Just Dropping In

Just Dropping In

Noel Laflin

11-18-14

The small plane swooped in out of the cloudless blue sky and began to circle our patch of the flat dry lake bed, like a red-tailed hawk making a slow decent.

Three of us standing next to the van could clearly see the pilot and his passenger, a woman, as they circled ever lower.  She was waving gaily.  We waved back.

The forth member of our group, Steve, was struggling to regain control of both his trousers and his dignity.  He had ventured out just moments before, camp shovel in one hand – a roll of toilet paper in the other – heading off to a partially sheltered stand of tumbleweeds.  There wasn’t a porta-potty in sight for miles – so he was making do.  The unexpected appearance of the small Cessna interrupted his mission.  We could see him struggling behind the bushes.  All that was needed now was a stiff breeze sending the roly-poly plants tumbling down the lane, and making Steve’s embarrassment complete.

‘Who would have thought,’ he must have been thinking bitterly, (struggling with his belt at this point) ‘that this could occur on a dry lake bed, two miles off of a two-bit highway, in the middle of freaking nowhere!’

But such are the twists of fate in the unpredictable Nevada desert and the wild blue yonder above.

Four of us had departed for these parts just the night before.  We made late camp on the majestic sand dunes of Death Valley around one in the morning, but stayed awake most of the night watching a most spectacular shooting star production.  Come morning, we traveled on to Scotty’s Castle and then continued east on highway 267, crossing into Nevada a short time later.  One of several massive dry lake beds north of the two-lane road beckoned.  There was a stand of tall hills some miles away.  It looked both inviting and isolated this fine March day.  We were heading that way across the massive, beautiful dry lake bed when Steve felt the call of nature.  As there was not another vehicle in sight for ten miles, he felt it was a fine place to stop.  We had not planned on company coming in from above, however.

Well, that little plane circled low and wide one last time before making its final approach.  The lake bed was as smooth as hardened cement.  The wheels, once touched down, raised little dust.  The one-prop job braked gently and came to rest just yards from us.

The doors opened and a man and a woman stepped out, stretched a moment and then headed to a small compartment door near the rear of the plane.  Two pieces of equipment were taken out and quickly assembled.  The end product was a small motorized bike.  The man straddled the seat and turned the small engine over.  It purred.  The woman slipped in behind the pilot and they were soon gone, heading across the vast, empty lake bed, California bound.  Not a word had been exchanged between either party – theirs or ours.

It was kind of a Twilight Zone moment. 

We made camp and were just starting dinner when the faint purr of their bike, echoing ever so slightly off of the hills behind us, caught our attention.  Like a wavering mirage, they grew closer and closer until parked beside the plane once more.

The bike was disassembled just as quickly as it had been put together and re-loaded back into the plane’s back compartment.

Curiosity finally got the better of us of course, so we approached with questions.  They were delighted to answer.

They were husband and wife and lived in the San Francisco Bay area.

They thought that it would be nice to visit Scotty’s Castle today, so they decided to make an afternoon of it, hop in the plane and find a nice place to land not too far from their objective.  This lake bed was too good to pass up.

They had dinner reservations with friends back in the city tonight so were in need of departure.

They wished us a good evening, climbed back aboard their craft and started up. 

As they turned the plane into the wind, and revved the engine a bit before their take off, the woman cracked open the door and tossed a brown paper bag our way, waved, and closed the door.  The small craft was soon speeding down the old lake bed and lifting ever so gently into the air.  They circled back, coming in low once more and tipped the wing.  It then headed northeast.

We had near forgotten about the package.  Steve opened it and smiled. 

He reached inside and brought forth a pop-up umbrella.  It bore the image of Scotty’s Castle – obviously a very recent gift shop purchase

Attached to it was a small note which read, “Sorry for the interruption earlier today. May this small gift help protect you from future overhead intrusions.  You never know when we might just drop in again - unannounced as it were.”