The tale of an impromptu spy photography session in the Mojave desert and a pack of lightly-camouflaged Chevy Volts that nearly illuded me.

“I’m going to the river… To destroy my liver” bluntly reads the license plate frame of a lifted Chevy Silverado sitting in front of me at a dusty intersection in Arizona. 

I am on state highway 95, and just crossing into Bullhead City –  a town directly across from Laughlin, Nevada, with the Colorado River directly in-between and conveniently acting as both city limit and state border. No there are no moat sharks. – I sit at the stoplight for a bit, idly staring at the brisk, Jet-Ski-laden river. On queue, I turn left into the Sam’s Club parking lot and pilot my thirsty, trailer-towing Suburban directly to the gas pump. Do not want to get stuck in hot, arid, meth country. Subconsciously, or perhaps not, I think of just how thirsty I am, and how the apt but crude remark I just read off of Brosif’s lifted truck is apparently the universal law of the land when partying in Mojave County with friends who’ve spent most their college years in a frat. (Note to self: a can of Monster Energy drink in the morning is not adequate hydration after a night’s worth of partying, no matter what Sigma Chi Jimbo says.)

And so between foggy thoughts of  “I’m never drinking again” and “I want to be in my bed already” to “crap we need gas,” I miraculously stumble out of the driver’s seat and my Sam’s Club card manages to somehow swipe itself in the machine and soon the gas is flowing. Middle Eastern oil sheikhs everywhere are giggling in their sleep at my 5.3 Liters of misfortune. In the meantime, I am fueling my body as well. The tall can of Monster may not quite contain healthy fluid for a human being, but screw it, it works. The massive caffeine dose, ginseng and god knows what else has finally resulted in me being halfway clear-headed, though not quite. I decide to take a quick jog around the perimeter of the filling station to wake up a little more before the long drive, when all of a sudden I near literally run into this:

I’ll be the first to admit, I almost didn’t take the picture above. Or any picture. The large domestic-made vehicular device was simply in the way of my little jogging path, and it’s presence next to the little parking lot island I was using as a waypoint was not appreciated. I almost didn't even glance up to look at it (See kids, alcohol is not good for you). But I did. And then took a slightly closer (or more focused) look and saw what it was. Mind click. Bam! “Holy smokes!” Right away I knew what it was, sitting there in front of me shimmering over the pavement in near silence with only A/C fans operating. Then I saw another, and another. In total, I counted a full 7 Chevy Volts sitting in or around the Bullhead City Sam’s Club parking lot, with 3 or so support vehicles scattered around. It doesn't take much imagination to figure that hot weather testing was the objective the day. But sure enough, the awesome group picture I took of the entire pack after nearly killing myself by climbing on top of my SUV was a miss, and somehow didn’t get saved on my craptacular cell phone camera... Hey, at least I managed to capture two. Screw you Murphy. 

Oh and if you really want to know, that’s not me -- that's my friend Brian with the cigarette in his mouth. I'm much more handsome, trust me.

Go GM!