Las Vegas to Seattle and Back in Three Days (Part 4)

They had so much cool shit there it's unbelievable. I toured biplane replicas and World War 1 planes, but I think the second best thing I saw there was the P-51 Mustang they had on display. It was actually a bit shorter than I thought it'd be in real life, but the engine that powered the thing was massive.

An old white guy came by me, also admiring the engine and said "now the only problem to solve is how to fit that in your car." I probably responded with something technical and awkward regarding the fuel consumption, custom frame, etc. I then moved on to see an SR-71 black bird, and holy shit that thing is epic.

In fact, the only thing even more incredible is the comically small cockpit. Nearby, they also had a replica of the "living room" of the international space station, and let me tell ya it isn't anywhere as cramped as it looks on TV. It's practically the size of a few bedrooms.

Next door, near a building they said was meant to house the recently decommissioned space shuttle, they had a special area where they saved the best for last--a decommissioned Air Force One, and a freakin Concorde.

I didn't even know this place was nearby, but fuck it was awesome beyond words. I always held the Concorde with special regard--as if it were some mythical machine that doesn't really exist in our world, and yet here I was physically touching such a marvel of engineering. I stopped by the entrance bomber and took a picture of the rental car that brought me there to experience all of this.

Despite its shortcomings, it had finally grown on me.

Unfortunately, my time at this spot was short, so after a few more minutes it was time to go. My first stop after the Museum of Flight was a Chevron gas station, where I ran my credit card, going about my business as usual with a "don't really care" attitude until the machine flashed the most dreaded words one can see at a gas station: DECLINED, PLEASE SEE CASHIER.

For an instant I nearly lost it. In two days, I'd blow nearly eight hundred bucks.

It's okay,I consoled myself.I still have options.

I immediately called the bank to verify all the charges I made so far, and between all the gas, snacks and lodging, it all added max out my card. But it was okay; with the rental's impressive mileage and enough reserved driving, I had enough gas to make it back home.

The only bad thing was that I wouldn't be sleeping at all on the return leg.

So? I fought back at the voice of reason in my head, I've dealt with worse. I can tank this.

In retrospect, thinking I could tank that was actually pretty stupid. I mean yes, of course I did tank it, but that's like saying you'd be perfectly fine walking through a desert provided you've got enough water. No doubt that it's possible, but you really, really shouldn't.

I left Seattle (well, actually, at this point was closer to Tacoma) around 14:00, but I wasn't going to drive through car-hating Oregon again just to drive right back the same path I did, so I took off on the I-5 south toward the first checkpoint on my return leg--Portland, OR. I got to enjoy the countryside again until I started flagging, and then realized that it's not just the car that needs refueling. I stopped at the next Burger King along the way and then cruised down the freeway.

There was a bit of rain as I drove into a traffic jam in Portland, but as soon as that cleared up it was smooth sailing once again. Some time after 17:00, another kid in a 1994-1999 Mustang V6 pulled into the freeway. We didn't run but I decided to amuse myself by playing highway buddies. I think he's the only one to notice me following him and returned the favor. We'd speed up and slow down to drive relatively close to each other until he gave me a thumbs up then broke off the freeway somewhere in the city limits of Eugene, OR, and I continued farther to break off the I-5 onto US-58.

After a fuel stop somewhere in Pleasant Hill, OR, the sun begun to set. The forest road was an absolute pleasure to drive on. If I lived in this area, I'd start a Sunday drive tradition in this area.

I made a quick stop at Dexter Reservoir, and I probably have pictures of it somewhere, but there wasn't much time to look.

As I drove night continued to vanquish the lingering dusk, light peeling into shadows.By the time I broke of US-58 to US-97, it was completely dark outside, but having passed a state trooper kickin' it in his Charger in the shade of a tree, I had to be careful since as everyone knows, highway troopers are nocturnal.

To give myself an edge I observed another commandment of solo grand touring: at times of uncertainty, thou shalt elect a guinea pig car like your own situated at adequate range, and then measure his driving behavior to tell when to slow down, and upon his possible capture by highway trooper, elect another once more. At Klamath Falls, I began to grow impatient. Said guinea pig was passed at sudden alacrity, and after a quick pit stop at a gas station, I continued toward the state line.

As soon as I arrived in Northern California: disaster.

My smart phone, the only navigation aid I had, decided this was a good time to leave me for dead. The phone would boot but immediately crash, and I had no way to fix it while sitting on the side of the road. I was blind. I had no idea how much longer I had to go, and which exit to turn so I can continue on the right way, and most critically, there was only two hundred bucks left for both food and gas. Despite all of this, I wasn't scared. In fact, I sort of wanted something like this to happen because I saw this situation for what it was: a moment in life when a man has to trust himself and keep moving forward. It seems dramatic, I know, but when you're parked on the side of the road that far from home with no one that can help you but yourself, that's what it all boils down to.

Bravely I continued forward, and neither street sign nor mile post escaped my scrutinizing gaze. I was looking for something that sounded either Southern California or Northern Nevada, or just South in general. One of two things was going to happen that night: either I keep going and wind up on the right path, or wind up on the wrong path and keep going until I stumble onto some familiar sounding. This took the better part of two hours, and during which the fuel tank dipped to well below half. There were no gas stations in sight, but, salvation was at hand.

After about 23:00, I finally saw a sign that marked Reno, NV, and in the distance, the road disappear into a snaking ascent up a mountain. I opened the window, breathed in the crisp air and felt the dread and peril evaporate away. I was tired but I'd crossed that threshold of fatigue where your body gives up on telling you you're tired, and I wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.

I reached into the center storage console for my last reserve of four red bull cans, finished one in a few powerful drags, and then hunted through the XM satellite stations for something energetic to supercharge my second wind. What I found was something both hilarious and awesome at the same time on a station called Liquid Metal. At this point it didn't matter what route I'd originally planned; this was now my final necessary checkpoint on the way home, and I knew I was going to make it in time.

The final rush had finally begun.