August 12, 2025 • 12 mins
Join us for a spine-chilling journey as we explore the unsettling realities of nighttime travel on the open road. In this gripping episode, our host recounts two harrowing encounters that underscore the importance of trusting your instincts when danger lurks in the shadows. From a seemingly innocent plea for help at a rest stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico, to a nerve-wracking standoff in Salt Lake City, these real-life experiences highlight the silent threats that accompany a life spent on the move. As we delve into these eerie, adrenaline-charged nights, discover the vital lessons learned about vigilance and security. Whether you're a seasoned traveler or a curious listener, this episode is a haunting reminder of the vulnerabilities inherent in the solitude of the highway. Tune in and let the stories of escape and intuition under starlit skies captivate your imagination.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:03):
I've always considered myself a pretty grounded person. As a
thirty five year old salesman, logic and quick thinking are
practically second nature. I've spent countless hours on the road,
bouncing between meetings, grabbing fast food, and crashing in generic motels.
It's a solitary kind of life, but one I've grown
used to until one night in March twenty twenty three,
(00:27):
near Las Cruces, New Mexico, made me question everything. I'd
wrapped up a long day of meetings later than planned,
my last client running over by an hour. It was
already dark when I hit the highway. Normally i'd stop
for the night, but something about the quiet of the
road was oddly comforting. The sound of the tires on
(00:49):
the asphalt was relaxing, so I decided to push on.
I figured i'd find a place to sleep once I
hit the next big town. After a while, the fatigue
started creeping in, making it harder to keep my focus
on the road. I looked at my GPS, hoping for
some relief, but the next motel was still a good
two and a half hours away. Then I spotted a
(01:11):
rest area sign up ahead, a small blue rectangle offering
a place to pull over and take a breather. It
wasn't the cozy motel room I was dreaming of, but
it would have to do for now. When I pulled
into the rest area, the quiet was almost tangible. A
solitary street lamp struggled to light the lot, its weak
yellow light reflecting off the cracked asphalt. A single car
(01:34):
was parked off to the side, its hood popped open.
The scene felt odd, but I shook it off and
carried on. After all, it wasn't unusual for people to
have car trouble, especially on long stretches of highway like this.
I parked a few spots away from the car, stretching.
As I got out, the air was cool and still,
(01:55):
the kind of silence that makes your ears strained to
catch any sound. I walked over to the vending machine,
fishing in my pocket for change while deciding between a
pack of trail mix or a candy bar. I heard
a voice call out behind me, Hey man, you got
a minute. I turned to see a man walking toward
me from the car. He was middle aged, maybe late forties,
(02:19):
with a weathered face and a slightly hunched posture. His
plaid shirt looked old and battered, and his jeans were
frayed at the cuffs. Despite his rough appearance, he was
smiling a little too much. If you ask me, car trouble,
I asked, Yeah, battery's dead, I think, he said, scratching
the back of his neck. Could you give me a jump?
(02:41):
I looked over at his car. The hood was open,
but there were no jumper cables in sight. There was
an undertone in his voice that didn't feel right, but
I didn't want to jump to conclusions. Got cables, I asked.
There was a moment of hesitation, his smile fading just
for an instant. Ah ah No, must have left him
(03:01):
at home, he said, But maybe you've got some. Sorry,
I don't, I replied, there's a gas station about twenty
miles up the road, though they might be able to help.
His face tensed, though he quickly masked it with another
two wide smile. That's a long way, he said, Could
you maybe give me a ride just to the station there?
(03:22):
It was the first real alarm bell. I didn't know
this guy, and the last thing I wanted was a
stranger in my car. I'd love to help, but I'm
on a tight schedule, I said, taking a step back
toward my car. Good luck. Though his smile didn't waver,
but his eyes hardened. Come on, man, he said, there
was a slight sting in his words. Now it's just
(03:43):
a quick ride. I really can't, I said, turning away.
That's when I saw a movement near his car. In
the low light. A figure crouched behind the car came
into view just enough to catch my attention. I felt
like I'd been punched in the stomach. There wasn't just
one man, there were two, keeping my composure. I said sorry,
(04:07):
I've got to go and started walking quickly to my car.
