WHY NOT IDAHO?

Road Trip 2002

Day 1

America is a wonderful country, full of different people, different places - some good, some bad.... but if nothing else, they are all unforgettable!  My sister and I have been going on road trips for years.  Generally we plan an "ultimate destination" and a number of days we will be gone.

Everything in between is a crap shoot.

This year - DESTINATION IDAHO!!!!!  

My sister saw a website advertising "The Strangest 74 Square Miles in North America."  It happens to be in that tourist mecca known as Idaho.  They suggested you bring a flashlight.  I had to know why.

Eager to avoid rush hour traffic on a Friday morning in the eternally sun shiny Los Angeles, Sis and I take in a leisurely breakfast at the local IHOP.

Though they had a strict "no alien" policy, Bill took it in stride.  He was ready to go.

Perhaps I should take a moment to explain Bill. 

See, Bill is an alien.  He was stranded her on earth sometime in the early 90's.  Details are murky, but the facts show that he somehow ended up at my house after a Halloween party in 1997.  I found him in the bathtub, attempting to stab himself in the heart, apparently over some hot house whore he met in Albuquerque.  Ever since then, he has been crashed out on my couch, a bottle of rum in one hand and a porno mag in his lap. Don't ask me where the other hand was....  Suffice it to say, Bill has issues.  Unfortunately,  I just don't have the heart to throw him out.  He's been looking a little peeked lately, and I thought a jaunt in the countryside might be just what he needed.

Now, on these little road trips, Sis and I will only plan one day into the future.  The first day was to comprise of a short jaunt to Vegas, where we would win the money we needed to finance the trip, then on to Area 51, where we would camp just outside the military base and look for UFO's under the stars.

Alas...

The stars were against us.

Mercury MUST have been in retrograde.

Or perhaps...

Just perhaps...

I am an airhead.

Okay, it's two freaking hours into the trip.  We're halfway to Vegas.  We're halfway to free cocktails and generous slots.  It's a four hour trip and there's only one place to get gas along the way...

Barstow.

Barstow is nothing but a truck stop, some trailers, and sand.

We stop.  I toss the gas pump into the tank, push the button for the cheapest octane, click it on automatic, and start scraping the first of many thousands, nay millions, of bug carcasses  from my windshield.

The pump clicks off.

Sis goes to "top it off."  Now, I'm not a big fan of "topping it off."  The way I see it, who the hell cares of you spend $14.31 or $15.00 even?  You need to fill the tank - just fill the tank.  Now Sis is an accountant.  Sis is a fed.  Sis is very good at her job and has worked hard to get there.  As such, she's a hard ass, set in her ways.  The tank IS to be topped off.  We have a few light hearted words over the matter, and as I turn to return the pump to the cradle, she asks, "Why did you put diesel in the tank?"

Huh?

Yeah.  I put diesel in the fucking tank.

Let's just leave it at that, shall we?

Now, being at the only truck stop between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, you'd think there was a trucker or two that would a) own a siphon, or b) know  how to siphon.

You would be wrong.

I ended up buying a siphon from the local Flying J (yes, they sold them), and attempted to do it myself.  Christ, I eat fire for half a living, I should be able to suck a little gas, right?

Wrong.

I tried.  Trust me, I tried, but ultimately we had to call the Saturn Road Side Service, who wanted to send us back an hour the way we came to get the problem fixed.  CHRIST!  We might as well go back home and start over tomorrow!  This was not an acceptable option, and Sis and I brainstormed while we waited for our ride.   Finally, the tow truck showed up, and we explained our predicament to the driver, who immediately got on the phone, looking for someone who would help a couple of  "wings" he just picked up, for less than a hundred dollars.

For the record, "wings" is not necessarily a complementarily term.

He found someone who would do it for $72 just down the street.

It was supposed to take an hour.

The car was not happy.  She was ready to go.  She was ready to perform.  She was ready for a week full of adventure in the great outdoors!  And here she is, sitting on the hot asphalt in the middle of the desert, her mouth wide open and two greasy men with their greasy little  fingers shoved up her ass, all because her mistress was a complete idiot.  I don't blame her for being mad.

Two hours go by.

Three hours...

Four...

There's not a lot to do in Barstow.

At hour five, we learn it will be yet another hour, and a total of $120, as opposed to the original $72, to drain the tank.  Seems Saturns have both an anti siphoning, AND an anti-draining design to their gas tanks.  They must remove the entire tank and drain it.  Though I feel vindicated for not being able to siphon the tank, I feel like an idiot for inhaling WAY TOO MANY diesel fumes in my attempts.

By the way, by the end of the trip... the tally for people telling us that the diesel pump doesn't fit into a regular gas tank was seven.  Believe me when I tell you, yes... yes, Virginia, the diesel pump does indeed fit into a regular gas tank.

Looking forward to yet another hour in Barstow, we bid adieu to the family we had gotten to know in the waiting room.  Four generations, no one over 55, and about 4 teeth between them all.  They had been there two days.

We ran across the street to grab a bite to eat.  We were the only women in a restaurant where they were taking a collection at the cash register to fix the vinyl on the seats in the smoking section.

By the time we finished, so were the mechanics, and we were on our way.  We decided to skip Vegas (since we had already spent as much money as we would have lost there) and get as close to Area 51 as possible before nightfall.

THAT was an impossible dream

At 11:30PM PST, we pulled off the two lane highway, drove at least two and a half miles down a dusty dirt road, to a not-so-well-marked campsite in the middle of the desert and pitched the tent.  Night One of our little adventure....

By the way... those little specks you see on the picture... Those are bugs.  They swarmed in immediately upon our arrival.

Luckily, the bats soon swooshed in to gobble them up.

We had an obligatory cocktail, then decided to quickly retire to the safety of our tent since we knew not where we were nor how many axe murderers lurked in the bushes behind us....

The machete stood by at the ready near the door....

DAY 1 | DAY 2 | DAY 3 | DAY 4 | DAY 5 | DAY 6 | DAY 7 | DAY 8