The road to Golconda, Nevada is fraught with danger and excitement.
It was 8 p.m. on an incredibly dark and moonless Saturday night. The kind of night when all refined drag queens know better than to venture forth, lest their wigs be knocked askew by a flock of marauding vampires. I received a phone call from my work dispatcher asking if I would go to the airport, pick up an emergency package and drive it 350 miles to Golconda, Nevada. Without hesitation I answered in the affirmative. Though this may sound strange, it is the nature of my job.
Because of the heavy darkness of the night, I strapped on my highest-powered breasticles with the brightest LED lights and set out for what should have been just another mundane drive to the middle of God Awful Nowhere, Nevada. I picked up the package at the Salt Lake City International Airport at about midnight and set the radio to NPR. Sadly, this particular Ford Ranger pickup truck was not equipped with a CD player or MP3 input, so my only option for company was the “Stone Age” radio.
Soon I passed by the old derelict motel located in Delle, looking ever so forlorn, missing its bygone days of glory, sitting there unused, with all that traffic on I-80 whizzing by. Whenever I pass by this forlorn motel, it brings to mind thoughts of the The Blue Moon Lodge whorehouse in Winnemucca, run by Mother Mucca, from the book “Tales of the City” by Armistead Maupin. I see myself as the maternal madam of a boy brothel, mothering a flock of fledgling beefcake studs for hire. I’m cooking their food, helping launder their Speedos and jock straps and setting up appointments for all the “Priesthood Interviews” that will be required by the throngs of “elders” visiting from Salt Lake.
Rushing onward, while passing over the Salt Flats, it was so dark that I couldn’t even see the concrete tree when I passed it. I began to lose the last faint signals of radio from Utah, and was getting nothing but static as I drove up Pequop Summit. I swear, I took my eyes off of the road for only a couple of seconds trying to find a signal on the radio. But at 70 mph, you can travel more than the length of a football field in just three seconds. I did not see the curve in the highway near the top of the summit. When I looked up it was just in time to hear the tires veer into the left-hand rumble strip before the truck hit a reflective fence post and plowed into the soft gravel of the shoulder. In full panic mode, I tried to steer right and apparently over-corrected, which caused the truck to begin fishtailing and then … Oh shit!
The truck and I rolled and rolled and rolled. I remember regaining consciousness, surprised as hell to be alive. The wind had been knocked out of me, and I could not catch much of a breath. Oh shit! As I regained my bearings, it was apparent that the truck was lying driver’s side down. I released the seat belt (I’m sure that if I had not been wearing the seat belt, I would have been killed) and stood up inside the cab of the pickup and stuck my head out of the passenger side window. I used a flashlight from my pocket to flag down a passing truck. I was stuck inside the truck, and was going to need assistance. As the driver came running toward me he was shouting at the top of his voice, “Do not move, the truck is about ready to tumble over a cliff!” Just then I felt my truck rock back and forth a little as I was struggling around inside. I stood stock still. OoooooH ShiiiiiiiiiT!
This balancing act lasted for 30 minutes until the rescue squad arrived, secured the truck from tumbling into the abyss, chopped out the windshield and pulled me from the wreck. In the interim, being an industrious queen and not wanting to waste time, I was able to fish my phone out of my pocket without much movement. Miraculously it had survived. I called my dispatcher and Mr. Pap Smear to inform them of the mess.
Pain! Pain! PAIN!!! Soon I was in an ambulance headed for Elko. Every bump in the road was agony. There was some brightness at the end of my particular tunnel. The doctor in Elko was pretty cute. He gave me pain medication and pronounced that nothing was broken. Then came the officer from the Nevada Highway Patrol to question me about the events of the night. I nearly lost consciousness, as this man in the stunningly formfitting black uniform was indeed “Pornstar Worthy.” Bless my soul. I had indeed died and gone to heaven.
As always, these events leave us with several burning eternal questions:
- Do beehive wigs attract vampires?
- Do Breasticle lights repel vampires?
- Even though Delle is in Utah, is it close enough to Nevada to have a legal brothel?
- When you call your husband in the middle of the night while trapped in a vehicle about ready to tumble over a cliff, do you tell him all these details, or just say that you’ve had a small accident and he might need to come get you?
- Must I hand in my tiara because one of my greatest fears is to be in an accident or pulled over while dressed in drag?
These and other important questions to be answered in future chapters of: The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear.