The only business apart from a gas station in Rachel is a restaurant/bar/motel called The Little A’le’Inn. I first heard of it while watching a documentary on UFOs on the Discovery Channel. Since then, I’ve seen it on several other documentaries, and being a UFO and government-conspiracy enthusiast myself, I decided to someday take a trip out there. 

Last year I took a side trip from Holloman AFB in New Mexico out to Roswell to visit the purported crash site. I knew I was close to the scene (somewhere on the side of Boy Scout Mountain) but never saw anything that I could positively identify as any kind of crash site. Anyhow, I figured that since I’d made it to Roswell, I’d have to go to Rachel to hit the other major UFO hotspot. Now was my chance.

Desert Driving

This is the first trip I’ve taken where I actually had to watch my gas since there are 100-mile stretches of road between towns. The drive to Rachel goes from I-15 out of Las Vegas to Hwy. 93 and then to Hwy. 375 and is about 150 miles. For those who’ve never driven through the high desert, it’s a lonely but peaceful experience. After getting past the initial shock of the quiet remoteness and areas of beautiful desolation, you can’t help but imagine the rugged circumstances that must have faced the pioneers who crossed the region during the westward expansion.

Big skies and miles of long, straight highway reach out to greet you with your destination beckoning from somewhere just beyond the horizon. Sometimes you’ll pass roads that lead off the highway and that you can see winding up into the mountains. It’s difficult to resist taking them just to see where they lead but I’ve seen many of these from the air, and often they literally lead nowhere. They just wind around and lead to nothing, dead-ending in the middle of the desert. Other times you’ll see modern structures with no apparent purpose, like machines that look like air-conditioning units surrounded by a fence along the road: "What the heck are those and what are they doing here?"

A refreshing interlude from the endless fields of Joshua trees and tumbleweeds is the Pahranagat Wildlife sanctuary that occupies 30 miles or so of Hwy. 93. It’s an oasis in the desert replete with deer, fish and waterfowl. It even boasts some large and ancient deciduous trees along its border and in nearby groves.

                    
Just past the northern tip of Pahranagat Lake is the first town since Las Vegas. Alamo and it’s smaller neighbor, Ash Springs, are old western towns (with modern gas stations, thankfully). Modern trailer homes sit next to their crumbling pioneer home predecessors and the locals all have that rugged frontier look and attitude. The economy seems to be planted in agriculture, likely supported by irrigation from Lake Pahranagat. Not much to look at and not more than 10 minutes (including a 5 minute stop for gas) to pass through.

The Extraterrestrial Highway                                      

Just outside of Ash Springs is the fork where Hwy. 375 splits off. It’s marked by two curious signs. Once is for a roadside vendor called "Alien Fresh Jerky" which sounded oddly appetizing at the time but was unfortunately nothing more than a bullet-ridden and empty shack. It looked like the locals defeated the Aliens in a gun battle there. The next sign was the official state highway sign designating Hwy. 375 as the "Extraterrestrial Highway." It was covered with stickers from various groups and organizations as well as lots of graffiti.

Highway 375 looks brand new. No potholes, nor bumps nor cracks. Just jet black asphalt with bright white and yellow lines. It’s stands out dramatically against the infinite brown and yellow of the desert. Not far beyond the fork is a small trailer containing an alien souvenir shop. The owner pointed towards a large circular flattened area with fresh cement and explained to me that they were building a planetarium there that would be devoted to UFO sightings. The light was starting to fade and I still had to make the long drive to the Area 51 Main Gate and then on to Rachel. I wanted to get to Rachel before sundown because driving at night can be dangerous since the entire region is open range and cattle in the road are very common. As www.dreamlandresort.com puts it in their driving directions to Rachel: "Be especially careful at night, when cows on the road are very hard to see. Running into a cow will not only cause severe damage to your vehicle, but you will also have to reimburse the rancher for the cow. And it is usually his most expensive cow...."

                                                                                               
The Guards of Groom Lake

Rising ahead of me loomed Hancock Summit, a small ridge line with a thin layer of snow sprinkled over its shaded faces. As I crested the first ridge, I stopped by the roadside to check out the car-crash site that is rumored to be Elvis’s true fatal accident location. Not much to see apart from some scattered car parts (the debris all liberally riddled with bullets) and no sign of Elvis either.

Elvis's final resting place?

Coming down the backside of Hancock Summit, the first thing I noticed was what appeared to be a large plume of smoke in the center of a huge old lake bed ringed with mountains. Upon closer observation, I realized that the smoke was actually a dust trail from a vehicle driving down a long dirt road – the road I was looking for.

No sign marks Groom Lake Road as such. It is just a wide, well-maintained dirt road with a solitary stop sign. It runs straight (for about 15 miles or so) through a Joshua tree forest. Periodically you’ll see a 45-mph speed limit sign or a stop sign facing connecting roads leading to nearby ranches. As I neared a small ridge that I could see the road begin to wind through, I saw a flicker of light that turned out to be a reflection off of a guard truck. The guards were well aware of my presence, as my car had made one of those huge dust plumes I had seen earlier. They were watching me. As I made my way further towards the ridge, I noticed the truck heading in my direction. I knew that I had to be close to the gate and sure enough, as I rounded the foot of the ridge, I saw the warning signs and there was the unmarked pickup facing me from the right, waiting for me to cross the line. It was fairly unnerving. On either side of the road were cameras and other equipment pointed at me. Although the signs prohibited photos, I took a couple anyway and turned around to head back. Overall, it was an underwhelming experience, but at least I can say I’ve been there.

