Area 51 and the Dead Cow in the Middle of the Road

It's looking like I'll be back to blogging pretty soon. I know I've said that a few times but it's firming up. Very much miss it and look forward to getting back.

Here's part I of a short story. I'm planning to convert it to a screenplay and shoot it as a movie, hopefully this summer.

I want to shoot this because it only has a few characters, takes place in the desert, and doesn't require a lot of props or effects. Costs should be pretty low. I haven't directed a shoot before and I'd like to keep complications and shooting days to a minimum for the first outing.

Parts II and III will probably go up over the weekend.

Hope you like it.

Area 51 and the Dead Cow in the Middle of the Road

By Alan Green

Part I

Wanna hear a story? I know what you're thinking. If some old coot in a hole-in-the-wall bar out in the middle of nowhere -- in the middle of the desert of Nevada, no less -- asks you if you want to hear a story, then maybe you'd just better say 'no' and leave it at that. I wouldn't blame you. But, I got a great story to tell -- well, maybe 'great' ain't the word, but it's pretty good at the least -- and if you buy me a beer...or two, I'll tell it. Now, wait. Before you answer -- I know what you're thinking. Well, prolly I do. You're thinking, 'What kind of story would this scraggly old geezer have to tell'? I know, I know. You figure it wouldn't have a kernel of truth and be filled with all kind of exaggerating and maybe even some hyperbole -- but, you'd be wrong. In fact, I can prove what I have to say is true. Well, pretty much prove it -- I guess 'proof' can be faked, everybody knows that. But, I promise you this: if you buy me a beer I'll tell you one entertaining story and -- I'll be able to show you proof that what I told you is true. Whether you believe the proof, well, that's up to you. Welp, that's my offer. Take me up on it? Wait! -- I'll set things up better so they got more structure. You buy me a beer, just one beer, and I'll tell you the first part of the story, and if you don't think it's worth another beer to hear more, welp, that'll be that. If you do, you can buy another round and I'll tell you more. Like that, till the end. That way you're not in too deep up front -- won't feel too scammed if my story's a dud. Deal? Alrighty, sir! That's just fine. Yep! Just fine! Lemme call the bartender on over here. Two beers right here if you would, kind sir!

Thank you! Mmm...good suds. Mmm... I surely love a nice cold beer on a hot evening like this one is. I thank you much. Mmm... I'll get right to my story. You like spooky stories? Yeah? Good, cause this one's kinda spooky -- not in a, whatta you call, bloody slasher kinda way -- this is more of a psychological, creepy story -- plays with your mind. But, still fun though, like a good old-fashioned horror movie. Like them old movies we used to see as kids, you know. Although, there are some elements of gore in it, I'm warning you. Hope that don't bother you. No? Well, all right then. Mmm...good beer.

This here is a story about the incident. 'The Incident' me and Joe call it -- Joe, that's the guy the incident happened to -- he's the one who the story's about. Not me. Happened to a fella named Joe. Joe first told me this story a few years back and I remember like it was yesterday. (He told me a hundred times if he told me once). Anyway, this story is about what me and Joe refer to as 'The Incident'. Happened out in the desert, just a short distance from where we are right now. Happened right next to that secret base in the desert the government has -- you know? Area 51. I see you've heard of it. Most folks have. Most folk don't put no stock in all them stories about Area 51 that you're always hearing, like how they got all them spaceships stored out there, and them autopsies they supposedly done on them aliens -- little green men from outer space. Well, I ain't saying any of them stories is true and I ain't saying they ain't true, I'm just saying that's where this incident, this here story, took place -- out there by Area 51, and, that it might possibly, just might, have something to do with the events that transpired.

