In 1995 I drove to Cali from Boston and was not aware there was an “INSPECTION STATION” at the I40 Needles border. Now being from Boston, I need pavement, crowds, and lots of bright lights so after 25 hours of sleep deprived, hungover, speeding through a thousand miles of rock and dust, I really needed to get to a busy port city to recharge.
The thing is, I mistook “INSPECTION STATION” to mean automobile emissions inspection and while waiting in the line, I was already calculating the time it would take me to haul my sorry emissions-modified (straight pipe past the cat) Chevy back to whence I came. All JC Whitney Catalog subscribers know that CA is the Soup Nazi of car emissions and who would think that fruit screening was a higher priority.
The kindly Wilfred Brimley looking dude at the station said his peace, asked his flora and fauna style questions and bid us welcome. I stayed a few extra days in Needles drinking amongst the many alcoholic Indians and chowing some pretty good Mexican food just to get my head straight about this foreign land where they scare young people with goofy ambiguously-labeled checkpoints.