Driving
through the main streets of Las Vegas proved to be easier the first time than
the second. It may seem that a cartographer could get lost, especially going to
a place she has been before, but I’m a human first, cartographer second, and
every dog has her day.
I’ll
spare you the minutia of my misfortune, but needless to say that every press of
my foot on the gas led to a press on the break then back on the gas.
At one
point, on the freeway, I stopped cold in the middle of the lane to reference my
map, never once having another vehicle pass me by.
In all honesty, my travels into the Zone was
without any incident, making it through the closed exit again without worry of
a passing police car or any other car for that matter.
I drove
deep into the desert, wondering to myself what kind of fool I was to be taking
on such a project, with no one knowing where I would be, in a place where no
one would be looking because no one would really know it existed.
The
dangers of the mapmaker: a lonely
business for sure.
After a
good hour of mindless driving, amid a worthless space, I finally parked some 20
miles off the road along rough desert landscape, and sat there staring at the
horizon.
I sat
there, staring, and thought how much Jefferson would have enjoyed the view; I
sat there, staring, and thought how I would last a day; I sat there, staring,
and thought that I was glad that the young man at the supermarket thought
enough to make sure I had enough water.
I sat
there, staring, and shook my head awake and opened the door and started walking
out into the nothingness, bringing a gallon of water, a notebook, a pen and all
the hope in my heart.
I did
not bother locking the car door.
[End of Part Two - Before Zone]