He didn't follow me, but I could feel his eyes
burning into my back. As I unlocked my car and
climbed in, I looked toward his car. The second man
was now standing half hidden in the shadows. He was younger,
dressed in dark clothes, and his posture screamed trouble. I
(04:29):
locked my doors and started the engine. As I reversed
out of the lot, my headlights swept over them. The
older man was glaring at me now, and the younger
one had stepped out into full view, watching me drive away.
Neither of them made a move to stop me. But
their presence was enough to make my skin crawl. Back
(04:49):
on the highway, I kept checking my rear view mirror,
expecting to see their car following me. For a while,
the road was empty and I started to relax, but
then headlights appeared in the distance, gaining on me fast.
My pulse quickened as the car came into view. They
were tailing me. I tried to stay calm, maintaining a
(05:10):
steady speed. The highway stretched on, empty and endless, with
no exits in sight. The sedan crept closer, its headlights
glaring in my mirror. I debated speeding up or pulling over,
but neither option felt safe. Then I spotted a sign
for a way station up ahead. The way station was
lit up like a beacon, with several trucks parked in
(05:32):
the lot. I veered toward it, hoping the presence of
other people would deter them. As I pulled in, the
sedan slowed down, then sped past without stopping. I parked
near the way station office, my hands shaking as I
watched their tail lights disappear into the night. I stayed
there for a while, finding comfort in the low rumble
(05:53):
of trucks and the chatter of drivers coming and going.
Eventually I felt calm enough to continue my drive, but
the memory of those two men stuck with me. What
if I'd agreed to give him a ride? What if
I hadn't noticed the second guy? The questions haunted me
the rest of the way to my hotel. Now, whenever
(06:16):
I'm on the road, I'm more cautious than ever. I
avoid rest areas at night, stick to well lit gas stations,
and always trust my instincts because you never know who
or what might be waiting in the shadows. Salt Lake City, Utah,
(06:41):
was a familiar checkpoint on my long haul roots. As
a truck driver with over a decade of experience, I
had seen my fair share of rest stops, but this one,
on a quiet June night, would leave a mark on me.
I'd never forget. I had just finished a grueling twelve
hour stretch, kind where you start to feel the road
(07:01):
blending into a single, monotonous blur. The bright green glow
of the sign felt like a signal of safety, a
relief after the tension rest area two miles it read,
and I decided to pull in for the night. The
rest stop was like many others, a modest lot with
a handful of parking spaces for trucks, weak overhead lights,
(07:23):
and a vending machine near the entrance. There were no
other vehicles when I arrived, and that suited me just fine.
The solitude was a welcome break from the constant noise
and motion of the highway. I parked at the farthest
edge of the lot, where the shadows from the trees
made the area feel even quieter. After a quick walk
(07:45):
around to stretch my legs, I climbed back into the cab,
locked the doors, and prepared to settle in the silence
of the night wrapped around me. As I drifted off,
the low noise of the truck's engine had a calming
risk that made me drowsy. It couldn't have been more
than an hour later when I was startled awake by
(08:06):
the glare of bright headlights. A truck had pulled into
the lot, parking far closer to me than necessary. The
rest of the lot was nearly empty, so why park
so close. The truck idled for what felt like an
eternity before its headlights blinked off. Drivers sometimes parked close
for safety in numbers, even though it seemed fine. Something
(08:27):
about the situation didn't sit right. I lay back down,
trying to ignore the discomfort and get some rest, But
just as my eyes started to close, the truck's headlights
flashed again. This time, I sat up fully. Was it
an accident a signal? My heart thudded faster as I
looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.
(08:50):
A soft, metallic knock sound reached my ears. It was
coming from the back of my trailer. My breath hitched
as I tried to listen. Someone was out there. I
grabbed my flashlight, considering whether to check it out. Every
trucker knows the dangers of remote stops. The stories of robberies, assaults,
and even disappearances were enough to give anyone pause, But
(09:13):
sitting in the cab feeling like a target was almost worse. Carefully,
I climbed out of the truck, my boots crunching on
the gravel. The flashlight's beam lit up the darkness ahead.
