From Elvis's the track just improved - no better road conditions anywhere.
Enough dust to keep the teeth gritty, enough bumps to keep one awake, and enough
uncertainty to keep one interested. Hot sun and no road signs to lead through
the Monitor Range until, sixty miles from anywhere, the truck pulled out of the
scrubby pines and pinions into the open at a crossroads marked with 5 signs
pointing to places not mentioned on any of the maps that Billy Bob had smuggled aboard the
truck. "It's obvious. We follow THAT road!" Cletis said pointing vigorously the way to White Snake Lakes.
"Okay" replied Billy Bob easing the truck through the fence that blocked access to "the opposite direction".
An hour or so later, with still no sign of pavement, the perfect road was starting to get tiresome. It had changed from a twin dirt track to a broad gravel highway with a speed limit that could not be maintained. A mile off the road into a box canyon on the opposite side of the valley they stopped for a 3 O'clock lunch of hot dogs, to soak up some of the beer that was sloshing around in their stomachs.
Coming out of the canyon, Billy Bob started to get ornery and refused to follow the rules of the road. The truck rolled over three cattle guards and Billy Bob both refused to lift his feet and declined to obligatory bourbon salute. This recalcitrance was to cost the boys later when the gods picked a rock up off the road and bounced it off one of the bikes through the canopy back window.
Efforts to duct tape a seal around the resulting hole ended in the total disintegration of the window, and a pile of glass gravel at the side of the road.
Dampened spirits could not suppress the dry heat that had engulfed the truck as it raced
along the open gravel toward nowhere. Dust was piling in the back, and the sun and the beer
had taken their toll by the time the travelers pulled up to a half-hour wait for a pilot
car at the asphalt intersection 30 miles out of Tonopah. The cooling effect of the higher speed asphalt driving rejuvenated the boys somewhat and by the time they pulled into Tonopah Nevada, Billy Bob and Cletis was a couple of good lookin guys riding a wave of respectability. In town they were directed to " the best bar for you boys..." which turned out to be an uncool, near empty, white trash, highway sports bar with a woman bar tender and three female patrons.
Visa on the counter - "sorry folks - no plastic here" - they heard the scoop on how everybody's ex-spouse and current spouse has a history of DUI in this small town. "Folks aren't so sticky about DUI here in Nevada as they are in California, but you can get yourself some jail time".
Billy Bob staggered away from the bar to the non-air-conditioned flush toilet. "Is he okay?" one of the patron's asked.
"Oh ya, he always gets like that when he's had too much to drink" Cletis responded.
"Say...we're about ready to pack it in for the day, are there any campsites near here?"
"Oh, there's one about thirty miles out - toward Bishop, sweetie. Right on the highway. It's pretty nice - it's got a tree."
"Lots of camping around Bishop" the bartender added. Taking the hint, the boys moved on.
Sixty three minutes later, after leaving without paying for their beers, Cletis turned the truck left onto highway 264, heading for Dyer and the California border patrol.
Fully expecting the California immigration and fruit police of Woody Guthrie's day to still be on duty, the beer and contraband had been tucked safely away before approaching the border. All was for not however, as there was no one there to check for fruit bugs or Oklahoma passports when they pulled up the hill into the White Mountains and Inyo National Forest.
What waited for them was the perfect mountain vista as they set up their tent just beyond the "No Camping Without a Permit" sign, under the watchful eye of an uncommon Raven.
After slopping down a dinner of boiled potatoes, broccoli and road kill sausage, Cletis and Billy Bob waited in the dark and listened, in between loathsome sets of Violin and Banjo, to the steady "poor-will" call of a Common Poor-Will just down the hill from their campsite. A first for Cletis, the Poor-Will required a salute even though it was not seen.