It was still a troubling thing, considering the sheer distance and time involved. It would take about ten hours to drive back home. In all that time, I felt that anything could happen. Accidents could happen. Highway robberies could happen. Alien abductions could happen (...you can't prove otherwise!). My biggest fear, however, was the car itself: it has been more than five years since the poor thing drove on an actual highway and driven more than 60 MPH. It had been five years since it had high-grade fuel put into it (it's not that it can't be found, so much as it was too expensive). And with all the mud, moisture, curves, bends, and hills England had to offer, it can take a tremendous toll on a vehicle: I had already replaced tires and brakes twice in that time. I was certain that the car had some kind of grunge in it somewhere, or something was bound to rust off. Just before departing, the tailpipe actually did bust loose, wobbling around precariously and making a ton of noise. The mechanics there said that the entire exhaust would have to be replaced, and the bracket holding it would have to be re-welded. And it all had to be done here in the US, where American car parts could be acquired with greater ease. In spite of all that, I was concerned that the car wouldn't make the 670-mile journey.
Just to be sure, I packed whatever useful tools I had and brought them with me: a hammer, an adjustable wrench, a bunch of duct tape, Gorilla glue, a screwdriver, pliers, and I forget what else. Other than that, I packed very light, taking just a change of clothes, my toiletries, a sleeping bag, and all the documents I would need. I woke up extremely early and took the earliest flight I could to LAX. Then, after a brief and quiet taxi ride to the Vehicle Processing Center, I signed for my car and was able to drive away scott free. It was a very short and easy affair so far.
The car generally looked better than I remember, especially since the folks at the VPC were nice enough to clean the vehicle. Driving along, however, I was immediately alarmed by the grungy noises of the muffler wagging around, and the brakes felt rusty. The unease persisted for the next few blocks, as I scouted across the streets of Compton, LA, to find a gas station. Fortunately, I found a small Shell station, where I fueled the car up with good high-octane fuel, and I took the time to secure the tail pipe better. Using a wire coat hanger I brought with me, I wrapped the thing tightly around the car's chassis, and ensured that it was stable and solid. I bought a whole bunch of water from the little store, and promptly left. The ride felt smoother and quieter, thankfully.
My first prerogative was to escape from LA, literally. I'm sure the city has its glamorous and beautiful parts; it's easy to romanticize about such things as Beverly Hills, the beaches, the big Hollywood sign, and everything else. Chances are that if I drove into the downtown area or in those actual high-class districts, I would have seen such sights. I was in no mood for sight-seeing, however. On this trip, I was more concerned with getting back home and back to work as quickly as possible. Maybe I'll explore this city some other time, but I was in no hurry to do so. As it is, what I saw from Compton and the sprawl of highways was not particularly flattering: LA looked pretty scuzzy at certain parts, and has some really hectic traffic.
I took a few different highways to reach the Interstate 15, which would ultimately take me all the way home. I had always heard that LA traffic can be a nightmare, and I envisioned a hot, smoggy, gridlocked hell. Thankfully, it looked as though the biggest congestion was south-bound, and possibly west-bound. Going north-east, traffic was moving, even if it was dense and crowded. It just seemed to go on and on though: the city is so huge, it must have taken an hour to actually reach the I-15.
Having successfully escaped from LA, I had to take a break already. Most of it was a need to set up my music to help keep me awake and sane for the rest of the trip (and the car's radio never really worked right since the antenna snapped off some time ago...another issue I needed to address). I also wanted to have lunch, drink coffee, and wake myself up some more. Around the area of Hesperia, I stopped at a Chevron station, and happened across a place called the Summit Inn. It was a pretty quaint little restaurant, arranged as a cafe or diner, with all kinds of old-fashioned paraphernalia ordaining the walls and windows of the place. Outside, there were old, run-down wagons and tractors, which were quite interesting. Inside, the cafe had metal signs of all kinds, including signs for movies, the Interstate, beer, and other great things. One red neon sign showed the outline of a motorcyclist. The place had a counter that wrapped around the middle of the area, with stools all around it; on the counter, there were those old coin-operated fortune telling machines at intervals, and there was a basket with ostrich eggs for sale (those suckers are the size of melons). This place had a certain retro charm to it, but without feeling overdone or anything (not like Johnny Rocket's, which is full-blown 1950s nostalgia). It was also clean enough. I think I always fancied walking into a place like this, for it felt so very American. Thus, I settled into a stool, had some coffee, and ate a massive steak sandwich. I rather enjoyed it.
