On The Road, Leg 2: Oasis to Oasis

On The Road, Leg 2: Oasis to Oasis
by Oliver Butterick

Driving to Las Vegas is by no means a road trip for Southern Californians like myself, so now that the Oasis in the Desert is growing smaller in the rear view mirror, the real road trip begins.

Wednesday, 1:00pm (Somewhere in the middle of NEVADA)

Aside from a few isolated centers of gambling debauchery, Nevada is pretty desolate. Reuben from Ocean's Eleven was right--"Once you're out the front door, you're still in the middle of the fucking desert!" Growing up in Southern California, Matt and I aren't quite used to such vast expanses of land. We spend the next hour or so devising a plan to develop some of this land since SoCal is so crowded. The best idea we came up with was to open several businesses where tourists could give their money to us under the illusion that they might be able to win some back from us. We'll call it "Las Vegas 2: Electric Boogaloo." We're still fine-tuning the idea.

Wednesday, 3:00pm (JOSEPH, UT)

It was time for a pit stop and the first of my souvenir stops. I have two roommates and a few other friends that I'm looking to buy some local trinkets for along the way. I thought it was humorous to find shot glasses from Utah, so I finally picked one that proudly hailed from Joseph, Utah. I passed over the "Utah Problem Solver," a tall shot glass that had markings for "kids," "job," "the ex" and other problems. After passing through Colorado and Kansas, I later learned that each state has a similar gimmick. What a rip. I also passed over a bottle of "Utah Beer," which was an ordinary bottle of water, but with the funny label. This would have been perfect for my non-drinking roommate, and I regret leaving it on the shelf because I've found that she will be incredibly difficult to shop for since most souvenirs at truck stops are shot glasses or commemorative spoons.

Wednesday, 4:47pm (On and around I-70)

I took over the driving duties and we made our way to I-70, which is where we will spend the bulk of the trip. It runs all the way to Baltimore, so we'll be on I-70 all the way to Maryland where we take another highway that will lead us south to the DC area. I love I-70. Posted periodically are the lovely speed limit signs, which inform us that the maximum speed is 75 MPH. There are also minimum speeds, but I wasn't so worried about those. Since I usually drive 80 on the freeways of Los Angeles, where the speed limit is 65, I figured that 90 would be a good speed out here, especially since we were in a turbo Jetta. I love German engineering. 90 feels like 45. Cruising along, looking at the beautiful scenery that is Utah, we happened to spot one of the less pleasant things to see: two Utah State Troopers, which led to an even less pleasant sight: one of them pulling onto I-70 and then red and blue lights in the rearview.

The next off-ramp was about a quarter mile away, so I pulled off there. Being out of practice with a manual transmission, I forgot to engage the clutch and stalled the car upon stopping. Nice move, Slick. With my hands in plain view on the steering wheel, as I've been instructed to do by a friend of mine who works on the SWAT team in San Diego, I watched the officer walk up to the car. He informed me that he had clocked me at 86 MPH in a 75 zone. I thought, "Really? I had the cruise control set to 90!" But I decided to keep quiet. I handed him my driver's license and Matt found the registration and insurance card in the glove box. Confused, the officer asked me who owned the car, and then asked for Matt's ID when I told him that it was his car. Matt, hoping that being in the military during a time of war might convince the officer to let us slide, gave him his military ID instead of his driver's license. The officer went back to his patrol car and I started to wish that I had asked the officer if he could give me a warning instead of a ticket. It doesn't hurt to ask, right? (Plus, it worked for me last New Year's Eve when I got pulled over on the way to a party. Or it might have been the fact that I was the only sober person on the road that night.)

The officer returned and told me, "If you're going to be driving some guy's Black Jetta, either drive under the speed limit, or drive a hundred, a respectable speed. I'm going to give you a warning. Be careful." I thought, "Great! Now I have permission to drive triple digits!" But, I didn't. It was 75 on the nose until we hit the Colorado border.

