Story 1 -
I was living in Denver at the time and was hired June1, 2001, which happened to be a Friday. Went into the office, filled out paperwork, was taken to lunch by my new boss, and then returned to the gentle clutches of HR. I was then informed that I was going to be headed to Playas, New Mexico for my first assignment. So, here I was, headed out the door at about 2:00 PM with a set of plane tickets for Sunday in my hand, and next to no understanding of what it was I was supposed to be doing. I have never served in the military, but I assume that this is what it felt like to be a second lieutenant.
So I get to the airport, hop the flight, change planes in Salt Lake City, and then fly to Phoenix. I depart the plane, grab my gear, and head to the rental car place. All they have is a brand spankin' new, Dodge Durango. I was not anticipating that I would have access to a brand new vehicle, so I asked them to review the rental to ensure that it was the correct one. After speaking to my boss (who was irritated that I had called him on a Sunday) I determined that I was, in fact, headed to what was about to be a construction site. Again, I ask the rental agency to review to ensure I was supposed to take the BRAND NEW Durango. I was.
I head towards Playas. For those not familiar with southwestern New Mexico's geography, Playas is in the middle of the lower prong of New Mexico caused by the Gadsden purchase. A perfect site for a copper smelter, allowing the flumes to all flow to the east and south, into Mexico! (gotta love your neighbors sometimes.) I was informed that the site was a former company town, and that I should purchase groceries on my way in, as the store in the town was... not well stocked. SO I stopped in Las Cruses and acquired comestibles. Upon arrival on site, I discovered that there were approximately 400 or so houses that had been effectively abandoned, and a half dozen rooms in a hotel type structure that were maintained. I moved my gear and victuals into the assigned room and went to sleep.
Upon arising the following morning (Monday), I realized that I had a 10 mile drive to get to the actual job site. What I didn't realize is that the road had been carved (paved) out of the desert, and was straight as an arrow, except where it crossed the railroad that had been used to transport copper ore from the mine to the smelter. Being young, dumb, convinced of my own immorality, and further convinced of my skill at driving, I took the road at a conservative 70 MPH the first day, only screeching the tires a bit over the tracks.
As each day progressed, I awoke later and later, and consequently had to drive faster and faster to get to work on time each day. I also noticed that there was only one law enforcement officer anywhere near, and he was a border patrol officer, and cared not at all about domestic scofflaws. By Friday, I was driving approximately 100 MPH on my 10 mile commute to work. That weekend, after several too many beers at the commissary, I figured that I didn't have to worry about the cops or the speed limit when driving to work. Having never driven above 100 MPH at that point in my life, I decided NOW was the time to explore this aspect of land speed travel.
So, come Monday morning, after recovering from a fairly major hangover Sunday, I was determined to put my intoxicated plan into effect.
I entered the vehicle, started it, started my stopwatch, and hit the gas. I slowed down only a small amount while I blew the stop sign at the end of the town street onto the main drag. I then floored the gas.
About 5 miles later, I realized that the rail crossing was coming up, and it might behoove me to slow a bit, as wrecking or otherwise damaging the brand new Durango was probably a less-than-ideal outcome of my plan. So I hit the brakes, SLOWED to about 85 or 90, made the double curve at the switchback, and then floored it again. Less than 10 minutes after I left the hotel-like room, I was at the job site. Running numbers later, I determined that a 2001 Dodge Durango was capable of 116 MPH, judging by the distance traveled and the time elapsed. I then proceeded to drive to work in that manner for the remaining three weeks I was on the job. At one point the border patrol officer asked me if I liked driving fast. I said "No, but I want to get to work on time." He laughed.
Here's a link showing the general geography of the area.
https://www.google.com/maps/place/Playa ... ?entry=ttu
Assuming I've done it correctly, the company town of Playas has the tickmark, and the smelter is due south near the bottom of the image. The slag heap is the black scar on the landscape and was to the southeast of the actual smelter, which has been demolished in the intervening 23 years.
Belushi TD
Edit - I am afraid, dear reader, that I have misled you. It was less than 10 minutes to get from door to door. However it was ALSO less than SIX minutes to get door to door. My apologies.
Additional Edit - I have remembered at least a fourth and possibly a fifth unrelated story, both of which involve our friendly border patrol officer. Once of them involves the largest quantity of weed I've ever seen.