Well, the incident in question happened on a hot day -- like most are in the desert, I guess. Joe was out splitting blacktop -- that's what we call it when you paint the lines -- those broken white, or sometimes yellow, lines? -- down the middle of the road. That's what Joe was doing that day -- same thing he'd been doing for, oh, how long has it been? Forty years...no, forty-five, at least. Lord, is that how long I've known ole Joe? Guess so. That's a long time. We've been best friends all that time, too. Good friends -- people say they was 'best' friends but they don't really mean it, but me and Joe was. Hasn't been a time when we weren't. I was a year behind Joe in high school. He was a pretty good fellow back then -- well, I mean he hadn't got all angry at everything back then like he would later on -- you'll see what I mean once I get going with this story. Anyway, Joe was normal back in high school. Regular. Not too smart, not too dumb. Regular, like me. Happy.

Anyway, back then, like I said, Joe was a pretty happy guy. See, he had been dating this girl, Delores...can't remember her last name. But, don't matter. Him and Delores were the classic high school sweethearts -- the kind of couple they write songs about -- and they planned to get married right after graduation and start a family. They even got engaged -- most kids don't bother with that -- in fact they tend to keep it a secret till it's too late to stop them. You know what I mean. Anyway, Joe just seemed pretty comfortable in his own skin -- easy-going -- back then while he and Delores were a going concern. Makes sense -- she was a pretty girl -- one of the prettiest at our school. Why shouldn't Joe enjoy dating a girl like that? Why shouldn't he like to be seen with her? You'd see 'em coming down the hall, her arm in the crook of his elbow, holding on to him, and him walking tall trying not to smile real big like a fool, you just knew they was good for each other and Joe was as proud as a man could be. People would sorta move out of the happy couple's way when they walked past, so they could stay side by side like that, pretty as a picture.

Well, that was when they was together. When Joe was by himself he was sorta cocky about dating such a pretty girl, and being engaged. He didn't just walk tall, he kinda strutted everywhere he went. Rubbed some of the other fellas the wrong way, and, after a while those guys would shoot Joe a narrow look when they passed him in the hall. Well, sure enough, between those fellas felling like Joe was being arrogant about dating Delores and Joe's somewhat uppity nature -- one day there was a fight. Not one of them shoving matches like what you see mostly in high school -- you know, where the kids get all red-faced challenging each other and use cuss words that don't really come natural to them yet. This was a real fight -- punches were thrown. Joe lost one of his front teeth. Made him look kinda slow. He always hated that. He had the sort of face that, well, it didn't look too academic to start with, if you know what i mean, and that missing front tooth sure didn't make Joe look any smarter.

Anyway, things were different between Joe and Delores after that. They just didn't have that spark. You could see it. Some of us sorta could tell what was coming, and, sure enough, a coupla months after the fight Delores broke off the engagement and stopped seeing Joe. Well, he wasn't the same after that. He sorta dragged his feet and kept his eyes down, and when he walked past you in the hall he'd keep real close to the edge of the hall, right next to the lockers, and he'd pass you right by without saying a word. I guess that's when ole Joe first started carrying a chip on his shoulder. (It stayed there his whole life -- up until the incident that is. After that he was a pretty happy fella once again. I'll get to that momentarily, though).

Anyway, after Delores broke up with him, Joe up and quit high school. Said he didn't believe in it no more. Said 'Spending your day earning a wage beat the hell out of sitting in a dumb class any day'. That's what he'd say. Every chance he got. But, I knew it was because the break up. I knew he couldn't stand going to that school no more, what with being whupped in a fight and losing his girl. Everybody did. Just too much for a man's pride to bear -- especially at that age. Yeah, we all knew.

After he dropped outta high school Joe went to work at this local burger joint. Small place that was owned by a friend of Joe's dad -- that's really the only reason he got hired. Joe worked there a coupla years, hating every minute of it. Used to try and hide in the back when me and some of our pals came by on a Friday night. Sometimes we'd talk to him through the little hole in the window where you placed your orders, tell a few stupid jokes, yammer on, trying to let him know we was still friends. Later after he'd get off work we'd meet up someplace, usually out in somebody's field, and have us a few beers and smoke some cigarettes. Talk shit. You know, normal stuff.

