DAY 2:

Nissan trucks are easy to fix.  Especially if you remember where your tools are.  Well.  I completely forgot about the existence of a removable wall (behind which the jack handle resides) behind the back seats in The Barracuda, so we had a jack but no handle to attach to it when we decided to change the flat in the morning.  That said, James and I, being Manly He-Men, decided to improvise our own tools for The Fixing Of The Flat Tire.  We wound up using two old sticks, a broken shovel, a jack, some peppermint-oil soap (for Teh Lubrications, you know?), a screwdriver, a tent stake, a Crazy Creek, and a lugwrench.  All before breakfast, too.

After a short amount of deliberation and some Very Manly Poses In The Desert, we decided to go back to a small hamlet called Fields to get the flat fixed and refuel.  Fields, according to Wikipedia.org, is small.  Yeah.  We rolled in and immediately noticed that the post office, bar, restaurant, general store, gas station, and mechanic’s shop were all in the same building.  We were both pretty haggard-looking (from all that Manly Posing…), and when we walked into the store/bar/restaurant/service station to see about getting the flat fixed, an old-timer named Jerry behind the counter looked us over, leaned forward ever so slightly and, in the most grandfatherly of tones, asked, “You boys need some breakfast or sumthin’?”  I thought James was going to cry.  Anyway, to make a long story short, we fixed the flat, refueled ($5.26 per gallon…), cooked some breakfast, played with Crash (that’s Jerry in the background), and set about adventuring again.  We found an immature great-horned owl (Bubo virginianus) in a little marshy area across the road from the bustling metropolis of Fields and James took about a trillion photos.

There was also a little shack there that, apparently, belonged to the man who started the community of Fields in 1881.  So we flawlessly executed a bunch more Incredibly Manly Poses and a couple of Moderately Manly But Still Quite Masculine Poses and cruised on out.  Our next destination was the Alvord Hot Springs and we hadn’t a moment to lose.

Well, the hot springs were under construction and had enough Dirty Hippie Cooties in them that we just decided to forego jumping in.  Instead we decided to drive around on the playa.  And take pictures.  And pose a few more times.  And have a heterosexual-life-partner moment.  And relish, after the life partner moment, in our manliness.  Abundantly.

Well, all good things must either (a) come to an end, (b) be paid for, (c) get better, or (d) end in a sandstorm.  In this case, all of the above.  We were blissfully performing acrobatics in the middle of the desert and completely ignoring the oncoming storm.  Well, it hit the desert and turned into a sandstorm 20 miles wide and 500 feet high.  Coming straight toward us at 65 miles per hour.  So we did the only sensible thing to do when you’re stuck in the middle of the desert with a huge sandstorm bearing down on you and all exits blocked: we drove straight into it at 50 miles per hour with James in the back of The Barracuda taking pictures.  Check ‘em out…

To cut to the chase, we survived.  And James’ camera didn’t get any sand in it.  But we went right through the heart of that storm.  In short, we pwned it.  And then it was time for lunch, so we drove over to Mickey Hot Springs.

Mickey Hot Springs are too hot to swim in.  They’re boiling.  And hotter.  In fact, Jerry From Fields told us a great story about (and this is a direct quote) “some city-slicker came up here all hopped up on them meth-am-phet-a-meeeens and got hisself kilt up in thar.  Yup.  Found ‘is body a-floatin’ round in thar about two days later.  Looked like a over-cooked lamb shank.”

So we didn’t swim.

But we did cook in them! Click here for all the pics…

Anyway, our time was drawing to a close, so we hopped back in the truck, drove north to Hiway 78, got another flat, took a picture to prove that we were there, and drove home into the sunset.

All told, we drove 600 miles, had two flat tires, chased a sandstorm, cooked in hot springs, visited a ghost town, and had one hell of an adventure.  Come with us next time.

The End.