Having such a hearty, potentially fattening meal, was probably a mistake, because such foods have a tendency to suck all the energy out of you. For the next while, I was effectively zombified, as I drove north on the I-15 for miles and miles on end. Traveling across the Mojave, I was stricken as to how flat, barren, and expansive the desert is. It must be the most amount of nothing I've ever seen. Entire miles of emptiness would pass by, hour after hour. There were few mountains that passed by; they would first appear as a mound in the distance, and gradually pass by as bland brown hills.
I don't even know at what point I crossed into Nevada, but when I did, I geeked out. Approaching Primm, I was astonished to see that it was everything I recall seeing in the video game, Fallout: New Vegas. The game very accurately replicated the town's approximate look and geography, and even included the roller coaster ride. One thing the game didn't get right was the sheer distance between everything in Nevada: you could traverse across the game's map in a matter of hours just walking. It was still fifty miles or so to reach the half way point at Las Vegas.
When I finally sighted Vegas, it was far more exotic than I imagined. I think I always expected something tackier and gaudier, but the place is really a pretty tall and distinguished-looking city. In the distance, it was veiled by the dust: a strong gust of hot wind was blasting through all of the Mojave. It didn't occur to me at the time, but this must have been the Santa Ana winds. I probably should have stopped in Vegas for pictures at the least, or to stay the night and check the place out. At the time, however, I was still pretty wide awake and willing to press forward. The I-15 passes directly through the middle of the city, so I continued down it. Then, all of the suddenly, there was massive congestion. It got rather frustrating between all the stop-and-go traffic, and focusing on what lane goes where. I assumed this was a normal rush hour ordeal, but I later learned that there was a suspicious device found along the US 95, and the authorities had to close the road while they investigated it. Fortunately, the bomb squad determined that it was no anything to worry about. Unfortunately, the traffic got in my way.
After clearing Vegas, I continued on, and traffic thinned out, to my relief. I passed Sloan, and once again, I was reminded of Fallout: NV. The game did a smashing job of replicating the quarry that was there. Fortunately, no Deathclaws attacked the car while I drove past.
More empty wastes passed by uneventfully, until I crossed into Arizona. The I-15 just passes through the corner of the state, but the pass offers a brief and lovely glimpse of the Mesquite desert. The highway weaves around gargantuan mounds and peaks of giant red and brown stone. There was a rest stop on the other side of the mounds, where I stopped for a few pictures. The place looked desolate at first, with the flat, empty, rugged landscape. There is vegetation all around though, in the form of brush and cacti. The hills are colored in remarkable ways, given the red stone, and the splotches of yellow and green, painted all over the brown hills. I was rather impressed by the colors and patterns exhibited in the Mesquite area. However, it is extremely hot there, and with the strong winds continuing to blast through the area, it felt like I stood in the middle of an oven.
Driving onward, I eventually left Arizona and finally reached Utah. Southern Utah looks pretty desolate at first, but it gradually grew more and more lush and green. Before long, there were long stretches of vibrant prairies and huge green hills rolling by.
If I was more ambitious, I would have continued on home from there. It was late, and it would have been the late evening by the time I reached home. By eight o'clock, however, time was wearing on for far too long, and I grew too tiresome of counting the miles and the minutes remaining. My eyes were struggling to stay awake, and they presented a potential safety hazard. Stopping at a rest stop near a place called Beaver, I stayed at the Comfort Inn for the night, and received a good night's rest.
The next morning, I would continue home after a brief and satisfying two-hour drive. It's pretty nice to break things up that way. More importantly, it left the afternoon open for the mechanic to check over the car and fix the exhaust. I was very grateful that the car lasted as long as it did without any major problems; the garage fixed it up and gave it a clean bill of health.
This drive has been long and uneventful, but even a drive as monotonous as this offered a few interesting sights and encounters. This being my first really long road trip in the US, I was pretty happy with the quality of the roads and the availability of gas and food all along the way. Traffic was generally smooth, save for the crowded condition of LA and the brief jam in Vegas. I do have my gripes, however. Why is it that drivers can't use a bloody blinker when they merge or turn? Is it that hard to flip the lever down? Come on! And why is it that every time I signal and want to merge, somebody speeds up, closes a gap, and cuts me off? Well thanks for nothing!
Chances are good that I'll have to hit the road again, either for work, or for visiting some of the sights that I passed and didn't bother visiting. I'm still not sure if I'm all that thrilled about visiting Vegas and LA; I'm sure they're cool cities and all, but cities were never my forte. I'll certainly have to take the time to visit the many state parks all over this state and other states, and if the inner geek prevails, I may have to try and seek out Roswell someday. Now that I got my car back and I made the epic journey back home, I'm free to go anywhere.
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