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06/26/94
The Middle of the Fucking Desert (A Trip to Groom Lake)
Ok, here’s my story… After a fun-filled weekend of gambling, smoking
cigars, and drinking many icy cold, alcoholic beverages, I dropped my friend
off at McCarran airport. He was leaving on Sunday and had to be at work the
next morning. I couldn’t get a flight out on Sunday and thus had to spend
one more night in Las Vegas. After I dropped off my friend I ran down to
the National Rent-A-Car and got my self a nice, pretty, white, Chevy
compact car. (looked exactly like a giant Tylenol). Then hopped in the car,
grabbed some food and hit the road. It took me about 2 and a half hours to
get where I THOUGHT I wanted to be – Groom Lake/Area 51/Nellis Gunnery
Range – the secret military base located right smack in the middle of the
fucking desert. Why go there when visiting southern Nevada? Well, this is
been rumored to be the most highly secure place in the country. It is birth
place of air force’s U-2 reconnaissance plane, the SR-71 and numerous other
stealth aircraft. A close area south of Area 51 is rumored (from testimony
from Robert Lazar, who is said to have worked at the area know as S-4) to
be the parking lot for nine UFOs. In addition, everything, area 51, S-4,
the buildings and people who work there are also completely unacknowledged
by the government. Basically, none of it exists.
So, anyway, on with my story. It wasn’t any hotter than it was in Vegas –
the temperature still hovered around the 114 mark. After about 2.5 hours of
driving through the desert I got to the valley right next to Nellis. Let me
say that during those two hours I totally freaked myself out. I thought
about EVERYTHING that was going through my life during the past several
weeks. I also though a lot about being arrested, thrown in some military
shed and ‘wrote off’ as another one of those missing persons. Then of
course I though about UFOs, aliens and if they’d do the same thing the
military would do. Hummm. At this point I was seriously thinking about
turning around and just heading back to good ol’ (safe?) Las Vegas and
hitting the craps tables again. However, after I gathered myself up that
little ol’ curiosity thing began eating at me again – ‘Is there really
something over those mountains? What the fuck are they hiding?’ Who exactly
are ‘they’? Having these type of questions hovering over me, I decided to
stick it out a little bit longer – after all it did take me over two hours
just to get up here. So, I headed up the road a ways, about 20 miles or so,
to a little, town called Rachal – Home of the Little ALeInn cafe/bar/motel.
I stopped here, grabbed a beer, chatted with a few locals and enjoyed the
kinda alien museum-like atmosphere. This place had tons of UFO articles &
local photographs covering the walls. They had tons of stuff for sale –
your standard coffee mugs, bumper stickers etc.. They also had a miniature
UFO/stealth craft/alien reference library that customers are welcomed to
browse through. Well, I didn’t find out anything to exciting but
nonetheless it fired up my curiosity again. I bought a little guide to
help me find my way – it’s the ‘Area 51’s Viewers Guide’ written by Glenn
Campbell, a former software engineer who now lives in Rachal and keeps
track of what’s happening around Area51 and the Nellis Air Range. So, I
read up about the area and decided to go check out what all the fuss was
about.
After finishing the last couple drops of my beer, I hopped back into my
Tylenol capsule and drove back (another 20 miles) to the valley right next
to Groom Lake. It’s here where the things get a little more scary – at
least I think so. Then again, it was my first trip up there and I do tend
to freak myself out on occasion for no apparent reason. Anyway, it as at
this point where if you decide to press further you have to head off the
main highway onto a dirt road – ‘Groom Lake Road’. That idea in itself
seemed a bit sketchy at the time. I mean, here I am, in a shiny white
rental car, in the middle of the fucking desert, alone by myself, with
absolutely no idea of what the hell I was doing – well, o.k. maybe not
quite that bad but nonetheless, the situation was more than a bit
intimidating. So, off into the dirt I go. The road to the restricted area
is around 13.8 miles long. It’s a straight shot, you can see the road all
the way across the valley. I started cruising about 40 mph (45 is the speed
limit) leaving a nice ‘look-here-I-am’ dust trail behind my rental car. The
dust kicked up by the car must have be visible for about 15 miles – there
is absolutely nothing out here to hide behind! – besides lots of 4 ft.
Josuaha trees, far away hills, and dust clouds.
About a mile and a half or two miles into my journey down the dirt rode, I
noticed another dust trail far off in the distance. It was moving pretty
fast and was running perpendicular to the rode I was on (towards the road).
Soon, I saw another dust trail on the other side of the road, again,
running towards the road I was on. Both trails were far off in the
distance, probably a good ten miles or so <- just a guess. This made me a
little nervous. I couldn’t tell what was making the trails at this point.
A little farther down the road I could see flashing lights, every now and
then, coming from the dust cloud which was now coming towards me. I slowed
down a bit and again, considered ending my journey right then. I figured,
you know, I’ve gotten outta the city for the day – it was paid for.
