Friday, September 29th, 2017
It's Friday, the BMW shop in Phoenix will be open on Tuesday, so I've got a few days to kill. Glancing at the map, the Mojave National Preserve to the south of Las Vegas looks interesting. I head out of town after a late breakfast. Hot and sunny, as I suspect it is just about every day here.
I get far into the Mojave National Reserve, heading for one of the campgrounds, when suddenly the pavement ends. That's not happening with no rear shock. I turn around and head back for the highway. I guess it will just be another motel night...
Baker, then Barstow. I've been in Barstow a couple of times before. A city smack in the middle of the desert, full of Route 66 references. At a Circle K the young woman cashier says:
"Where have I seen you before? You look really familiar."
"Do you watch tennis?", I say.
"A little bit."
"I'm Andre Agassi."
Her face goes pale. She fumbles around the cash register for a pen. In a soft, nervous voice she asks: "Can I have your autograph?"
"I'm just kidding", I say, "I'm from Boston, it's unlikely we've ever met before."