The Extraterrestrial Highway is literally in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the desert of Nevada. The area is desolate- not even the occasional billboard. It's located near Area 51, yeah that Area 51, and hence the name.
Rachel is the only town, if one can call it that, along the entire route. A literal handful of tiny homes and trailers dotting the desert brush- along with The Little A'le'Inn. We decided to stay the night one early evening, the "motel" consisting of a trailer in back of the bar. Hot and dusty, we decided to shower before dining on what had become our standard desert fare- the hard (but not impossible) to fuck up grilled cheese, when we heard sounds, then muffled voices emanating from our bathroom. Had we come these many miles only to have our bodies dismembered and strewn about a desert too hot for even vultures to inhabit? I grabbed my pocket knife and tripod, "Who's in there?" Seems le concierge had neglected to inform us that the motel trailer consisted of two bedrooms, and one shared bathroom in between.