Highway to Hell

So, good news— no, I lied. Bad news, Ash and I are presently trapped inside of a racecar that seems to have a mind of its own and is taking us to car hell. Probably. We don't actually have any idea where it's taking us, we just know we've been going west-ish.
— Bin Folks, Administrator

The doors are locked, and Bin has been playing "I Spy" for the past five hours. If he does it one more time I am going to shove something in his little eye. Strangely, any signals— such as those used to keep track of us— seem to be blocked. It's like this thing has a built in faraday cage— which can't be the case because the one thing we seem to be able to do is send these emails through a...thing Bin has access to. He refuses to explain beyond simply saying "it's the cloud, Ash." No internet. No phone. No GPS. No radio— only these secure emails. We need any available personnel to help track down our current location, so the folk in Investigations can extrapolate where we're going, and intercept this car. We're attaching a map below of our approximate area— we're in New Mexico, so Bin was able to figure out the general area at least— alongside a list of landmarks we've passed.
— Ash Ngo, APRA Director

These locations are provided in the order we've passed them. I spy, with my little eye; a circus, a black mesa, a gas station, and a funny looking rock. Once you've figured it out, reply with the coordinates you think we were present at at the time of this message. Good luck.
— Bin Folks, Administrator