I graduated and got a job at the DOT -- Department of Transportation -- and was able to get Joe on at the Division of Highways. He was glad he could stop flipping those burgers, I'll tell you. Took to his new job pretty well. He had a truck and spent all day out fixing traffic lights or them lights at railroad crossings. He'd change the bulbs or other such work. Sometimes, he'd adjust the timing settings for the lights at intersections according to what some traffic engineer had figured out -- so the traffic would flow right. Joe loved it cause it was 'real work' and it wasn't in an office or, heaven forbid, a burger flipping grill, where the boss was always looking over your shoulder. Joe says, 'They're just waiting for you to screw up so they can ream you'. That was his attitude back then. Defensive. Guess I can't blame him.

Mmm...good beer. Welp, ole Joe was doing fine. Had become pretty much a go-to guy the Division of Highways -- got sent all over this part of Nevada. Pay was good, especially for a single guy that lived the way Joe did -- simple. He bought himself a place out in the desert where property's real cheap. He saved up a lot of money, too. Didn't have nothing to spend it on. Didn't date, not hardly. About all he spent money on was his TV -- regular at first, back in the day with rabbit ears and all, then cable, then what you call high definition plasma. That, and and a constant supply of tall cans of Budweiser. That's all he spent his money on. Like I said, 'simple'.

Well, just when it looked like Joe might be getting on the right track he suffers a set-back. Got caught driving on the job with a open container. Now, I knew Joe would keep a few beers in his pack up under the seat but, hell, I figured he'd never be so stupid as to drink one while driving. I mean, I thought he was downing a couple with lunch, maybe on a break. Not that that would make it right, I suppose. But, what was I supposed to do? Turn him in? Hell no! Anyway, Joe's headed out to this interstate interchange to install one of them traffic monitors -- you know? The kind with that tubing that lays across the road and counts every time a car goes by? Yeah, those. Welp. Joe's headed out and misses a stop sign while making a right turn. Dumb. Cop pulls him over. Just doing his job, really. Yep...cop smelled the beer, and all that cop had to do was crane his neck a little and he saw that beer can wedged in between Joe's hip and the center console.

Well, luckily, Joe only had the one beer -- he had drunk the other two with lunch, but that had been a few hours earlier. And, that's what saved him. He'd thrown those two cans out and had just cracked the one he had left -- was a Friday afternoon and he wanted to get started on the weekend before returning his truck at five, which was just about half an hour or so. Can't blame him, I guess -- I get me an early start right around five or so, but it don't matter whether it's Friday cause I been retired for some time! Mmm...

Anyway, Joe passes the, what are they called? Those tests? The Field sobriety test. That's right. He passed it -- easy. Said it weren't nothing. Nothing at all. All that leaning back and touching the tip of your finger to the tip of your nose, and whatnot. Hell, Joe prolly coulda passed one of them after four, maybe even five tall Buds -- he's built up a immunity of sorts to alcohol over the years. Guess I have, too, come to think of it -- truth be told. So, Joe -- he passed the test so the cop couldn't write him up for no DUI, especially since Joe had just cracked that last tall boy and there weren't but one sip taken. Hell, the cop couldn't even have proved a sip had been taken, so the cop, he just gives ole Joe a ticket and has him pour the remainder of that beer out right there in the gutter. So, Joe's pouring out that beer onto the hot pavement, and Joe says that dumb ass cop says to him, honest truth -- 'If I see you take even one sip of that beer I'm writing you up for DUI'. What the hell? Joe's pouring the beer out into the gutter and he's supposed to take a sip of it. Joe always says, when he tells the story -- and he told me a hundred times if he told me once -- 'If I'd a leaned over and taken a sip of that damn beer as I was pouring it into the gutter -- right in front of that cop -- after he'd given me a ticket for having an open container -- I'd a deserved a ticket for being a dumb ass!' Ain't that the truth. Can you imagine? -- taking a sip of a beer that a cop done told you to pour out -- while you're pouring it? I always agreed with Joe on that point: that was one dumb ass thing for that cop to say. One dumb ass thing for sure. Mmm...

