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But there was no going back, and no time to rest. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. It was almost noon, and we still had more than 100 miles to go. The poor bastard will see them soon enough. No point mentioning those bats, I thought. “It’s your turn to drive.” I hit the brakes and aimed the Great Red Shark toward the shoulder of the highway. “What the hell are you yelling about?” he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. My attorney had taken his shirt off and was pouring beer on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?” …” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about 100 miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded maybe you should drive. We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold.