“My wife and I were driving to Alamosa, Colorado, on one of the longest, straightest stretches of highway in the United States, commonly referred to as the ‘gun-barrel highway.’ I had turned over the wheel to her and was settling back for a rest, after a long turn at driving over the mountains, when I became aware of unusual driving behavior on her part. First she would step on the gas, then on the brake, then on the gas again. ‘What is the matter? What are you trying to do?’ I asked. ‘See that truck ahead?’ she replied. ‘Every time I try to pass it, it speeds up, and then it slows down when I try to give it a chance to get ahead of me. It’s making me nervous.’ “I peered ahead through the darkness and there, sure enough, about three hundred feet ahead of us was a truck, its dark body brilliantly outlined with red and white lights. I studied the situation and glanced at the speedometer, which read forty miles per hour. ‘Well,’ I advised her, ‘you certainly ought to be able to pass that, dear, the way you usually drive.’ And this time she really stepped on the gas, pushing the speed up to sixty, seventy, eighty, and finally eighty-five. And would you believe it, that truck took right out ahead, still holding its estimated three hundred feet clearance, and matched us for every mile of that speed. By this time I was beginning to get an idea. ‘Slow down,’ I said. My wife obliged me by coming to a dead stop, brakes squealing. “‘Now see there,’ she said, ‘I just escaped running into that truck.’ And the truck had stopped, still 300 feet ahead. At this point I ventured my conclusion. ‘That isn’t a truck,’ I explained. ‘It’s a flying saucer.’ ‘You have flying saucers on the brain,’ she said. Well, to shorten the story, she started the car again and the ‘truck’ moved off. And we chased it in that fashion for about fifty miles. On rare occasions, as we dipped slightly in a hollow, the truck would seem to dash ahead at speeds close to 1000 miles an hour. Or sometimes it would jump straight up, momentarily vanish, and then drop back into the road.