Dark Desert Highway

Not everyone can claim they’ve ever seen a UFO, much less a cigar-shaped craft of gleaming silver streaking across the sky, though throughout history in the villages of Arizona’s Navajo nation a great many people swear they have, and are eager to share their stories as well as ancient depictions; painted on handmade pottery and carved on the walls of caves. While generally attributed to the peculiar philosophies of those accustomed to seclusion, the stories continued and grew in such numbers as to eventually warrant a team of experts called the Navajo Nation Rangers to investigate such reports as multiple lights hovering low before jetting straight up and out of sight, followed by a sonic boom and power outages in the town of Chinle.

One retired Lt. described being followed by an orb for over 30 minutes on his way to investigate such accounts as that of a Skinwalker, posed as a human-sized rabbit in a distraught woman’s driveway, or coins falling out of thin air near the home of an elderly man. 

But in the four corners area, the dark desert highway; widely recognized as one of the most dangerous and downright haunted stretches of highway in America, known as The Devil’s Highway, was largely left to fend off its demons without assistance or scrutiny; leading to historically high numbers of accidents with fatalities. Some cases involved Satan’s Sedan; a sleek black car that bore down from behind until the driver drove off the road, or causing the same effect with a head-on approach. There are reported incidents of a possessed Semi-truck barreling down the center line; causing multiple-car crashes in a one-mile stretch. Hitch hikers were noted as well, though perhaps not the typical stranger one would expect, because they look like someone you know or have known – until they get into your car.

Oddly enough, fatalities and disturbing accounts in general declined dramatically in 2003 when the highway was, not quite by an act of congress, renamed (re-numbered) to Route 491, from its former moniker Route 666.

And speaking of state routes, I’ll be watching a Cavalcade of Cars parade down SR 260 for the 33^rd annual Run to the Pines car show this weekend as I embrace the first brisk days of fall! I hope your weekend is unusually fun too!

If you thought you saw a UFO, would you say so? If you could skin-walk, what would you choose to be? Do you believe the very name of a highway could affect events occurring on it?

Dead Giveaways

Fear not the stars on moonless nights, for they are at their brightest. While demons sleep without the light, the wakeful dream of guidance.  Beware the glowing autumn moon as you would tend your seeds, and heed the piercing call of loons; crouching in the reeds. 

They walk among us. And sometimes, they hitchhike.     

                

It could just be a starless night without a glowing moon when one might encounter on a lonely desert backroad in the deepest hour of the night, a restless spirit seeking transport; not to, but away from a dimension from which it can’t escape.

As advised by any native elder, most folks would keep on driving.  

For every crisscrossed backroad or unmapped battered byway, folklores hang as faded signs of tortured spirit pathways. And still, sometimes we stop. 

Frequently told is the tale of a young maiden who canters in festive attire; her blue-black hair dancing in the midnight wind that swirls her ankle-length skirt. Her lively steps belie the futility in a random direction on an unchartered course of a life unknown and forever unlived. 

Ever smiling, a young boy stands at a barely discernable fork in the road; the left side long since traversed. In summer shorts and bloodied tee, he waves a rusted bicycle horn.  While he always declines a ride, he will give his name as that of someone you know.

Antiquated neon signs line a darkened stretch of highway where a scraggly long-haired dog darts in front of passing cars that hit the guardrails in sudden panic.  Then, when drivers dive off the nearest ramp to calm their wobbling knees, the silhouette of a Calvary man on horseback watches from the mountain pass at Picacho Peak above.

Resplendent in a flowing Holy robe, the Lost Father, patiently waits for a ride to take him four miles southeast, where he then hails a ride back to where he was first picked up. It is said that should a roadrunner cross your path, the Father will have found his bones.

I suppose that with stories like these floating around my gullible youth, I needn’t have wondered about the meaning of hitchhikers in the night being “Dead giveaways.”  

 

Though helping a stranded motorist in daylight used to be acceptable and relatively safe, it would seem that few movies depict the activity as advisable these days. Does anyone remember “Scarecrow” with Al Pacino, or “Honeysuckle Rose” with Willie Nelson? Remember the hitchhiker the girls in  “Thelma and Louise” picked up?