Highway 502
Chapter 1: Lost in the Desert
Admiral Biscuit
I barreled along Highway 41, headed north from Moriarity. I didn't have any particular destination in mind; it was just a beautiful night for driving. Off to the east, I could see lightning flashing from the thunderstorms which had passed over a half-hour ago, leaving a glorious low fog in their wake.
I had the top off my CJ-5, but I'd invested in an auxiliary heater to make up for the anemic factory unit, and the warm air blowing on my legs helped ward off the chill. Real adventurers didn't mind a little cold, anyway.
Most of the fog was just above the hood, so I could see fairly well in front of me from the two off-road lights mounted on the rollbar. The headlights were useless, though; they just reflected right back at me. Sometimes, though, I'd run into a place where the fog was higher, and had to slow down to a crawl until I could see clearly again.
It was just after I passed through Stanley that I spotted a two-track I didn't remember ever having noticed before. It led off to the east, and I jammed on the brakes, stopping about fifty feet past it. A quick look in the rearview mirror revealed no other cars, so I shifted into reverse and backed up alongside the road.
It was more substantial than a farmer's access road, but only just. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel while I tried to decide. I had a full tank of gas, my phone's GPS, and some snacks in the back of the Jeep, so I thought I ought to give it a go. Real adventurers aren’t afraid of the path less-traveled. I shifted the Jeep into four-wheel-drive, and headed off into the desert.
I was just about at the point where I was seriously considering turning around and heading back when I finally hit pavement again. The last few miles of the road had been very bad, and I was navigating it in nearly pea-soup fog at night. Stories of people getting lost in the desert and dying were floating to the forefront of my mind, especially when my cell phone inexplicably lost its signal.
The feel of smooth pavement under my tires was sweet, sweet relief. I shifted the transfer case back into two wheel drive, and got back up to speed. As soon as I saw a road sign, I'd have a good idea where I was, but worst case scenario, I had to be in a triangular area bounded by 41, US 285, and I-40; sooner or later I was bound to hit one of those roads.
I'd driven for about ten minutes, not seeing a single road sign, when a dark shape loomed in front of my Jeep. It looked like a bear. I slammed on the brakes and yanked the wheel to the right, tensing as I felt the Jeep briefly go up on two wheels before it bounded into the drainage ditch and launched out the other side. I spun the wheel straight—I hoped—just in time to land on a flat swath of ground. I didn't make it far—I wasn't going that fast to begin with—and both my feet were on the brake pedal, as I tried to push it through the floorboards. Rocks and shrubs loomed out of the mist, and I flinched back as a broken branch skidded across the hood and smacked the windshield.
As soon as the truck had come to a complete stop and my racing heart had slowed, I gingerly turned in a broad circle, easily finding my tire tracks. I looked at them over the hood for a moment, shaking my head in wonder at the close call, when an unwelcome smell began to make itself known. Hot coolant.
I left the truck running, even though the parking brake didn't work. The ground was level enough, it wasn't going to go anywhere. Small branches were jammed up against the grille, and one of them had managed to lance into my radiator. It wasn’t a major leak, but I wasn’t going to get very far like this. If it’d been closer to the top of the radiator, I might have chanced it, but it was about six inches up, just above the bumper.
Get back to the road while it still runs, I told myself. I jumped back in the Jeep, dropped it into four-wheel-drive again, and popped the clutch, sending a spray of dirt back as the Jeep dug into the damp soil. I kept it slow—I didn't want any more surprises—and took the time to shut down the Jeep, get out, and study my path across the drainage ditch rather than just go for it.
While I was scouting around, courtesy of my MagLite, I reconsidered my plan. I'd meant to leave the Jeep on the shoulder where it could easily be seen by passing traffic . . . but in the fog, they might not see it right away, and the shoulder was narrow—narrow enough I would run the real risk of being clipped by a semi in the night. I had no illusions about how that would end.
So I got back into the Jeep, and leaned back in the seat, pulling a blanket over myself. Hopefully the bear was gone. If there had even been a bear, and not some figment of my imagination that had caused me to go and do something dumb.
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I didn't sleep well, but I didn't get mauled by a bear, either, proving that there's a bright side to every cloud or whatever that saying is. Unsurprisingly, I was cold. My coat and a blanket weren't quite enough to ward off the chilly desert night. My cell phone was still completely without bars, so a quick call to AAA wasn't an option.