As I edged toward the rear of the trailer, Hey,
who's there? My voice firm but betraying a hint of tension.
The knocking stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. My
(09:36):
flashlights swept across the back doors, revealing deep scratch marks
near the lock. My insides tensed up. Before I could
inspect further, a sudden clang erupted from the side of
the trailer. I swung the flashlight around, catching a fleeting
shadow darting toward the other truck. I hurried back into
the cab, locking the doors. My hands shook as I
(09:58):
fumbled from my phone to call the police. The dispatcher
assured me officers were en route, but I knew it
would take time for them to arrive. The other truck's
engine revved loudly, its headlights flaring to life. Leaning on
my horn, I let out a long, blaring sound, hoping
to startle whoever was out there. The other truck's lights
(10:19):
went dark, plunging the lot into an eerie half light
for a moment. The silence returned, but it was heavy
with tension. Then came the sound of footsteps on the gravel,
slow and too close for comfort. They circled my truck.
I peered through the window, but the shadows seemed to
swallow everything. Whoever they were, they knew how to stay
(10:42):
out of sight. Realizing I needed to take control, I
revved my own engine, the deep growl, breaking the oppressive silence.
Looking my high beams on, I swept the area with
light catching movement. Near the edge of the lot, two
figures darted toward the other truck, their faces hidden by
hooded jackets. The other truck sped off into the night,
(11:04):
adrenaline coursing through me. I stayed in the cab, my
headlights illuminating the now empty lot until the distant sound
of sirens broke the tension. When the police arrived, they
inspected my trailer and found more evidence of tampering, scratches
near the lock, discarded tools, and what appeared to be
a makeshift crowbar. One officer shook his head, looks like
(11:27):
they were trying to break in. Good thing, you scared
them off. I gave my statement, detailing everything I had
seen and heard. The officers promised to patrol the area,
but the marks on my trailer and the abandoned tools
were stark reminders of how close I had come to
being a victim. I followed the police as we left
the rest stop together. I installed extra locks on my
(11:51):
trailer and a dash cam to monitor my surroundings, but
no amount of preparation could erase the memory of that night. Now,
every time I drive into a rest area, I can't
help but think about how exposed I felt that night.
That night in Salt Lake City taught me that out
here on the road, the real dangers aren't always in
the distance. Sometimes they're parked right next to you, waiting
(12:15):
for the perfect moment to strike.
I've always considered myself a pretty grounded person. As a
thirty five year old salesman, logic and quick thinking are
practically second nature. I've spent countless hours on the road,
bouncing between meetings, grabbing fast food, and crashing in generic motels.
It's a solitary kind of life, but one I've grown
used to until one night in March twenty twenty three,
(00:27):
near Las Cruces, New Mexico, made me question everything. I'd
wrapped up a long day of meetings later than planned,
my last client running over by an hour. It was
already dark when I hit the highway. Normally i'd stop
for the night, but something about the quiet of the
road was oddly comforting. The sound of the tires on
(00:49):
the asphalt was relaxing, so I decided to push on.
I figured i'd find a place to sleep once I
hit the next big town. After a while, the fatigue
started creeping in, making it harder to keep my focus
on the road. I looked at my GPS, hoping for
some relief, but the next motel was still a good
two and a half hours away. Then I spotted a
(01:11):
rest area sign up ahead, a small blue rectangle offering
a place to pull over and take a breather. It
wasn't the cozy motel room I was dreaming of, but
it would have to do for now. When I pulled
into the rest area, the quiet was almost tangible. A
solitary street lamp struggled to light the lot, its weak
yellow light reflecting off the cracked asphalt. A single car
(01:34):
was parked off to the side, its hood popped open.
The scene felt odd, but I shook it off and
carried on. After all, it wasn't unusual for people to
have car trouble, especially on long stretches of highway like this.
I parked a few spots away from the car, stretching.
