This is the sign that saved my life.
Ok, maybe a little bit of an exaggeration, but when you've been driving in the desert for 3 hours after a 11hr flight, having been up for 24 hours, seeing a sign reading Extraterrestrial Highway was a god-damn miracle.
You see, I should have been checked-in, unpacked, and drinking a beer way before sunset...but US customs officials, Las Vegas baggage handlers, bad American road signs, and getting lost in a giant Walmart put an end to that idea.
A few miles down Extraterrestrial Highway (named as it runs alongside Area51) lies my destination for the evening - Rachel, Nevada (population 67), and more specifically - The Little A'le'inn.
I arrive, and a pair of eyes belonging to an extremely stereotypical redneck (mullet, non-ironic handlebar moustache, chewing tobacco) bore into me.
I walk past and nod to Billie-Joe, Jimmy-Bob or whatever his name is, and in my gruffest of tones manage a "Hey".
Anyway, turns out his name was Jeff.
My room for night was actually a trailer in the carpark - No shit! But the bed was comfy, the beers were cold and the conversation was hilarious (They really don't get England - At all!)
I may have missed it in the dark, but as I woke, I looked out the window and this what Jeff claimed to have found in the desert back in the 50s...
After a ridiculously unhealthy yet tasty American breakfast, it was time I hit the road.
I then saw the road...
Today would be a good day.
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