Joe says he was so mad at himself because he'd been driving his truck for thirty some-odd years, the whole time with a sixer of tall cans of Bud under the seat, and not once had he even come close to failing to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. Hell, Joe says he was so mad at himself in the first place for not coming to a complete stop at that stop sign, and, so mad at that cop in the second place for saying such a dumb ass thing, that he (Joe that is) almost did take a sip of that beer while he was pouring it out into the gutter just to spite that stupid ass cop. Says he almost did lean over and take a sip outta that stream of foamy beer coming outta that can before it hit the gutter. Ha! Can you imagine?! Joe says it woulda been worth it -- in a way. Always makes me laugh -- that part. Lean over and take a sip from that stream of beer... Love the way Joe tells that part. Can't help it, laugh each time. Can you imagine? Mmm...good beer.

Well, I'll tell you who wasn't laughing -- that was Joe's boss, that's who. Come that following Monday morning, Joe's supervisor finds out about the ticket. Now, you can't drive a truck for the State Division of Highways if you had a moving violation. You see? So, as soon as Joe's supervisor gets the news he calls Joe into his office and tells him he's got a choice: start splitting blacktop or leave. Well, somebody's got to do it, Joe says. And with all the roads, there's always some stretch of highway that needs them broken lines painted. That was the deal they offered. Take it or leave it, they said. Nothing could be done. Hell, Joe was lucky he was offered that much. If he'd gotten a DUI instead of a plain ole ticket for a open container he wouldn't be able to drive nothing for them Highway Boys. No, sir! But, there's a loophole...of sorts: if you get a, what they call 'Class 1' infraction you can still qualify to drive, or operate, certain types of vehicles or machinery, but not a regular State truck. But, if you got a 'Class 2' or worse, well, you can't drive nor operate nothing for the Division of Highways. Welp, open container is a 'Class 1' infraction so, just because of that and because Joe had been such a good employee, he got a second chance. So, Joe decided to lay down them broken lines because he knew that, if kept his record clean for a period of five years, he'd be eligible to get his truck back.

And, that's how Joe ended up painting them broken white lines (sometimes yellow lines) down the middle of state highways in Nevada. One of the worst jobs in the whole Division. But, what was he supposed to do? Couldn't say no. Besides, he figured he could keep his nose clean for five years. Hell, any idiot could do that, Joe says. And, that's what he decided he'd do.

He didn't stop drinking on the job. Oh, no! He kept right on stashing tall Buds under the seat just like always, and he kept right on drinking 'em -- even while splitting that blacktop. Oh, yeah! He didn't care. He said, 'Those damn line-painting rigs move so slow you couldn't hit a damn thing if there was a cash prize for doing it'! Hell, I laugh at that every time. Not, that I condone that sorta thing, mind you. Nope. But, he had a point. See, they only gave Joe the 'out-of-the-way' jobs. Out of populated areas. I mean, it weren't a secret that he enjoyed himself quite a few beers. But, the Division couldn't prove anything, and sure wasn't going to pull no surprise inspection to see if they could find his stash. I mean, you just don't do that sorta thing. How could you look a man in the eye if you did? I mean, it ain't like Joe was selling drugs, or anything. Right? Plus, with him driving one of them slow-ass line-painting rigs in the middle of nowhere, nobody really cared anyway. So, the Division, they was happy just giving ole Joe assignments out in the desert, where he couldn't possibly hurt nobody -- and, he couldn't -- not out there. Between crawling along at fifteen miles an hour -- that's how fast those rigs can go with the rollers down painting them lines -- and working roads that was out in the desert where, sometimes, you don't see another car all day, sometimes for a coupla days! Yeah! There's some roads out here that don't get used sometimes for two days and nights! Well, Joe wasn't likely to have another infraction, if you see what I mean.

