How I got lost in a desert.

I don’t even know where to begin telling you guys about my past week. Okay, let’s start with the part where I got lost in the middle of a flipping desert. I kid you not. Things like this could only happen to Alienman and happen, they did.

My parents have been eager to check out a restaurant in Bend, Oregon, that they heard was 200 years old. It didn’t occur to me, until my bookish brother pointed it out on the day of the trip, that such a thing was near impossible as the Oregon Trail had not even been discovered at the time. Not that I would have realized it on my own; I’m a lover, not a historian. Okay, I gotta stop using my stupid “I’m a lover, not a [...]” lines esp when it doesn’t work.

It turns out, the restaurant itself, the Pine Tavern, was built in 1936 and they built it around a tree that’s 250 years old. As if the little historical gimmick and the awesome view of the lake wasn’t enough to satisfy the diners, they had to make the food absolutely perfect. I never thought I’d ever say this about a restaurant, but I sure as hell wouldn’t mind another 2 hr drive to and from Bend just to eat there again. Their oysters made me swoon.

After the meal, I thought we were just going to explore the town and then head back. My dad had other ideas. We were going to check out the nearby desert and see the sand dunes.

Never have I ever been interested in SAND and never will I ever be. It really didn’t help that my family was completely unprepared for this trip. We didn’t even know the proper directions, nor did my parents remember to bring the proper map. On top of that, my parents refuse to splurge on a navigation system. My dad gave me the name of the wrong town, so I gave them the wrong directions on the map, and we ended up going in circles out in the middle of nowhere.

Did you know that the desert highways of Eastern Oregon are almost completely lacking in signs? I mean, usually, when you go down a certain road, at least every few miles, it tells you where you are and what to expect up ahead. Not so with deserts. It’s like a REQUIREMENT that you get COMPLETELY LOST there and end up vulture food, so they want to help you out as little as possible. Every angle you look, everything looked exactly the same. Desert vegetation, sand, and the lone highway.

I think the highlight of the trip was when I had no choice but to PEE BEHIND A FUCKING BUSH while angry shrubbery scraped at my naked calves and feet.

I seriously thought we were going to die. My mom kept insisting we stop by any of the random shacks we saw and ask for directions. The rest of the family, including myself, were not keen on this. If YOU were Asian and you were out in the middle of nowhere, wouldn’t you be scared of being shot and buried in the desert by some racist desert hillbillies? Furthermore, let’s not forget that Oregon is home to the longest standing Ku Klux Klan chapter.

Oh, and let’s not forget the first sign of a ‘town’ we had seen after about 5 hrs of being out in the middle of HELL. We figured that we’d be in the town of Wagontire if we were going the right way. Sure enough, there was a sign that said, “Welcome to Wagontire”. Immediately after the sign, there was a rundown shack that proclaimed itself to be a “cafe” but it was closed and seemed to have been so for about 30 years. Right by the shack was another sign, “Thank you for visiting!”

The entire area was miles of flatland and there were no other roads leading out of the highway. There could not have been any other sign of life in the area. THAT SHACK WAS THE WHOLE ENTIRE TOWN OF WAGONTIRE WTF. WTF?!

So, we were lost for a total of 6 hours in a place I now call HELL ON EARTH. Did I mention there was zero cell reception? Everytime I saw a junkyard, I said, “Our car’s going to end up there soon… .” Yea, I was the Debbie Downer of this trip, but I was MAD and SCARED. I thought we were just checking out Bend, not some random desert out in the middle of HELL ON EARTH. Next thing I know, we’re on the highway to our deaths, possibly shot by some toothless angry redneck who leaves us as carrion for vultures, and nobody would ever know of the great injustice.

Ironically, the town that my dad mistakenly guided me to is called Christmas Valley. Seriously, this had to be some kind of a sick joke. In the unlikely chance that someone ever mentions Christmas Valley, I’ll scoff and say, “You mean HELL ON EARTH Valley!” It’s even less funnier than naming some arctic land Greenland. It’s just plain MEAN.

Pictures coming soon.

Related posts:

1. Pictures from the Desert