(special thanks to the folks and craps tables at the Treasure Island Casino
😉 My little stop at the Little AleInn was entertaining and in a strange
kinda way it was a nice drive. Why not, head back to Vegas, suck down a few
beers and play a little craps or blackjack. Thing was, I just couldn’t get
myself to turn around. I wanted to see who was driving out to greet me – in
the middle of the fucking desert. So, I continued down the dirt road.
Sweating in my 65 degree, air-conditioned, white rental car. I continued
down the road for another, say, 6 or 7 miles until I could finally make out
what was in the dust cloud coming at me – FAST! It turned out to be an
unmarked, white (good choice in colors 😉 Jeep Cherokee, with lots-O
flashing lights on the top of it. Now, I was ready to turn around and go
home and thank god that I was not arrested and thrown in jail. But as you
could probably figure out I didn’t. I slowed down a bit more and began
thinking if I’d remembered to pack phone numbers of people I could call who
would lend me enough money for bail (No I didn’t win THAT much in Vegas. 😉
But, wait! Bail? Would they even consider letting me out on bail? Is this
whoever in this cleverly disguised Cherokee just gonna shoot me? Hummmm..
Imagination overload once again…
I kept driving – finaling realizing that I haven’t done anything wrong. I
may be a bit outta place – O.K. REALLY outta place but I haven’t broken any
laws – at least none that I knew of. So, the Cherokee and the rental car
got closer and closer until I could finally make out the person driving it.
It was at this point that the lights on the top of the Jeep where turned
off. Panic! I slowly slid by trying to get a glance of who the fuck this
guy was. Not one marking on the Jeep. As we passed, the man in the Jeep
watched closely as I continued pressing further down the dirt road. Now
that that little encounter was over I sped up a little. Glanced in my
rear-view mirror, hoping to see the anonymous Jeep speeding away towards
the highway. This wasn’t the case. The Jeep was already turned around and
following me. He stayed back about 20 yards or so. If I slowed down, he
slowed down. If I sped up, he sped up. If I stopped, he stopped – always
keeping that 20 or so yards between himself and I. Ulcers, white knuckles
and more sweatcles. After another mile or so I saw another anonymous, white
Cherokee Jeep sitting up on a nearby hilltop. The man in it had his door
open and a camera of some sort pinned on my little white car.
After another half a mile or so, a great dust cloud appeared down the road
in front of me. This didn’t seem out of the ordinary, because there were
always dust clouds sturing up and moving across the desert landscape. The
dust clouds were kinda like mini-tornados, spinning their way across the
valley. This dust cloud down the road, however, quickly took on greater
meaning than a mini-tornado as a military Black Hawk helicopter rose outta
the dust and suspended itself for a second or two above the road. Once
again, I thought this was the end of the line. At this point I was so
incredibly scared that all I could think of was nothing. However, something
inside my head, maybe the curiosity, kept me slowly keep creeping along
the dirt road towards the Groom Range. To my surprise, the helicopter
slowly drifted away from the road and off into the distance mountain range.
What was I to do now? Was that a warning? Was it intimidation? — HELL YES
IT WAS!! I’ve never been so intimidated in my life. I’ve never felt so
little, so insignificant, as I did in this situation. Sure, I’ve been
scared but this was extremely different. Extremely intimidating. Alone, in
a rental car, in the middle of the fucking desert, with a group of unmarked
military people watching every step I made.!
My little white rental car continued seeping across the public land where I
then encountered military signs stating that all photography, sketching,
drawing of this area was strictly forbidden. Continued seepage brought me
to the end of the line. This was the start of the restricted area of the
Nellis Air Force Range. At the end were more signs – stating the fact that
the use of deadly force is authorized on those who stray across the borders
of the restricted range.
Before I started this little journey, I was committed to hiking up the path
to ‘Freedom Ridge’ to get my very own view of the famous (but secret and
unacknowledged) Area 51 military base, home of black project military
aircraft and possible UFO space ships. I brought with me, everything I
needed for the hike – backpack, water, extra clothes, sun screen. Funny
thing was, that after all this watching and wondering, I didn’t really feel
like getting out of the car. I was really scared! Call me whimpy, call me a
girlie-man. That’s fine by me. It was scary! All this security… On public
land. I didn’t even do or see anything and I was being watched like a hawk.
Every step I made was watched by either the Cherokee guys or by who knows
who else. It’s safe to say, my white rental car license plates were
probably checked to see who I was. And someone probably has a few awful
pictures of me and my sad, white rental car on some video tape or film
rolls located somewhere in southwestern Nevada. Nonetheless, this whole
trip really got me thinking. It really made me curious to know what were
they hiding. I think this was a extremely good FIRST trip to Area 51.
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Dave Schmitz (a.k.a the writer) currently live in San Francisco. He works
as a Software Engineer contractor for the NASA Ames Research Center.
The Middle of the Fucking Desert II
(Return to Groom Lake)
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 spanking’ 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 our self 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, 10×50 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
tobacco 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 strategically
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 Trespassing”, “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, 10×50 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,
10×50 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
micro cassette 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 Fritos 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 Frito’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.
For Subscription Info write:
Western Angler Magazine
350 E. Center Street, Suite 201
Provo, Utah 84606