After driving for about 5 hours, I pulled over just east of Midland to take a disco nap. I had been up since 6:18 (my snooze bar works in intervals of 9 minutes, oddly) and I figured a picnic area in the middle of West Texas would be a nice, quiet place to nap. I had actually slept pretty well last night, but in my excitement to return to Arizona, I had been burning off too much adrenaline singing my way through They Might Be Giants' discography. I only got as far as Purple Toupee.
The procedure usually involves 20 minutes of shut-eye, followed by a nice, refreshing face wash and the clearance of all accumulated garbage from the passenger area. It all went according to plan except the last bit. Master that I am of hand-eye coordination, I managed to drop my keys in the half-drunk cup of Dr. Pepper I was tossing out, as though I myself were half-drunk.
It was one of those moments, however urgent it may be, when you have to pause and stare at what you did. You utter a resolving "hrm." You wonder if anyone saw you and try to act cool. You realize there's no way to look cool and just fish out your keys.
It was unlikely for water to do any more damage to the remote than dried soda, so I rinsed it off and hoped it would still work. I'll bust out a window before I spend my entire trip using a mechanical door lock.
A few hours later, I stretched my legs in Van Horn, where I shot a giant RV sign and some pretty terrific neon. I also spent a few minutes exploring what appeared to be a motel that was never completed, then parked at a Pilot station to eat the unfinished half of my Subway sandwich. I set the keys aside and away from the mayonnaise.
Just before I reached El Paso, I was tempted by "Non Stop Beautiful Ladies" and someplace called the Naked Harem BYOB, but I decided to push on. I did, however, stop to shoot the World's Largest Electric Star, atop Franklin Mountain. The last two times I was through here, the 459-foot-tall star, which the chamber of commerce says has been lighted nightly since 1993, was off. It could have been my only chance.
As I was attempting to get a decent shot from a parking lot that borders a railroad switching station, I was dramatically boxed in by two police cars. Apparently, someone in the little booth across the tracks assumed the guy who appeared to be looking up at the big star, through what appeared to be a camera on what appeared to be a tripod, was a danger to somebody's life.
The first officer out of his car told me, "All right, you can film all you want, just don't go past this line," indicating a shin-high cable 25 feet from the tracks that I had no intention of crossing. Obviously upset that he had been called out for something so asinine, he just got back in his car and left. I never had to say a word. The DHS's "situational awareness" working for you and me.
Incidentally, the remote survived its cola bath. On this alone I'm basing my next vehicle purchase.