As I got out, the air was cool and still,
(01:55):
the kind of silence that makes your ears strained to
catch any sound. I walked over to the vending machine,
fishing in my pocket for change while deciding between a
pack of trail mix or a candy bar. I heard
a voice call out behind me, Hey man, you got
a minute. I turned to see a man walking toward
me from the car. He was middle aged, maybe late forties,
(02:19):
with a weathered face and a slightly hunched posture. His
plaid shirt looked old and battered, and his jeans were
frayed at the cuffs. Despite his rough appearance, he was
smiling a little too much. If you ask me, car trouble,
I asked, Yeah, battery's dead, I think, he said, scratching
the back of his neck. Could you give me a jump?
(02:41):
I looked over at his car. The hood was open,
but there were no jumper cables in sight. There was
an undertone in his voice that didn't feel right, but
I didn't want to jump to conclusions. Got cables, I asked.
There was a moment of hesitation, his smile fading just
for an instant. Ah ah No, must have left him
(03:01):
at home, he said, But maybe you've got some. Sorry,
I don't, I replied, there's a gas station about twenty
miles up the road, though they might be able to help.
His face tensed, though he quickly masked it with another
two wide smile. That's a long way, he said, Could
you maybe give me a ride just to the station there?
(03:22):
It was the first real alarm bell. I didn't know
this guy, and the last thing I wanted was a
stranger in my car. I'd love to help, but I'm
on a tight schedule, I said, taking a step back
toward my car. Good luck. Though his smile didn't waver,
but his eyes hardened. Come on, man, he said, there
was a slight sting in his words. Now it's just
(03:43):
a quick ride. I really can't, I said, turning away.
That's when I saw a movement near his car. In
the low light. A figure crouched behind the car came
into view just enough to catch my attention. I felt
like I'd been punched in the stomach. There wasn't just
one man, there were two, keeping my composure. I said sorry,
(04:07):
I've got to go and started walking quickly to my car.
He didn't follow me, but I could feel his eyes
burning into my back. As I unlocked my car and
climbed in, I looked toward his car. The second man
was now standing half hidden in the shadows. He was younger,
dressed in dark clothes, and his posture screamed trouble. I
(04:29):
locked my doors and started the engine. As I reversed
out of the lot, my headlights swept over them. The
older man was glaring at me now, and the younger
one had stepped out into full view, watching me drive away.
Neither of them made a move to stop me. But
their presence was enough to make my skin crawl. Back
(04:49):
on the highway, I kept checking my rear view mirror,
expecting to see their car following me. For a while,
the road was empty and I started to relax, but
then headlights appeared in the distance, gaining on me fast.
My pulse quickened as the car came into view. They
were tailing me. I tried to stay calm, maintaining a
(05:10):
steady speed. The highway stretched on, empty and endless, with
no exits in sight. The sedan crept closer, its headlights
glaring in my mirror. I debated speeding up or pulling over,
but neither option felt safe. Then I spotted a sign
for a way station up ahead. The way station was
lit up like a beacon, with several trucks parked in
(05:32):
the lot. I veered toward it, hoping the presence of
other people would deter them. As I pulled in, the
sedan slowed down, then sped past without stopping. I parked
near the way station office, my hands shaking as I
watched their tail lights disappear into the night. I stayed
there for a while, finding comfort in the low rumble
(05:53):
of trucks and the chatter of drivers coming and going.
Eventually I felt calm enough to continue my drive, but
the memory of those two men stuck with me. What
if I'd agreed to give him a ride? What if
I hadn't noticed the second guy? The questions haunted me
the rest of the way to my hotel. Now, whenever
(06:16):
I'm on the road, I'm more cautious than ever. I
avoid rest areas at night, stick to well lit gas stations,
and always trust my instincts because you never know who
or what might be waiting in the shadows. Salt Lake City, Utah,
(06:41):
was a familiar checkpoint on my long haul roots. As
a truck driver with over a decade of experience, I
had seen my fair share of rest stops, but this one,
on a quiet June night, would leave a mark on me.
I'd never forget. I had just finished a grueling twelve
hour stretch, kind where you start to feel the road
(07:01):
blending into a single, monotonous blur. The bright green glow
of the sign felt like a signal of safety, a
relief after the tension rest area two miles it read,
and I decided to pull in for the night. The
rest stop was like many others, a modest lot with
a handful of parking spaces for trucks, weak overhead lights,
(07:23):
and a vending machine near the entrance. There were no
other vehicles when I arrived, and that suited me just fine.
