From: | Bill.Ralls@f7.n1010.z9.FIDONET.ORG (Bill Ralls) |
Title: | ON THE ROAD TO UFOVILLE |
Source: | Dallas Morning News |
Date: | April 25, 1996 |
highway, perhaps those E.T.s will feel more at home.
Maybe they're ready to chat, pose for pictures, reveal themselves to
someone with the ability to reach even the most skeptical Earthlings. What
a better place for all that than a major metropolitan newspaper?
So here I come fellas. Let's hit the road:
Mile 0: It's 107 smooth and lonely miles north of Las Vegas, up
Interstate 15 and U.S. 93, to the beginning of the E.T. Highway,
heretofore known as plain old Nevada 375.
I am a little behind schedule, having missed a turn. Didn't see any sign.
Yet I am farsighted and love to flaunt my sign-spotting powers. I never
miss road signs. How odd...Don't they want me here?
At the intersection is a ruined building, clearly abandoned long ago. Yet
a couple dozen cars are parked in the lot. How odd...actually, the local
guidebooks say that employees at the secret Air Force base meet their
shuttle bus here.
Mile 7: First signs of life - a white compact car going the other way.
It's a bright, clear day, yet the headlights are on. How odd...
The road is straight and flat, and the landscape is high desert: scrub
brush with no trees for miles, brownish mountains off in the distance.
A hospitable landing site, like the Sea of Tranquility where Apollo 11
set down.
Then again, why wouldn't an advanced civilization spot the amazing lights
of Las Vegas? And couldn't they figure out a way to make the slot machines
hit 7-7-7 every time?
Mile 15: There are many dirt roads leading from the highway, and here is
perhaps the most famous. Guidebooks say it goes to the secret Air Force
base and that security men in white Cherokees will arrest you if you get
too close. Nonetheless, it's popular for people who want to peek at secret
Air Force stuff or look for UFOs.
But no dirt road for me. They know I'm here. They'll find me. Besides,
it's a rented car.
Mile 17: Hey! There's a couple of big cows grazing just a couple of steps
from the road, with nobody tending them. All along the highway you can see
cattle, brown-and-white sentries dotting the landscape, pretending to mind
their own business.
It turns out this is open range where ranchers don't need to fence their
cattle in. Yet that seems too simple an explanation. Why do I feel as if
they're watching me?
While you're scoping out aliens, you'd better watch for cows who decide
to share the road. A couple of times a year, usually at night, cows and
cars collide, and nobody wins.
Mile 20: Ah, the famous Black Mailbox. A rancher gets his mail here, but
UFO buffs and tourist buses have made it a landmark to stop and search the
skies. Believers tell of many UFO sightings here, usually at night.
Skeptics point to the Air Force maneuvers and other natural explanations
for weird lights.
Mile 30: The last radio station I can pull in is testing the Emergency
Broadcast System. What do they know that I don't?
Mile 40: Approaching Rachel, the only town on the E.T. Highway, a fierce
dust storm kicks up. Tumbleweeds blow across the road, just like in the
movies. Don't they want me to stop here?
As the dust clears, I think I can make out a face of an alien by the
road. Finally!
Then the dust clears some more...and the face turns out to be painted on
the sign for the Little A'Le'Inn. The most popular item on the menu is the
$2.75 Alienburger. Does this have anything to do with those cows?
Mile 50: I cross from Lincoln County to Nye County. Another good spot on
the plateau for skywatching, but nothing yet. Clouds are gathering,
casting intriguing shadows on the plains before me. What are they trying
to tell me? What do they look like? Crop Circles? Religious icons?
Presidential candidates?
Mile 68: On either side of me is a gray mist descending from the clouds,
as if it's raining. But the sun shines on the road, and on me, and I steam
toward the end, cows watching me all the way.
Mile 99: As lonely as it begins, the E.T. Highway ends at the base of a
hill. You can turn left on U.S. 6 to Tonopah, right to Ely.
This abandoned place is called Warm Springs, for the water coming down
the hill in a cement channel. There are a few crumbling shacks, junked
cars and a cafe that is closed and shuttered.
Now that I've finished the highway, it starts to rain. Will there be no
sign, no revelation, no proof? But wait! There are no life forms here, but
there is a pay phone, and it works.
E.T. Highway...all alone...far from loved ones...phone booth...of course!
That's the message: P-H-O-N-E H-O-M-E. So I DO.