Desert Jets

A Recollection from Mr. Trip

When you leave Death Valley you drive up over the hills and cruise down into a salt plain with one of these roads that stretches into the horizon. I got out of the car to stretch my legs and take a few photos when suddenly I heard a sound, something that started as a low whoosh, like a gust of wind that quickly built into a roar. I grabbed for the camera and I turned, to see a fighter jet. It was like Top Gun. 

The jet streaked by, the pilot at eyelevel and he waved. He waved! Then another one passed, and another in a ballet of American power. These pilots were just playing around in their jets, and there I am standing in my shorts like a tourist I was. It was every cliché about America that you could ask for. The desert, fighter jets, Mount Whitney on the backdrop and the cocky friendliness of the wave.