The solitude was a welcome break from the constant noise
and motion of the highway. I parked at the farthest
edge of the lot, where the shadows from the trees
made the area feel even quieter. After a quick walk
(07:45):
around to stretch my legs, I climbed back into the cab,
locked the doors, and prepared to settle in the silence
of the night wrapped around me. As I drifted off,
the low noise of the truck's engine had a calming
risk that made me drowsy. It couldn't have been more
than an hour later when I was startled awake by
(08:06):
the glare of bright headlights. A truck had pulled into
the lot, parking far closer to me than necessary. The
rest of the lot was nearly empty, so why park
so close. The truck idled for what felt like an
eternity before its headlights blinked off. Drivers sometimes parked close
for safety in numbers, even though it seemed fine. Something
(08:27):
about the situation didn't sit right. I lay back down,
trying to ignore the discomfort and get some rest, But
just as my eyes started to close, the truck's headlights
flashed again. This time, I sat up fully. Was it
an accident a signal? My heart thudded faster as I
looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.
(08:50):
A soft, metallic knock sound reached my ears. It was
coming from the back of my trailer. My breath hitched
as I tried to listen. Someone was out there. I
grabbed my flashlight, considering whether to check it out. Every
trucker knows the dangers of remote stops. The stories of robberies, assaults,
and even disappearances were enough to give anyone pause, But
(09:13):
sitting in the cab feeling like a target was almost worse. Carefully,
I climbed out of the truck, my boots crunching on
the gravel. The flashlight's beam lit up the darkness ahead.
As I edged toward the rear of the trailer, Hey,
who's there? My voice firm but betraying a hint of tension.
The knocking stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. My
(09:36):
flashlights swept across the back doors, revealing deep scratch marks
near the lock. My insides tensed up. Before I could
inspect further, a sudden clang erupted from the side of
the trailer. I swung the flashlight around, catching a fleeting
shadow darting toward the other truck. I hurried back into
the cab, locking the doors. My hands shook as I
(09:58):
fumbled from my phone to call the police. The dispatcher
assured me officers were en route, but I knew it
would take time for them to arrive. The other truck's
engine revved loudly, its headlights flaring to life. Leaning on
my horn, I let out a long, blaring sound, hoping
to startle whoever was out there. The other truck's lights
(10:19):
went dark, plunging the lot into an eerie half light
for a moment. The silence returned, but it was heavy
with tension. Then came the sound of footsteps on the gravel,
slow and too close for comfort. They circled my truck.
I peered through the window, but the shadows seemed to
swallow everything. Whoever they were, they knew how to stay
(10:42):
out of sight. Realizing I needed to take control, I
revved my own engine, the deep growl, breaking the oppressive silence.
Looking my high beams on, I swept the area with
light catching movement. Near the edge of the lot, two
figures darted toward the other truck, their faces hidden by
hooded jackets. The other truck sped off into the night,
(11:04):
adrenaline coursing through me. I stayed in the cab, my
headlights illuminating the now empty lot until the distant sound
of sirens broke the tension. When the police arrived, they
inspected my trailer and found more evidence of tampering, scratches
near the lock, discarded tools, and what appeared to be
a makeshift crowbar. One officer shook his head, looks like
(11:27):
they were trying to break in. Good thing, you scared
them off. I gave my statement, detailing everything I had
seen and heard. The officers promised to patrol the area,
but the marks on my trailer and the abandoned tools
were stark reminders of how close I had come to
being a victim. I followed the police as we left
the rest stop together. I installed extra locks on my
(11:51):
trailer and a dash cam to monitor my surroundings, but
no amount of preparation could erase the memory of that night. Now,
every time I drive into a rest area, I can't
help but think about how exposed I felt that night.
That night in Salt Lake City taught me that out
here on the road, the real dangers aren't always in
the distance. Sometimes they're parked right next to you, waiting
(12:15):
for the perfect moment to strike.
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