It just wouldn't be a Deuce of Clubs production without a little drama. It just couldn't. (Why in hell COULDN'T it, I'd like to know?) Coming down a mountain, about 20 miles north of Beatty (CURSE YOU, BEATTY!), the driver's side front tire went to pieces, instantly pulling the truck into the oncoming lane (Nevada's highway system consists mostly of two-lane deathroads). Fortunately, there was no head-on ... but the camper nearly pitched over, and when I managed to maneuver over to the shoulder I found it was loose sand. Once the truck finally came to a plunging stop, the shredded tire was buried like a pharaoh.

There wasn't anything handy to put under the back tire to get some traction and escape the sand. (Forgot about the "Goodie Shoppe" sign -- DUH! We dumb.) Good thing Burford had asked me to bring along the Cardhouse.com Giant Tongue Depressor Log, left over from Burning Man 97. There's a photo of it somewhere else on Deuce of Clubs, but I can't find it.

Stopped a couple of places to try to get a repair. But it was Labor Day weekend, so nobody wanted to Labor. It's not the greatest idea to cross the desert with no spare, driving on a bald spare on the driver's side front, and the companion to the tire that exploded (and in the same condition) on the passenger side front. Well, screw it. SCREW YOU, BALD TIRE! The brain-schedule said Arrival ASAP, so Arrival ASAP it would be. A few days later, before a new tire could be procured, the wheel was stolen out of the back of the truck. People suck bad.

After nightfall, we would meet with another near-disaster. Rhymes with "flat." But it wasn't.