The Desert Gypsy - Next Stop...The Twilight Zone

 

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4-24-2021 – evening: By the time I hit Ely and drove through downtown construction...weaving in and out of cones too narrow for a 1 ton pulling a 25 ft. Flatbed – hitting every pothole in White Pine County and more than once jumping a poorly placed curb – the panels again had rearranged themselves in a kitty-whampus fashion. My GPS had no idea where the Holiday Inn Express was actually located. It took me to an entirely different hotel. A hotel that instilled fear in the hearts of women traveling solo everywhere. Hank and I would sleep in the truck first.

The panels leaned more precariously with every pothole we hit....and we hit every one. You could not avoid them. I finally spotted The Holiday Inn Express sign on our third attempt through pothole alley. I'd already wiped out 1/3 of the construction cones...what's a few more. I violated a one-way and bounced over another curb before landing in the nearest parking available...two blocks from the hotel.

The clerk at the front desk suggested I move my trailer to the casino parking lot across the street. The Holiday Inn owned the property and they could keep an eye on it. The spot I'd parked in was owned by an individual obviously distraught with the city of Ely as indicated by the vulgar signage bordering the property.

I checked into my room and returned to the pickup to repark it. Half of the ties were loose...one came completely unhooked. The panels leaned 45° degrees and stressed the 2x4's. They looked like they would snap at the slightest touch. The thought crossed my mind to leave the damn thing parked where it was in hopes somebody would steal the whole thing. Problem solved.

I'd come this far, might as well see it through to the end. I set about retying the load. I climbed up the sides – on top and everywhere in between. I could not right it nearly as good without another person. I figured if I couldn't balance it properly – I'd suck the thing down so tight it couldn't catch a breath if it had been a barrel withered pack mule.

Satisfied that I could do no better – Hank I returned to the room. I was hungry enough to eat Hank's Purina One. I'd have to find something within walking distance. There was no way I was moving that trailer through Ely unless it was to view it from the rearview mirror on my way out. I walked over to the Prospector Casino where I'd parked. The line to the restaurant was a mile and a half long...at least. My patience had run out somewhere between Hollister and Ely's pothole alley. I turned to leave and spotted a casino staffer manning a complimentary popcorn machine. I complimented him, grabbed a bag and shot out the casino doors before security new what hit them. I could see the headlines: Popcorn bandit strikes again...call 1-800 crime-stoppers for more information.

I like popcorn...but it did little to satisfy hunger pains. I hit up the hotel vending machine for 2 packages of cup a noodles, a container of macaroni and cheese and an ice tea. The lady at the front desk would not take cash. She asked if I wanted it added to my hotel tab. After receiving the hotel bill, I know why. There is no way a sane person would pay that much for a cup of dried up noodles laden with MSG. Whatever. I downed the macaroni and one cup of noodles and stashed the other in my suitcase for later...much later. Like the second coming or the zombie apocalypse maybe.

4-25-2021: Hank and I woke bright and early. I wanted to get on the road with the least amount of traffic if possible. The less traffic – the less chance of killing someone with a flying 10 foot arena panel to their windshield.

I stopped every hour to tighten the straps and check the dually tires. Randy put the fear of Les Schwab in me about duals going flat and you don't know it. Swell...something else to worry about. I'd pull over at a wide spot – beat each tire with a cheater bar to make sure it was inflated and check each strap. I cranked them to the max...needed or not. I feared I'd ratcheted them down to the point of bending them unusable. I'd crawl back into the truck – pull into traffic and pray: Dear God...get me to Aquila without killing anyone and I swear I will give up margarita's for a week.

There's one thing about pulling an extra long, unwieldy contraption that looks as if it's load will spew forth heavy metal panels at any moment: you pretty much have the freeway to yourself. Nobody wants to get close enough they might get a section of shooting arena through their windshield. The drive through Vegas was like a Sunday drive through the park.

My trusty Dodge pulled the flatbed over Hoover Dam like it wasn't there. Once we were passed the rough roads out of Kingman, I began to breath more easily. The load hadn't budged since Ely. If it hadn't fallen off by now, it wasn't likely too.

Somewhere between Kingman and Aguila (I can't remember exactly where now) the road detoured around a wreck that was causing significant delay's. What the hell...I'd made it this far...I might as well explore a new area. At times I questioned the decision to take the detour. The road was windy, narrow and seemed to lead in the opposite direction I needed to go.

Just when you think it can't get any weirder...a white pickup driving on the edge of the road coming toward us passed slowly by dragging a dead cow tied to his hitch by a rope. A string of fellow detouree's had the same expression as I had: You are about to enter another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone.

Next stop: Aguila. We're home, Hank!