And, that's how it went for a few years -- I'd say at least four years, or so. Until a coupla years ago -- when 'The Incident' happened. And, here's what happened. One day, Joe gets this assignment way out -- way out in the middle of no damn where. He and his driver head out early in the morning -- it takes two people minimum to split a blacktop. See, one guy, Joe's partner (I forget his name) drives the truck which is towing the trailer that's carrying the line-painting rig out to the location, and the other guy, Joe in this case, he's the one that actually paints them lines with that rig. So, Joe's partner drives them both out to the starting point and Joe backs that rig off the trailer and then Joe's partner drives the truck and the trailer off -- with the understanding that he'd pick ole Joe up at the end of the line and take the whole kit and kaboodle back to the shop at the end of the day.

So, they get out there -- State Route 375 was the job site that day -- and, Joe takes his pack with his lunch (which was a bag of Ruffles barbecue potato chips) and his sixer of tall cans of Bud, and he fires up the line-painting rig and backs it off the end of that trailer and his driver waves and leaves. So, now Joe's out there all alone -- which he liked just fine.

Now, it's important you understand, SR 375 ain't just any stretch of road. Naw! No, sir. First of all there ain't nothing out there. That highway runs from Crystal Springs up north to Warm Springs (down south). Just almost exactly one hundred miles through the flattest, most barren desert in Nevada. And...it also happens to run right past a part of that secret government installation, Area 51. That's right! Right past where they say they got all them aliens and their spaceships. Same place. The 'Extraterrestrial Highway' is what us locals call SR 375. And, we call it that cause there's been lots of strange stuff seen out thata way. Lots. Lights in the sky, some say. Some say they seen ships in the sky, like big silver metal cigars, zooming by real low, not making a sound, then just turning in a way no plane can turn and flying away. Zoom! Gone in a coupla seconds. Yep! That's what folks say. Sure, some are old coots like me -- booze hounds that live way out away from people, prolly a little crazy. Not that I'm crazy, mind you, but I sure am a old coot, that's for sure. But, some people that say they seen strange stuff out there on that highway, they're regular folks -- young, college educated, city folk, people you could believe when they say they saw something. I guess that don't prove nothing, anyhow. But, that's what people say.

Anyway, Joe hated that stretch of SR 375 because it went past that secret base -- Area 51. If he had known he was gonna paint lines out there that day he might have called in sick and let some other schlub do it. See, Joe's real superstitious. He don't like black cats, the number thirteen, any of that stuff. And, not only is he superstitious, hell, he even claimed to have heard strange howls at night from time to time. Out near his house -- he lives right out in the desert, like I said. Says them sounds ain't right -- natural. Well, there's a lotta creatures out there, coyotes mostly, I says to him. 'These ain't no coyotes', Joe say, making sure I can see that he means what he's saying. Well, I just let it go. Hell, I figured he was just yammering on. That is, until one day I went out to his place for a few burgers and beers -- we do that maybe coupla times a month -- and I seen this bunch of garlic up on the wall next to the door -- Joe calls it a wreath. A whole bunch of it -- whole cloves of garlic -- all bundled together in a big circle. He said he kept it there so no supernatural beings could get in his house while he slept. 'No supernatural beings!', I says. Couldn't hardly believe my ears. Like what? I ventured. He just shrugs. Well, I figured he meant like vampires or werewolves or something so I says, 'Joe, there ain't no such a thing out here -- nor anywhere for that matter', that's what I said. Well, he just looked me right in the eye real level and calm but didn't say anything. Back then, I kinda rolled my eyes, took a good swig of my beer and asked about the burgers being done or not on the grill. Well sir, that was the way I was -- back then. But, now, after the incident, I ain't so sure. I had thought he might of been yammering on at one time, but not so much since I seen how serious he took it, what with all that garlic next to the door -- and not since I seen that video tape. No, sir. I reckon just because I ain't seen nor experienced a thing ain't no reason for me to judge too harshly those that say they have.