Wednesday, 8:00pm (RUBY, CO)

The sun has set and it's time for another pit stop. Matt has a rather small/weak bladder, so I don't know how far I should be pushing it. I'm in favor of pressing on, but we stop for a quick break and to refuel. I browse the truck stop for potential souvenirs. Nothing too exciting, but I do find a shot glass of the Rocky Mountains for my friend Rocky. Good enough.

Driving through Colorado was great. Not only did I feel free to neglect the posted speed limit, but also the scenery was magnificent. Driving through the lush forests reminded my of the time I went to Western Massachusetts. It's unlike anything you'll find along the beaten paths in Southern California. The closest thing you'll find around SoCal is in Julian or parts of Yosemite. This would not be a bad place to live.

Wednesday, 11:00pm (DENVER, CO)

We had originally planned on staying the first night in Denver, then maybe in Indianapolis on the second night. Seeing how it was still early (hey, it was only 10:00 in California), we kept driving, forgoing a visit with an aunt of mine that lives in the suburbs here. I haven't seen her since puberty, but given that I'm now finished with puberty, I have different priorities. You see, Matt had informed me that at the house where we'll be staying near DC is a young, single Puerto Rican woman who he described as "cute." Not only that, but she was on Summer Break from Harvard doing a research project in evolutionary biology. This sparked my interest. This woman possesses several of the things I look for in a woman: She's smart/educated, attractive, and has some sort of ethnic flavor, not to mention the most important qualities: being single and a woman. Did I mention that she has a pulse?

So, we hit the highway as I envision this goddess that waits at the end of my long journey.

Thursday, 4:00am (COLBY, KS)

We made it to Kansas and we're not really tired, but the next town is a few hours away and it seems prudent to get to sleep before the sun comes up. Plus, our dreary eyes shone with bewilderment and relief as we approached Colby, the self-proclaimed "Oasis on the Plains." We somehow find a hotel that offers wireless internet access, and they give us a break on the room rate and extend check-out time to noon. What a deal! After checking in and making ourselves comfortable in the place we'll call home for the next eight hours, we attempt to surf the information superhighway. We are unsuccessful. Matt uses his experience as an information systems manager to try to crack the system, but we end up succumbing to calling the front desk for help. As we expected, the clerk is completely clueless and is unable to offer any useful assistance.

After haranguing with the system for an hour or so, we decide to try to catch some Z's. However, Matt and I are nearly delirious from the drive and somehow revert to our teenage selves. This involves saying something ridiculously stupid that, in our present state of mind, seems to be the funniest thing that anyone has ever said. For example, we were happy that we were heading out near noon so that we would miss the morning rush hour. Colby is in the middle of nowhere. This seemed funny at the time. Our hysteria became so loud that I was afraid that we would start waking up guests. Amidst an outburst of laughter, I warned Matt that we'd better be quiet or else Bruce would kick him out. (Bruce is my stepdad, who, when we were in high school, kicked Matt out more than once because our schoolgirl-like giggling prevented him from sleeping.)

Thursday, 11:00am (COLBY, KS)

Morning comes all too soon, as it does most days. I find that, as usual, my mouth is the last part of my body to wake up. I don't know if other people experience this as well, but whenever I wake up, I feel that I am literally unable to speak. I go about my morning routine, and my mouth usually wakes up by the time I'm getting dressed. I can move it (for instance, I'm able to brush my teeth), but I cannot speak. It is a very strange feeling indeed. It is especially strange (and possibly unbelievable) because I've been known by some to chatter endlessly, especially if I've had a few drinks. I'll have to see if there is some sort of medical explanation for this.

Before leaving Colby, I learn why it deserves its moniker as the "Oasis on the Plains." First, next to our hotel/motel is a Wal-Mart. I believe it is the only one within a 200-mile radius. This is perhaps the least Wal-Mart populated region in the country. Second, on the other side of the hotel is a movie theater, which is currently screening The Bourne Supremacy and Fahrenheit 9/11. I've always heard that there were a bunch of Farm Democrats in the Midwest, but now I believe it. It just makes me wonder who actually voted for Bush in 2000. Hmmm...I'll have to call Michael Moore. I have another conspiracy theory he needs to explore.

To be continued…

Oliver Butterick can be reached at oliver@babblog.com.