The Black Mailbox

After an uneventful drive on Groom Lake Road back to Hwy. 375, I was on to my next quick stop – the famous "Black Mailbox." The Black Mailbox was a source of curiosity and conspiracy theory for awhile for several reasons. It was jet black, was placed far from any signs of habitation, had no markings on it except for an address, and was close to Area 51. So naturally, eager conspiracy buffs assumed it must be more than just someone’s mailbox. People would post watch on it, steal the mail from it, etc. Well, as it turns out, it was just somebody’s mailbox. It belonged to one of the local ranchers and he was getting very frustrated with people stealing his mail. So he painted it white and padlocked it. It now looks like a small fortification – a well-marked heavy metal box with a large lock on it. The rancher has even attached another box to it soliciting donations. I figured "Why not?" and threw a buck in there.

The infamous Black(?) Mailbox

After my quick stop at the mailbox, I headed back to my car and was struck by the scale of the highway. It seemed to go on forever without a single car visible on it. I stood there for awhile and enjoyed the solitude.

The ET highway goes on forever...

Hangin' at The Little A'le' Inn

Another 30 minutes down that empty highway and I was in Rachel. The first thing you see is another large ET Highway sign, this one sporting some pictures of UFOs on its side. Just off to the left is the tiny town. Nothing more than a gas station, a cluster of trailer homes, and the Little A’le’ Inn. On the right was what appeared to be some old mining ruins and another dry lake bed not far beyond. My light was rapidly disappearing so I took some hurried photos of the Inn and headed inside to get a room.

The place was a little run down but cozy. I could tell by the smell of cooked meat that the kitchen was still open. There were a few tourists browsing through the souvenirs and the owner standing behind the bar. I immediately recognized her from the documentaries I had seen. I checked in for a room for $30, which turned out to be in a trailer. Each trailer has a common area with a kitchen and small living room, and two tiny bedrooms with a shared bathroom. Just like the restaurant, it was run down, but cozy.

I dropped off my stuff and headed to the Inn where I had some meatloaf and grabbed a beer. The owner’s name is Pat, and she’s a feisty but very friendly lady. She seemed relieved that I didn’t want to talk to her about UFOs and Area 51 and since I was the only one at the bar, before I knew it, I had heard her whole life story. Soon some of the locals wandered in. The Little A’le’ Inn is the only bar in town, and Pat closes it at 10:00 sharp, so you need to get there early. I soon found myself talking to Pat and some of the other locals about the town and its history. One of the first things I noticed is how anti-government the town is. They have their own democratic committee that overseas town business and they don’t want the County, State, and especially not the Federal government meddling in their affairs.

 
Dave's son, Dave, myself and Tim at Tim's garage... drinking moonshine...

I soon found myself doing shots and drinking way too many beers with the small group that had formed in the bar. Pat left to run some errands and left another employee, Chris, in charge of the bar. Ten o’clock was quickly upon us and we were all drunk. At 10:30 Pat called to check on Chris and heard us all laughing in the background. She asked to talk to me and proceeded to chew my ass for being there after hours and then politely asked to speak to DeWayne, who was sitting next to me. She chewed his ass and everybody else’s as the phone made its way around the bar. Upon hearing the threat of her coming in to kick us out, we all finished our drinks and went over to "The Garage," the town’s after hours club. It turned out to be Tim’s (another local’s) actual garage, which he had stocked with beer and moonshine. My memory gets fuzzy here but I know I had a good time and I had some pictures developed later that seemed to prove this. I do remember the moonshine tasting good and that’s probably a bad thing. I left around 2:00 AM promising DeWayne that I would meet him at 8:00 AM to go out to the Area 51 back gate.

That night the temperature was about -10 degrees. Being too drunk to find the thermostat (which had been turned off when the trailer was unoccupied), I spent the night shivering and trying not to freeze to death. I awoke the next morning to the sound of DeWayne knocking on the door. I looked at my watch and it read 10:00. I reached for my water bottle to take a drink but it was frozen solid. I went to the door and told DeWayne I’d meet him over at the restaurant for breakfast. After a quick shower, I grabbed some breakfast, was chided by and shared some laughs with Pat, then headed out to the Back Gate with DeWayne.

Time capsule left at the Inn by the producers
of the movie "Independence Day" 

The Back Gate

The Back Gate to Area 51 is very close to Rachel. At the eastern end of the town is another unmarked road. This one is much shorter than Groom Lake Road. Its only about 8 miles or so and has a much more prominent gate with guard shacks around it. Although no one is visible, you know you’re being watched.

The locals explained to me that you can go right up to the gate and take pictures, but if you cross the line, you will be arrested immediately and fined $600 for the first offense. After a couple of quick photos, DeWayne and I went back to the Inn. I bought some more knickknacks and was invited back anytime.

I left somewhat jealous of the nice folks there in Rachel. DeWayne congratulated me for being accepted so quickly into the close group of friends in the tiny town. They have nobody out there but each other to rely on for everything and subsequently, they seem somewhat immune to the rigors and hypocrisy of the outside world. And it was just that world that I had to drive back into that day.