Mmm...that's a good beer. Anyway, I guess I mentioned that video enough times I ought to explain it some. See, Delores -- that was Joe's girl back in high school, the one that married that fella she met in college -- she and her husband, I don't know his name, sent Joe a video camera one year for his birthday.
Well, at first, Joe had a mind to just throw that camera away, he was so indignant at getting such a gift from Delores and her husband, especially as they hadn't really been in touch much at all since she got married. Why she sent Joe that camera I'll never know -- guess she was trying to patch things up. Anyway, Joe had a mind to throw it out but instead he got himself a better idea -- at least that's what he thought. He was gonna make a video of a day at work -- that is, what he seen painting lines all day -- from his point of view. Don't that beat all! He told me that video would be so boring it would make Delores and her husband feel...well, Joe didn't know, not exactly, but it seemed like a good joke to him at the time. So, Joe took the video camera with him to make his mind-numbing movie.

Well, as it happened, Joe's birthday was right before the incident, just a coupla days before, and, so, in a way it was real lucky for him that Delores and her husband sent that camera when they did cause otherwise I don't reckon Joe woulda had no camera, video nor otherwise, with him the day of the incident, and I don't figure he woulda gotten no record of what happened to back up his story. And, that woulda been a damn shame! -- as you'll see once I get to the good part. If Joe hadn't had that video camera and made a movie of what happened out there, well, I reckon he'd be pissing into the wind if he tried to get anybody to believe him. Oh, I woulda humored him I suppose, at least some, to be polite. But, hell, he couldn't get nobody else to even listen -- all things considered.

Anyway, the driver of the truck and trailer drops Joe and the line-painting rig off right outside of Warm Springs where US 6 and the north end of SR 375 meet, and he says he'll pick Joe up outside Crystal Springs, where the south end of 375 hits SR 318, and then he takes off, leaving Joe out there all alone to paint them lines -- almost exactly one hundred miles of them between Warm Springs and Crystal Springs -- all in one day, and all by himself. Well, not counting a lunch, that's almost seven hours of line-painting if you're doing fifteen miles an hour -- way I figure it. Well, Joe don't mind. You might think he woulda seeing as he was such a hot-head back them, but he don't. He had his barbecue Ruffles potato chips and his tall Buds, and no boss looking over his shoulder, and so...he's a happy camper. He goes to work.

So, there's ole Joe, driving that rig, laying down those broken white lines -- well, I guess the line-painting rig is doing all the work, but Joe's keeps her centered nice. And, every now and then he'd have a coupla chips and wipe the orangey powder -- you know -- on the leg of his cover-alls. (You could always tell what flavor of chip Joe had for lunch) -- if his cover-all leg was just greasy it had been plain potato chips, but if the cover-all leg was all orangey and greasy, it had been barbecue chips that day. 'Why use a napkin', Joe would say, 'when you got a perfectly good pair of cover-alls to wipe your hands on'. Myself, I couldn't take it -- having my pants all greasy and orangey like that all day -- especially out in the hot sun -- would make me uncomfortable. Mmm...good beer. Anyway, Joe was driving that painter, painting them lines and eating them chips, and he would wash it all down from time to time with a swig of beer. Like I said, he was a happy camper.

Welp, according to the Division of Highway's policy, once it gets to a certain temperature, you got to stay hydrated. It's policy, don't bother asking. If you don't drink enough water and you have a heat stroke or something, they'll write you up with a disciplinary action -- all official. Get enough of those and you might get your pay docked. Have that happen a coupla times and you might get suspended. Like that. Don't bother asking.

So, you got to drink a minimum amount of water per hour -- according to policy. Anyway, as you prolly figured by now, Joe ain't the kind to follow policy too close -- especially policy that says something as 'stupid as "you got to drink water"' -- his words, not mine. That and the fact he ain't gone a day without drinking at least a sixer of Bud -- not for the last thirty, maybe forty years -- that's why Joe just ignores the policy and drinks beer all day. Hell, he don't get drunk -- a little happy maybe, but not drunk. Plus, there ain't nobody out there to run into anyway. Why, these roads out here -- you could watch 'em all day and not see a single car go by. Joe used to say it was a damn waste of taxpayer's money to build roads out in the middle of the desert in the first place, and it sure as hell added insult to injury to pay someone to split 'em with broken white lines once every ten years or so. 'Like people don't have sense enough to stay on their side of the road unless it's split by them lines', Joe would say. He used to get bent out of shape pretty bad about that. Of course, Joe would get bent out of shape pretty bad over most anything back then -- not so much now, after the incident. But, back then he did. Yessir!

