Aliens - http://maxpages.com/unknowngalaxy/Middle_of_the_Fuckn_Desert

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.
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.
For Subscription Info write:
Western Angler Magazine
350 E. Center Street, Suite 201
Provo, Utah 84606

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Page Updated Thu May 17, 2001 3:46pm EDT