Explosion in the Desert (Part 3 of 3)

Life is a mystery. Is it luck, fate, karma, choices, or is it just good timing that determines life's outcomes? Now that I'm older, I believe it could be a combination of all the above.

My Trans Am is in the lead, and Tom, in my sister's MG, took up the rear for most of the first leg of our journey. In a little over 12 hours of driving, we arrived in Flagstaff, Arizona, at around 9:00 in the evening. We pulled into town, found a 7/11, and purchased a few stale hot dogs. Asking around, we were told of a rest stop down the road to sleep for the night. Tom took the back seat, and I pulled the front seat back and 'slept like the dead for the rest of the night. Because it was late June, the morning sun in Flagstaff felt like a furnace. We grabbed some coffees and hit the road again.

My goal for the day's journey was Gunnison, Colorado. I had studied a semester there at the college and had made some good friendships. It was late afternoon that we spent our last $20 on gas for both vehicles. We were determined to reach Gunnison, even if we had to drive through the night and the next morning.

We now were driving in the desert somewhere on the border of Arizona. The southwest USA is rugged, rocky, and beautiful. Anytime that I've driven through this part of the country, the landscape is always a kind of spiritual experience. One feels amongst the high rocks that you're in a foreign and ancient land. You are merely a visitor. On this night, I had a feeling of dread. Call it what you will: instinct, intuition, or premonition. I knew deep down something drastic was about to happen.

I remember distinctly it was late and, just after midnight, that flames began to rise from the hood of my car. Instantly I pulled the car over and jumped out, thinking the vehicle might explode. Tom pulled up, and we stood together, watching my precious Trans Am burn in the middle of nowhere. After only a few minutes, the car exploded, sending pieces of glass into the air and all around us. Even though we were at least one hundred yards from the inferno, the heat from the explosion and fire could be physically felt on our faces.

In hindsight, the central feeling between us was amazement and shock.

Turning to my right, a 51 Ford pick-up appeared out of the darkness of the desert. At least six Indians jumped out of the truck, all with shovels in their hands, and began shoveling sand on the fire. In only several minutes, the fire was completely out. They stood around the melted metal for a few more minutes when a Highway Patrol car came on the scene. Once the cop arrived, the Indians got back into their antique truck and once again disappeared in the darkness.

“Which one of you boys owns that vehicle?”

“It's mine.” I whispered.”

“Well do you have a driver's license, or did that burn in the car too?”

I showed him my Colorado license, and he said, “Well, you almost made it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You're pretty much on the border of Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, and Colorado. You are bordering a Navajo Reservation. The boys who put out the fire are Navajo.”

“If I was you, I'd get the hell out of here in that MG of yours. But, unfortunately, there's nothing I can do. It's not really my jurisdiction.”

Still in shock, we drove across the border into Colorado.

Once we hit the mountains, of course, it started to rain, and almost experienced another disaster by barely missing a deer crossing the road.

Some hours later, we arrived in Gunnison. We found a local rest stop and tried to sleep while the rain continued to pour. The next morning I realized we had no more $ to get us all the way back to Denver. We drove around a bit, and an old friend from the college's theatre club spotted me on the street and said we could stay with her. That night she took us to a party, where I met an old girlfriend, a rich old girlfriend, that gave me $50 for gas to get the rest of the way home.

The party was wild and a chance to blow off some steam.

We got to Denver, and I dropped Tom Faraday off at his family home.

That afternoon I found my old friend who I'd been staying with, and he asked, “Where's the Trans Am?”

“Well, do you have a beer? It's a bit of a long story.”