Mmm...good. So, Joe's splitting that lonely stretch of two-lane road, not twenty miles from where we are now, and he's gone maybe a quarter-mile when he comes up to 'The Fence'. Now, everybody around here knows what The Fence is. It's a double fence really: two ten-foot high hurricane fences, each one topped with razor-wire. And, them fences are watched by cameras placed every coupla hundred yards or so. It's the fence that goes around Area 51 -- all the way around. Real ominous looking, like what you might expect to see at a prison or something.

And, as if that fence wasn't scary enough they got these signs. Every coupla hundred yards or so there's a big yellow sign with black print. 'KEEP OUT. NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW'. Yeah! I know. Not too subtle. Joe and me, we always joked the signs read: 'Tress passers will be violated'. I know, it's a dumb joke -- play on words. But, it goes with the territory seeing how all them folks claimed they was abducted...and probed, and such on board them spaceships. 'Tress passers will be violated' -- by space aliens. I know...dumb. But, Joe and me -- we always laughed -- dumb though it may be. Mmm...good. Good beer. This one's almost done. So, you make the call. You think this here story's worth hearing more of? Yeah?! Well, that's great. Bartender! Another round here.

Thank you much. Mmm...love a fresh beer -- got more pop. I'm glad you're liking the story so far. I know it gets off to kind of a slow start but it gets going after a while. Mmm...good. Anyway, them 'no trespassing' signs... Every damn coupla hundred yards -- the entire length of that fence. Forty, maybe fifty miles along that stretch of SR 375. Joe was always bothered by them signs. Said they affected him somehow -- gave him the creeps. Joe says they reminded him of the secrecy of what they was doing -- or supposedly doing -- in Area 51. Real hands-off stuff...supposedly -- you know what I mean. Said they, each one of them signs, made him think of aliens ships and autopsies. It seemed like, to Joe, every coupla hundred yards there was a sign that said 'ALIEN BODIES INSIDE. CRASHED ALIEN SPACESHIPS KEPT HERE. KEEP OUT'. And them signs keep coming. As soon as the effect of the last one wears off, here come the next. ALIENS IN HERE. STAY OUT! Over and over. Sorta like Chinese water torture.

Not only that. It wasn't just the signs. It was the surveillance cameras. You see, each one of them signs had a camera right above it. Well, not just a camera, but one of those domes, you know? -- the kind with a round metal case and a dome of tinted glass over it? The kind you see in department stores and such. Well, inside each one of them domed cases there's three cameras. One facing either way and one facing straight out at the road -- so they got all the angles covered. Those cameras used to give ole Joe the heebie-jeebies. He said he hated the effing government types watching him come and go. Said it wasn't any of their business watching a public road. Of course, if you tried to explain to him they wasn't watching the road, not really, they was watching for people trying to get over that fence -- or whatever criminal activity that might be going on -- Joe wouldn't have any of it. 'Fuck that' he'd say -- you'll excuse me -- his words. Well, I always just let it go. Anyway, Joe says that every time he passed one of them signs, he'd read it, even though it said the same thing as the last one -- couldn't help himself, he said -- and that would make him think of the little green men and the autopsies and spaceships and such, all over again. And he'd look at the camera above the sign, watching him come and go, and it seemed to him like he was going in slow-motion when what he wanted to do was to speed up. Can you beat that?! He says, after crawling past them signs and cameras for a few miles real slow on that line-painting rig out there in the middle of nowhere in that heat, it about made him lose it -- go a little nuts, you know? Me too -- makes me laugh, too. Every time I think about it. Funniest thing. Mmm...

