. A thousand nuclear blast only blew up dust during the Cold War. Unless it’s whores, fresh jerky, or fireworks, entrepreneurs be damned.

A tourist to this land can rent a lady by the hour, shoot a bazooka, and buy weapons grade fireworks. A well connected foreign conglomerate with proper permits can rape the land with all accounts receivables processed by the Vogons in D.C. But the firm hand of the law has no tolerance for speeders. These bastards sick drones on fools for sport if caught five miles per hour over the federal limit. No one should trust a community of cross-eyed desert pirates who survive on D.O.D. contracts and have no access to a Wal-Mart for 200 miles in any direction. Hannibal had more options. If I can stay off the radar gun Hawthorne is 100 miles north. Rumored to be more liberal on speed zones and open minded to the odd.

(To be continued… if the desert don’t swallow me first!)