It's nearly impossible to find a place to drive fast these days. That's why not long ago I found myself in the deserts of southeastern Arizona, on a circuitous journey through a neglected corner of a state known mostly for mule treks into the Grand Canyon and the dream catcher shops of Sedona. I wanted to explore the sparsely populated land of Arizona's southeast, where snow-topped mountains jut from the sun-blasted desert and where the Mexican food is muy bueno. Most of all, though, I wanted to find the kind of empty desert road where the West is still wild -- where I could actually drive a 510-hp Dodge Viper the way it is meant to be driven: fast. I wanted to drive 150, if not faster.

I chose State Road 79 as the beginning of this two-day adventure because it abounds with open stretches of straight pavement, views to the horizon, and nothing but saguaros for cops to hide behind. But things started more slowly than I would have liked. Turns out 79 goes by Florence, a dustbowl of a town that has five prisons, and prisons employ a lot of people to keep the hitchhikers inside. In spurts, though, I was hitting triple digits, whipping around pickup trucks and getting a feel for the Viper's power.

The next day, on the PatagoniaŠSonoita Scenic Road, I ran into a reality check. I was still high from a bowl of near-perfect tortilla soup served up the night before by a white-haired man in a tuxedo at the Esplendor Resort, a mission-style retreat near Nogales that claims to have one of the finest golf courses in Arizona, a state full of fine golf courses. The road to Patagonia slices through hills speckled with trees and scattered cacti and offers some of the tightest curves in southern Arizona. The Viper tucked down into these corners, barely flinching at 110 mph. My photographer buddy Kevin and I had just stopped for breakfast at a Mexican cafe in Patagonia, a surprisingly cultured ranching outpost occupied by artists and yuppies looking for a new life in the desert. The Viper was really starting to roar up a long straightaway just outside town when police lights appeared in the mirror. The speed-ometer had just hit 120.

Holding a New York license and driving a car with Michigan tags -- well, this wasn't good. I killed the engine and watched as an unmarked gray Caprice pulled up behind me. A guy in slacks, a golf shirt, and Oakleys strolled up to the car.

He eyeballed my papers and gave a shrug. "I'm going to give you a warning," he said, in a way that indicated that it would take something truly ridiculous to make him get out his book of tickets. "Just be careful."

"I guess I got a little excited," I said as I forced a smile.

He handed back my documents and smirked. "I would be too if I were driving that car."

Free of the law, we pushed on to Kartchner Caverns State Park, 550 acres of Chihuahuan desert with a mile of cave trails below. The park abuts one of the many sections of the Coronado National Forest -- a pretty loose interpretation of the word forest, in that there are almost no trees here. Still, observing it at walking speed, I noticed that it's beautiful in the way that Chihuahuan desert is -- vast and otherworldly and various in its shades of red and brown -- and ideal for low-impact hiking, camping, and mountain biking. We trekked into the hills, stopping to take in vistas that stretched to the Dragoon Mountains, the range that was home to the town of Tombstone, where I'd heard reenactments of the OK Corral shoot-out were still held on its dusty streets. This I had to see.

Reemboldened and again drunk with the power of this raw red race car, I twice hit 140 on the empty road to Tombstone before roaring into the tourist trap, population 1,700. We had missed the mock shoot-outs, so we ducked inside a shack that sold leather and guns and chatted up the saddlemaker, Big Ed, who had a Kenny Rogers beard and cigarette stains on his fingers. He had the glassy eyes of a man who had been drinking.

"You all drinking beer in a gun shop?" Kevin asked.

Big Ed nodded and fixed him with a stare. "Hell, it's Saturday."

From the background Big Ed's beer-drinking buddy emerged. He was dressed in immaculate cowboy attire: black jeans with a shiny belt buckle, a white shirt, black vest, black cowboy hat. When he opened his mouth to speak, though, there was only darkness. No teeth.

"You all drivin' that Viper?" the cowboy asked. "Damn if you didn't blow by me on the way into town."

"Sorry about that," I said.

Then he essentially handed me the line I need to finish this story.

"Hey," he said. "I'd a done the same thing."

As I headed back into the open desert, I thought of this guy and his drinking buddy, and of the friendly cop. It wasn't at all surprising -- or bothersome -- to them that I'd come here with the intention of driving well in excess of the speed limit, of blatantly flouting the law. It struck me that this kind of freedom is probably the reason they moved to the desert in the first place. Maybe the Wild West is alive and well after all.

ENGINE 8.3-liter V-10
TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual
POWER 510 hp @ 5,600 rpm
0Š60 MPH 3.9 secs
EPA FUEL ECON 12 city/20 hwy
BASE PRICE $83,145

BRIEF Welcome back, Viper Coupe. After a four-year hiatus the hardtop version returns, looking leaner, meaner, and classier than its convertible brother. Angry and powerful, the Viper sits in the same American supercar class as the Ford GT and the Chevy Corvette Z06.

THUMBS UP Awesomely powerful and quick off the line. Easily runs into the high 100s. (I hit 140 and had yet to shift to sixth gear!) Beautifully styled, with excellent suspension and braking capabilities. The seven-speaker Alpine sound system is plenty loud to cloak the motor's thunderous roar.

THUMBS DOWN A little raw and difficult to handle, especially for inexperienced drivers. Side exhaust and poor sound dampening makes for a loud ride. The interior feels cheap for a car in this price range, and the tight cockpit can be uncomfortable for tall drivers.

By: Josh Dean
Map by: Kevin Zacher
(April 2006)