Welp, anyway, Joe's crawling along and looking at each one of them signs and cameras as he passes them, and sweltering in that hard black plastic seat they got on them line-painters -- just like the ones in the back of police cars, you know -- and he's broiling, and sweating, and drinking tall cans of Bud to stay cool, not eating too many barbecue chips cause it's too damn hot, so the pant leg of his cover-alls ain't too orangey -- not yet. And it goes like that for a coupla hours -- take a sip of beer, read a 'ALIEN IN HERE' sign and look at the camera go by in slow-motion, getting all creeped out, then, as soon as he's passed the sign he calms down a little (with the help of another sip of beer), then he passes another sign and it starts up all over.

Well, Joe's finishing up his second or maybe third tall can of suds when he thinks he sees something up ahead in the blur zone. 'Blur zone' -- that's on the horizon on a hot day. See, the heat rising up from the ground is so fierce you get those ripples -- you know. And, the sky is so plain out here -- it's a real clear blue sky, not hazy like you get in the city -- that when you mix the two you get nothing but blur. Just sort of a wavy gray-blue. You can't see nothing but a blur. 'The Blur Zone'. Starts up about ten in the morning, and keeps going till the sun sets. And, it's worse if you're headed south -- which Joe was, toward Crystal Springs you'll remember -- and you're looking into the glare of the sun. So, all in all, Joe was having a hard time seeing what was up the road.

Anyway, he sees something in that heat ripple maybe four or five hundred yards on. Just a blob at first. Grayish-brown sorta thing in the middle of the road. 'What the fuck' Joe says right out loud. He used to do that -- cuss right out loud on account of he didn't care what people thought or who he might offend. Don't do that no more, though -- not since the incident. Anyway, Joe empties that beer real quick, drinks it down, and crushes the can and stuffs it in his bag up under the seat, you know, in case that blob up ahead is a State Troller making random pull-overs. Joe sure as hell didn't need another mark on his driving record. Anyway, after a bit he's getting closer and now he can tell it ain't no car, regular or police, and it ain't no accident neither. It's just some kind of lump, big one, right in the middle of the black top. And that's when Joe's temper starts a boiling over some. See...whatever the thing is, it's right in the middle of the road. That means it's right where ole Joe is planning to paint them lines. Get it? Yeah! Joe's gonna have to deal with the situation one way or the other in order to get his day's work done. Oh, boy -- let me tell you, that's the kind of thing Joe hates...well, hated -- he gets along okay now. But, back then Joe had a pretty short fuse. Anything out of the ordinary or anything that would cause him extra work would set his clock to ticking.

Welp, anyway, just for a second, during a break in the heat ripple, Joe thinks he sees what looks like a cow. When he told me that the first time I just had to laugh. I mean...a cow? In the middle of the road? Out in the desert? Mmm...good...good beer. You got to admit that sounds pretty funny. Mmm... Well, anyway, Joe says after just a second or two the heat ripples come up and again and since he's looking south into all that glare all he can see is that blob again, maybe a hundred-fifty yards up. Funny thing, though. As soon as Joe thought he saw a cow his tempered got dialed way down. He wasn't worried about no State Trollers nor accidents no more, and thinking it was a cow was just such a funny thing it put him in a pretty good mood again, so he just gets him another beer out of his pack under the seat, pops it, and gulps back a good swallow. Right about then, Joe lifts them rollers -- they're what apply the paint to the road, you know -- and he puts that rig into normal driving gear, and gives her some gas -- gets up to about thirty, I guess -- so he can get up there and see what kind of predicament he had to deal with.

Well, Joe gets up closer and sure enough, it is a cow. He hadn't been seeing things after all. Right there in the middle of the effing road. A big dead, bloated cow.


Part II can be read here:

http://moovyboovy.blogspot.com/2010/05/area-51-and-dead-cow-in-middle-of-road_09.html