S2E26: There’s been an accident.

Day 26: Oct 5, 2023
Las Vegas, NV →
Bishop, CA
Miles: 305

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About three miles in the distance, we spot a huge dirt plume. It originates on the left side of the road then whiplashes to the right side. We’re accustomed to these airborne dust trails from off-road rigs traveling at speed in the sand. We just assume someone is messing around in the desert close to the road, in a region not sanctioned for recreation. This is ostensibly a highway leading to a mountain pass.

The dust settles once we reach the area, and I’m flummoxed by the cause. I crane my neck as we cruise by at 65 mph and pinpoint the anomaly: a car, about 100 feet from the road, in the dirt, front end kissing a Joshua tree, airbags fully deployed, and a disoriented driver. A crash, an accident. No other parties around.

“What is it, what do you see, do you want me to stop?”

Jen starts to slow, and I look back in my side view mirror. While I determine if I have cell service, Jen makes a u-turn. As we near the scene, another car pulls up with a family inside. The dad and mom get out, and we all approach the vehicle. The driver, a woman, stumbles out, clearly dazed but moving. She asks, “Can you pull me back out?”

We have the gear to assist in a recovery, except that her front bumper is 50 feet away, radiator coolant is all over the ground, and, of course, her airbags are out and inflated. The car is going nowhere. The dad and I team up in assessing the driver while the mom is on the phone with emergency services. Fortunately, the mom knows which Nevada county we’re in and can offer up the approximate location. Help is on the way.

We all chat a bit. The dad works in a mine; his wife is a teacher. They were on their way home. He usually doesn’t travel with them, but he’s been making the effort to spend more time with his family. I take this to heart.

Twenty minutes pass, and we see flashing lights in the distance. We’re admittedly surprised at the swiftness of the responders since the nearest towns are 25 or 45 miles away. The lights stall out, though, so I retrieve my binoculars to get a closer look. I can’t quite discern the source of the lights, but we’re certain assistance is still a ways out.

The father and I talk about work. He’s a solid man: steel-toe worker boots, hefty jeans, a well-worn black Carhartt T-shirt. He’s missing a tooth and keeps his hair cropped short. He tells me he’s astounded that people complain about living in America. “America is blessed! You just gotta work hard and do work. I don’t love what I do, and I don’t get paid too well, but it’s enough. People don’t know how good they have it here. I’ve been to parts of Mexico where it’s rough.” I nod, I agree. I don’t know where we stand politically — he knows we’re from California, and our rig and presentation are different from theirs. In this moment, though, we’re just concerned passersby wanting to aid another human being.

A sheriff arrives, then local police, with medical still en route. We briefly describe the events we saw, and the sheriff politely dismisses us.

We lost a fair amount of daylight and still need to traverse two passes to get to Highway 395, the gateway to the Sierra. Death Valley is normally an option, but the park is completely closed due to extensive flood damage from Hurricane Hilary.

We again violate one of our main rules to overland travel by entering Bishop after dark. I’m at the wheel and hunting for camp outside town. Our usual pick, the Buttermilk Boulders, is closed due to road erosion from our unrelenting winter, so we have to expand our search. We investigate another area popular with climbers, but nothing is available.

I am frustrated. It’s late and I haven’t eaten, but Jen calms me down. I apologize as we head farther north up 395. I identity some forest routes on the map and cross my fingers that this attempt will prove fruitful. Luckily, we find a suitable clearing and quickly set up camp.

We opt out of the dinner and relaxation portions of camping. It’s pee breaks for everyone, then I do a safety sweep of the perimeter. Finally, bedtime.

It’s been a long day.