NAB (the National Association of Broadcasters trade show and convention) is a bit of an obligation for me. Lots of gear. I've gone the past two years because I end up beta-testing products and saving a few thousand dollars on stuff I don't have to buy. So it's worth showing up.

But it's bloody boring.

I'm also 193,000 words (that's 557 pages) into a novel that deals heavily with the black world. It started life as a script, which started life as a pitch to a director as a response to his (terrible) idea on April 8, 2008. I'm now two and a half chapters, a prologue and an epilogue from done (having written 75 chapters so far) on a book that has six chapters that actually take place at Area 51.

NAB started on April 8.

The goal was to get the book done ahead of my pilgrimage. That didn't quite happen. Too many deadlines, too many obligations. The pilgrimage happened anyway.

Area 51 is not a place you can visit. It's not even a place you can see without a great deal of difficulty. The people who work there commute three ways - the least important arrive by "ghost bus. The rank and file come in by Janet Fleet from Las Vegas. Those relevant to the actual work at Area 51 fly in from Burbank, CA, as the overwhelming majority of work done out at Area 51 for its history has been Lockheed work, with some Boeing and Northrop stuff thrown in for good measure.

We drove.

As you leave Las Vegas you see Highway 93 on your left. The fading light at our backs, and with 400 rounds of 5.56Nato, $80 worth of fireworks, a cooler full of Tecate and seven kinds of marijuana, we ventured the 80 miles to Alamo, NV, home of Mormons, "Cammo dudes" and an extremely festive Sinclair gas station.

After spending the night at one of the worst hotels in the world we ventured forth down the 25 miles of dirt necessary to get to the trailhead. Said trail is not well-marked. In order to follow the directions on the Internet, one must actually cross two signs that say "no trespassing." In our case we actually passed a park ranger who gave us directions. Which was good, because even with three GPS you can screw up in places you'd rather not screw up.

After an hour and a half on dirt, you reach the trailhead. It's marked by this rather bizarre memorial to John Perkowski, an "Architect" of Area 51. He's pointed at the base; if you follow his directions you will NOT find the trailhead. Yes, that thing in his hand spins.

The trail has been described as "overmarked." This is true in places - multiple paint lines on rocks, cairns every 10 feet - but in other places you'll cross 250 yards of near 100% grade with no indication of where you're going.

The trail is about a mile and a half long and covers about 5,000 feet of elevation gain. Once there, you see nothing. What's below is the view before the dust storms pick up with a 105mm lens.

We may go back again with better optics. They help a bunch. However, it's mostly for the exercise as there's a ridge that hides the main runway anyway… and since 2011 there's a weather station on top of Tikaboo peak with a PTZ camera. It probably didn't follow us. It sure felt like it. All I know is that if I were a secret air force base, I'd figure out a way to put a microphone on that thing. If they can consider Ted Molczan a "hostile target" they can sure as hell just not fly when there's someone up on Tikaboo.

The truth is out there.

* * *

An hour and a half back down to pavement, then north to the 375:

To recap: you're 2 1/2 hours out of Vegas to get to Alamo. You're 40 minutes outside of Alamo to this fork in the road. You're another 40 minutes to the Black Mailbox (which is white), the only real landmark on the entire road, and a meetup spot for UFO kooks the world over.

We were there on a Tuesday afternoon and saw one car. By comparison, when we signed the "log book" at the top of Tikaboo we were the only people in six weeks, so compare and contrast.

Here there be dragons.

Portrait of the Artist being a Tourist.

We'll come back to that. Since we were there, and since we were hungry, might as well head another 40 minutes to the wide spot in the road known as Rachel, NV. The only thing there is the Little Ale'E'Inn. No, they don't have gas. Yes, they do have two satellite dishes stuck together hanging from a tow gantry. Yes, that is a weather monitor picking up dosimetry data for radiation runoff from the Nevada Test Site.

The burgers are better than advertised.

The world's least-maintained Pac Man game.

The Area 51 Mystique in a nutshell: Bob Lazar…

…and Chuck Yeager.

(cue X-files music)

Back to the Black Mailbox, and into the "Belly of the Beast." Ironically enough, you're actually closer to Area 51 from the top of Tikaboo Peak. however, it's not nearly as interactive.

So yeah. We thought this was just a truck. We were wrong.

Guy whipped past us - if you zoom in on the original photos, you can see dudes in fatigues, their faces clearly distinguishable. These have not been posted and please don't try because, as mentioned, these are just dudes from Alamo NV working for a living and the legend says that if they're caught on camera they lose their jobs.

You wanna talk "alien landscapes…"

After 40 minutes of driving (most of it watched closely by security guards in white pickups, you get to the Line of Death. There is no fence, but as you can see, they're quite interested in what you do next.

Cross between the signs and you will pay a minimum $800 fine, wait 2 hours for the Sheriff to come from Pioche, NV to arrest you, spend the night in Pioche, and be arraigned for trespassing under threat of 6 months in prison.

Good rule of thumb is to give the signs a good 20 feet of leeway.

My compatriot (boyhood friend) is not feelin' too good about this. Which is pretty amusing, considering he took over 1,300 photos. I've got some great ones of us posed by the 'Photography is prohibited under penalty of law" signs but we'll leave those off so as not to tempt the Gods.

Not pictured in this shot of us leaving Area 51 behind: the cammo dudes following us, until we stopped, at which point they turned around and bolted for the bushes, at which point we turned around to see what they'd do, at which point we played cat'n'mouse for half an hour. It was pretty fuckin' obnoxious, but a lot of fun.

End of an adventuresome day.

The truth is muthafuckin' OUT THERE, yo!

Three hours later, back to lovely Las Vegas.

…and 5 hours home.