County Highway

One unsettling way to spend a weed in our Republic of Occluded Facts is to drive to a small mountain town in Colorado, ditch your phone because it gets no signal (and is a spying device in any case) and speak for hour after trippy hour about aliens and their weird craft with a man who purports to know something of their history, a history he says our leaders lie about, out of fear, arrogance, and greed.

Dave Grusch, age 36, is a former intelligence agent, Air Force officer, and briefer of presidents on spooky matters, many related to satellites and space, known only to our military elite. He's a six-foot-six pylon of a guy with close-cropped hair and an open, unshaven face that goes pink in the sun but doesn't quite tan. I meet him on a warm alpine morning in a hotel parking lot, the very definition of neutral ground. Standing beside his spotless new Ford truck, which he plans to trade in soon - because that's how he is, a car guy who buys one rig then covets another, with custom high-performance modifications - we venture some small talk and size each other up, an art in which Grusch, an Afghan war vet, seems well-practiced. When my hands move, his eyes move. He has a planted way of standing that seems like it might provide the basis for a solid karate kick.