The Jeep fired right up, and I gave it a little bit of throttle to warm up the engine a bit quicker. Not too much—I was still aware of the coolant leak, and she'd be straining by the time I made it across the ravine. I watched the gauges intently, and as soon as the temperature gauge twitched off its peg, I slipped into gear and let it creep forward.
In the light of day, the drainage ditch actually looked a little more intimidating than it had the night before. I gingerly picked my way down the slope, putting the wisps of steam drifting over the hood out of my mind. When it was nearly level, I gunned it, figuring that the bottom of the ditch was likely tire-trapping mud, and I wasn't far wrong. The front wheels sank past the rims as they transitioned off the slope. As soon as the rear wheels hit, I was going to find out if I'd made the right choice, or a terrible mistake.
I made the right choice. The Jeep clawed through the mud like a champ, dug its front tires into the upslope, and began climbing like a mountain goat. When I got back to level ground, I turned as far off the road as I could, although the left side tires were on asphalt.
I shut it off and gave the steering wheel an affectionate pat. Now that I was back on a road, it was only a matter of time before the cell signal came back, or some good Samaritan stopped to help. And to make sure they got the idea, I unclipped the hood straps and folded it wide open, leaning it against the top of the windshield.
And then I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Only one car passed, some kind of an antique from the thirties. It reminded me of the cars in historical mob movies, with bulbous fenders and a somewhat aerodynamic shape; of course it was painted all black. It slowed down, and I began waving frantically, but then it accelerated again, zipping off towards the distant sunrise. I stuck my hand high into the air and gave a very enthusiastic bird to the car. I hope the driver saw it in his rearview mirror.
Other than that, the road was completely deserted. There were no signs or billboards to give me the slightest hint where I was, the radio played nothing but static, and my cell phone still didn't work. At least it was fully charged, if the signal returned.
If I'd had an idea where I was, I might have begun walking.
Off in the distance, over the open plain, I saw a pair of large birds circling, and that got me to thinking about vultures and my bleached bones being picked over. I picked up my phone for the zillionth time and checked for a signal, when I heard the unmistakable beat of a Jake Brake. I whipped my head around and saw the grille of a stub-nosed semi-truck bearing down on me. It blasted past, buffeting the Jeep, and as soon as it was clear, I stuck my head out beyond the hood, seeing the welcome flare of brake lights on the trailer.
I started jogging down the shoulder as soon as I saw the truck pull off the road, the foul smell of its exhaust only spurring me on.
As I got close, I was surprised about how small the trailer was—these days, you hardly saw anything smaller than a 53 footer, but this was probably between 30 and 40 feet long, and narrower, too. Like many old-fashioned trailers, the front had a slight aerodynamic curve. It looked rather dirty for an antique, but then again, having an authentic patina was in these days; maybe that included dirt and grime. It probably didn't help that the truck was puffing out oily smoke from its single chrome stack.
“Car broke down?” I hesitated for a second—girl truck drivers were fairly uncommon, but it was undoubtedly a female voice calling at me.
“Yeah.” I was close enough to the truck that I could see the passenger side window was rolled down, and the vent window wide open. That was a feature they ought to have left on trucks. “Busted the radiator.”
“Better hop in.” The door swung open, and I grabbed at the back of the window frame as I boosted myself up the fuel tank. I’d never been in a semi-truck before, but the absence of a grab-rail struck me as odd. Of course, when this truck was built, people were less worried about safety appliances.
“Thanks! I've been out here all night.” I pulled the door shut and turned to face the driver. “Not a lot of traffic . . . “
It would not be an exaggeration to say that my brain failed at that moment. Certainly, my capacity for rational thought just gave up completely, leaving the rest of the brain to fend for itself.
Just as I'd pulled myself into the truck, the driver—no doubt eager to get back on the road—leaned out and checked her mirror, revving the engine and shifting into gear without even looking at the controls. In and of itself, that wasn't so odd. I could do the same with my Jeep, and there was no way I had the seat time of a truck driver. What was of more concern was that the driver of the truck was unmistakably a Pony, ripped straight from the TV show. She had a dun-colored coat and a sandy mane and tail, and her cutie mark was a old-fashioned delivery truck . . . that was appropriate at least.