FROM ANY NUMBER OF PEAKS in Nevada, my adopted home, you can look across 30,000 square miles. For those who imagine themselves to be the center of the universe, that can be humbling. "It's quite alarmingly spacious," declared a British automotive writer whom I once accompanied to Bonneville. This was back when Wendover, on the Utah line, offered a gas station, a drive-in and a couple of horror-movie motels. Each of us had assumed the other was smart enough to make reservations for Speed Week. Since both of us were wrong, we wound up in sleeping bags. I had camped in the desert before, so I was at ease. The Brit was a London boy, spending the first night of his life without percale. Still, he was game until I mentioned rattlesnakes.
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