I was perusing ye old Franch files and found a few stories I forgot to post. Here is one:
It was
like a scene right out of a movie. I’ll do my best here to paint an
adequate picture for you. It all started back at the farm. We spent
all summer fixing up Jeff’s old Chevy pick-up. When Jeff had no
farm work to do, we’d pull the truck up outside the shop and work.
Sometimes we’d work at his Mom’s house too. The truck had
significant rust damage, and let’s just say we used way more Bondo and duct tape than is recommended to restore the thing back to its original beauty.
It was that summer that I earned the title of ‘Bondo Queen.’ I
would do the Bondo and Jeff did the sanding. Anyway, after a summer
of fixing up the truck, we had it painted. It sure turned out purdy.
Unfortunately, due to the fact that Jeff was a poor college student
commuting to and from school almost an hour each way, he
decided to sell the truck and get something more fuel efficient.
After all the work we had put into that truck, we decided to take it
for one last hoo-rah. After all, that truck had gone on many a
four-wheeling trip and had always served Jeff well. We decided to
head out on Highway 6 &50, past Mack, and see where it went. We
had never been much past the highly-esteemed Colorado Club. (Also
known as the last stop on the edge of the edge, a seedy bar that
attracted some really, shall we say, ‘interesting’ characters) To
give you an idea of where we were, Mack is a town where there is all
of 30 or so Post Office boxes. It is on the edge of the valley and
consists of some very nice people and some very strange people. Like
nudists, meth-heads, and other random assorted oddballs. West of Mack,
well, there is a whole lot of nothing. It is only about 6 miles
from the Utah border, in the desert. So, we headed off on the highway
toward Utah. The highway pretty much disintegrated before our very
eyes. The asphalt became more crumbly and patchy, and it was clear
that the road was not frequently traveled or maintained. Somewhere
around the Utah line, we decided to turn South. We just steered off
the road onto BLM land and decided to see what was out there. We
drove for several miles and of course, didn’t see a soul or any
sign of civilization. Oddly enough, we ended up on some sort of ridge
looking down on Rabbit Valley and the main interstate. There was no
quick way to get down there, and as we soon realized, it was
impossible. We decided to head back in the general direction we came,
knowing we would eventually run into the highway. However! As it
always seems to work, a fence appeared out of nowhere. A fence that
stretched as far as we could see. I have no idea why or how we did
not see it coming in, or how we got around it. Knowing we did not
have enough gas left for a wild goose chase, we looked to find
somewhere to pass through. We managed to find a gate in the barbed
wire fence. Hanging at lengths along the fence were rusty old ‘No
Trespassing’ signs, serving to ward off hooligans like us. Hanging
on the gate was an even larger ‘No Trespassing’ sign, riddled
with a few bullet holes seemingly put there for added emphasis. We
decided we had no choice but to take our chances and head into
whatever lay before us. I hopped out, opened the gate and closed it
after the truck. We drove for quite a way before we saw what appeared
to be the scene from a movie, off in the distance. There were a few
rusty old trailers circled ‘round. There was your standard
assortment of dilapidated old cars, surely housing the likes of
raccoons, jackrabbits and other wildlife. There were rusty oil drums,
broken tractor parts, and various ‘hey-I-might-use-that-someday’
odds and ends strewn about. I quickly told Jeff to slow down so we
didn’t stir up too much dust. Nothin’ like trespassing on
someone’s land and then stirring up a fit of dust to boot. So, we
slowed to a crawl. That gave us time to spot them: three crusty old
badgers sitting around in lawn chairs smoking and shooting the
breeze. There may have been a can or six of beer sitting out.
Clearly, they were sitting outside waiting for a UFO to fly over or
something. Instead, they see a trail of dust in the distance, and a
old but shiny green pick-up with two young whippersnappers driving
up. My concern at this point was that they would take a shoot out one of
our tires or something, just for sport and because we were
trespassing. I was worried that since they clearly chose to live way
beyond civilization, they would also feel beyond civilization's rules.
And who wouldn’t want to have a little fun with two scared
teenagers dumb enough to get lost and end up on private property with
a near-empty gas tank? Jeff and I quickly debated the merits of
stopping to explain ourselves vs. driving right past them. It became
clear that we were the first human beings that had ventured into
them-thar-parts in quite a while, as evidenced by their long stares.
Every so often one of them would lean over and spit in the dirt. It
really was like a movie, in slow motion. They didn’t take their
eyes off of us, or we off them. We crept along, trying not to stir up
dust, and decided that the best course of action would be to skip the
pleasantries and head for the hills. So we did. We had to pass fairly
close to these gents, and as soon as we were well enough past them,
we sped up and high-tailed it for the highway. Fortunately, it wasn’t
too much longer til we got to the road, and we managed to get to the ‘Last
Chance Gas Station’ to fill up before we ran out of gas. That was close!
No comments:
Post a Comment