When I awoke in Las Vegas that morning, the feeling of heaviness seeped from my head into the very soles of my shoes. It was another lackluster night of sleep at the Travelodge Motel, but to tell the truth - I didn’t really mind. It’s a funny thing when you realize you’re just “used to it.”
Per usual, my “roommates” were busily grabbing at things and filling water bottles in record time. I feel like they are, or were, far more of the “morning” bunch than I am, though that did not mean they complained about it any less. I didn’t really mind that either, because, well, friends just get “used to it.”
As I struggled to get it together, I recall that I kept racking my brain as to how in the hell I was supposed to remember all of the details of the forthcoming events of that day. Grabbing the only tools that were “allowed” for the day, my day - my aforementioned heavy mind, a pen and paper, I made the mental note of: “For the love of god, Caitlin, stay alive.”
(The Nevada Test Sites is an extremely “closed lip” ordeal, as you all know)
Making it to the group van, at about one minute past the scheduled time, I buckled into the front seat, and sized up the tour guide. Unfortunately, for the life of me, I cannot remember this guy’s name - and as bothersome as it may be to me, I’ll take it as the true “spirit” of the place(s) we visited with him on that dry, desert day - - - seemingly anonymous despite it’s rather critical acclaim.
I remember feeling weak and inadequate in the van. I couldn’t, for the life of me, understand how Brent and Shana stayed so in tune and on the ball the entire time. Looking around me, my “peers,” accidentally dozing off due to the lack of quantity and quality of sleep, seemed more like fallen soldiers, as opposed to enthusiastic, college brochure ready, exemplary students of the year. We were all so excited for every day, talking wildly at night about events to come, those that had happened, and so on and so forth. But it was our lack of coffee that morning that had spelled out a slow death for the rest of the day.
And so I kept my head up, ears opened and...half shut eyes...well intact, because after all, I wanted to.
Part 2:
Post-Marika almost getting screwed for being from the Netherlands, we re-boarded the van and set forth onto a journey that would last for hours. It’s hard to really encapsulate this experience in mere words, because as far as any lush details of the landscape go, there were few and far in between. Tell me, someone, how do you explain vastness without actually experiencing it first hand?
But it was the landscape and its man made mysteries that struck me the most, after all.
Each object affected by the explosive bombs, appeared as a left-behind prop on a long since deactivated stage. A train bridge section, in particular, stood as a simple reminder of its horrific life span, even after I gave rational thought to its inanimate purpose. I had a hard time grasping how it all worked, even after being explained the various processes that are involved with the making, dropping, protecting, etc, of the bomb.
(Fast forward a bit)
Upon taking a moment to step beside Sedan, an incredible crater left behind as a result of a dropping, I felt as if my landscape were not real despite having recently seen natural crevices as large and/or larger. I wondered why this was, and decided that since this crater was man made, that my mind could not possibly wrap itself around its greatness. Human beings are miniscule, and yet that thing - that thing was wicked.
Part 3:
Something that I had been looking forward to on this trip, was of course, Area 51. I knew that there was absolutely no way in hell that’d I’d ever enter this location during the tour, however, that did not stop me from my own speculations and wonderment. Our tour guide was of course, tight lipped about the matter, however, he did slip and quickly mentioned something about a kooky engineer who had supposedly seen a great green orb shooting into the sky nearby ol’ Gate 700. This was a highlight of the trip for me, being that it’s comical context just about killed me.
I think our tour guide was trying to tell Brent the story in confidence, and of course, I was leaning out of my chair to hear. My needy action sparked the attention of the last row, and alas, the guy had to mic up his story. I wasn’t too sure if he was happy about it, but he seemed to be of good wit and went with it. I liked that guy.
Anyways, I digress -
We also made a halt at what I believe to be was an overlooked location: the test site rest stop. I say this not because the ice cream sandwich I purchased exceeded my expectations, (it was actually just “of par”), but because of it’s absolutely bizarre intricacies.
Let me explain:
1) Who the hell works there anyways? Scanning the cafeteria style building, I was more than amused by the staff’s expressions. Granted, we were a student group, intruding on what I’m sure is a pretty “low key” restaurant, but it just felt as if we were the first people that were mostly under the age of 25 to have entered the facility in, let’s say, 25 years. Having that noted, I began to obsessively question how an individual applies for that cafeteria job.
“Is this something posted on Craigslist? Nevada National Test Site Cafe Clerk?” “I think I have the credentials for that...”
2) Overhearing conversations: While at this rest stop, I think I over heard some muttered, private conversations. I won’t say that what I thought I heard, is “valid,” but it does pose the question of the employees imposition on such a private place. This again, further pushed my realized parallel between the desert and the stage and its performer.
3) The decor: Matching the desert’s bleakness, the decor felt reminiscent of a Harmony Korine movie, though I still believe Wendover, UT, was the actual home of the set of Gummo....though that’s another idea, in itself. I digress, again. The decor of the test site rest stop was a version of nice that isn’t actually nice. It was a mix of waiting room, cafeteria and simulated desert decor, that somehow made sense, after momentarily disagreeing with it’s “whack” nature. The bleak, pastel color schemes, reflecting that of Arizona’s, was complicated by the oddity of absolutely any apparent decoration at all in the building.
Think of a desert roadside plain - think of the feeling after driving 100 miles down that road with no real visual stimulation, only to find someone’s flip flop tossed on the side of the road like a reminder to the living that they aren’t really dead. This is what that decor felt like.
That interior decor wasn’t really as nice as it seemed, and the desert’s expansive nature can swallow you whole just as easily as it can give peace.
I left that day by settling into the eeriness of these extremities.
I guess I just got used to it.
-Caitlin Rooney
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