Alone in the dark

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Approximately 900 words; 5 minutes read time

In the Mojave Valley in Arizona just east of Needles, California, there's a treacherous road known as the "Oatman Highway." Part of Historic Route 66, it starts west out of Kingman, Arizona, and winds towards California, first climbing up and over the jagged Black Mountains. En route to Needles, the decaying pavement ascends through to the summit at Sitgreaves Pass before descending into the old mining town of Oatman.

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I first passed through this part of western Arizona nearly 20 years ago. It was a snowy January night in the early 2000s. Searching for myself, "out West," I was trying to make sense of my wants and needs. 

A few months earlier, I had packed up my camping gear, bike, and tools and hit the road. I had been living out of that little car for a while and was comfortable in it. It felt like home. 

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Navigating the Oatman Highway that dark evening, in an overladen, two-wheel-drive vehicle, was treacherous. The snow was coming down in large flakes and heavy, making it hard to see. The car, way too full of stuff, swayed from all the weight. I feared it would break loose from the road on every slippery curve. 

In retrospect, driving in that weather was not the best idea. But that was my way of finding adventure back then. I was twenty-something and indestructible, in search of visceral experience. If something seemed "off the beaten path" or "an ill-advised direction," I took it. 

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That evening, along Route 66, I was driving without a destination in mind. Earlier I had been traveling west along I-40 when the weather turned bad, so I exited the interstate looking for a place to camp. But with all the snow, I couldn't pull my car over for fear of getting stuck. So I kept driving, this time along the old Mother Road. Soon, the storm picked up, even more, becoming fierce as darkness fell.

I'll never forget the white-knuckle drive over the pass into Oatman. I had no idea anything was even down there. As I slowly drove in through the thickening blanket of snow, I was relieved to see a town emerge.

Out of the darkness, quaint sagging buildings appeared, butted against one another like a town in an old Western. Only a few street lamps burned; otherwise, the place was dark. It was impossibly dark. Barely lit by my headlights, I could make out clapboard-covered walkways lining the street.

In broad daylight, Oatman looks the part of a movie set. But on that snowy night, the atmosphere was downright surreal. It felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone where I had been transported back in time. I half-expected to confront a gunslinger standing in the street, duster pulled back, hand on his revolver, the snow collecting on his wide-brimmed hat.

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Late in the evening, and with a storm on, the town was eerily still. The dampening effect of the snow only heightened how quiet the place was. The white stuff was piled high on both sides of the road; a plow had gone through earlier, mounding it in dense drifts.

Left with nothing else to do, I moved on into the darkness.

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West of Oatman, the road does what can only be described as slithers. It's a beautiful but desolate place, with steep mountains ripping up from the desert below. The valley is a striking landscape worth seeing - if you can see it. That night, I was lucky to see ten feet in front of me. 

As I drove, I’d occasionally spot a roadside cross placed along the highway, memorials to those who didn't make it. On the sharpest curves, there was often more than one. Fortunately that night, there would not be a new cross needed. At least not for me. 

Making my way down into what I later learned was the Mojave Valley, I finally found a suitable pull-off to park my car. The weight had been lifted, and I relaxed.

I had made it. 

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With the snow still coming down, I reclined my seat and slipped into my sleeping bag. There, in the cold, I was alone as I could be. It's a funny feeling, knowing that no one at all knows where you are. That evening, even I had only the faintest idea of my location. 

It was an eerie but welcome calm that came over me then. I felt free of expectations. Free from society, for a time. It was as if a thousand gazing eyes had suddenly closed.

I breathed in the crisp air and watched my breath condense in front of me. 

Tomorrow was unknown, but that didn't matter. I was warm in my sleeping bag and felt secure.

I faded off to sleep, content with being alone in the dark.

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Until next time. Science. Fiction. Create.

JRC