Tag Archives: mark twain

The Day So Nice I Post About it Twice! Or, I came for the Ichthyosaur and Stayed for the Giant Rock in my Tire! Or, The Last Pain to Grantsville!

After my initial posting, done in the parking lot of some steakhouse/casino on my phone, I filled up the tank and made my way East towards Austin.  My first stop was the Grimes Archaeological Site where there are some petroglyphs.  They are old and not very exciting…  Moving on!

I continued on US50 (the “Loneliest Highway in the World”) and drove passed some salt lakes.  Mirages are strange.  The way that light refracts through rising air (heat waves) makes any flat surface reflect like it is water.  I can imagine how frustrating that must be if you were really thirsty and hot and your horse died and life sucked.

I turned on to HWY722 which is the old route for US50 and got stuck at a flagger for 20 minutes where I had a conversation with the flag lady while we waited for the “pilot car”.  Her first comment to me was, “Geez, you really scratched the shit out of truck.  What the fuck were you doing?”  I informed her that I was a badass geologist and liked ghost towns, thus the shit scratching.

She got excited and wanted me to check out her opal one of the old guys who lived down the road gave her.  It was a beautiful white opal that was at one time a limb of a tree millions of years ago.  She was excited when I explained to her that it was once a tree, but I don’t think she understood that the tree had been petrified with opal and not that there are some trees out there made of opal.

After I got through the road construction I turned South onto an unnamed dirt road and burly manned it through the desert.  These roads are not always the best maintained.  Every time I look in my rearview mirror I am surprised I am not seeing the Honey Badger kartwheeling behind me like it had been smashed by some Decepticon in yet another Michael Bay shitshow while all my gear yardsales into the dust cloud that remains.

After about 30 miles of washboard roads I climbed out of the basin and into the range to arrive at Ione.  The claim to fame for Ione is that their population was so egomaniacal that they forced the state to make a new county by splitting up two others just so they could be the county seat of something.  Then the gold ran out and everyone left; like 10 months later.  Whoo!

South or Ione lies Berlin and the town’s Ichthyosaur.  Since people marvel at the 100 million year old sea creature a state park was made.  Since a state park was made, the ghost town of Berlin has been rebuilt.  The stamp mill is awesome and probably full of mercury.  I loved it!  I didn’t get to see the Ichthyosaur since they put a building over it and locked the door.  Lame.

I decided to hit up one more ghost town before heading back up to US50 and went down the road a ways to Grantsville.  The road was a piece of cake and the Honey Badger was bouncing along when *BAM*!  Well, more like a high pitched *Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*!  Uh oh.

I jumped out of the truck and ran to the sound.  My rear passenger tire had a golfball-sized rock impaled through it.  Neato.  I reacted like the crisis manager I was trained to be by Mama Wade.  I grabbed my can of fix flat and read the instructions: “If possible, remove object.”  Check.  “Shake can vigorously for 30 seconds.” Check.  “Fill tire.”  And the horns go *wuh wah*.

Fix a Flat doesn’t do what they claim, and I had to change a tire on a truck, attached to a trailer.  What joy.  It is really hard to use a jack under the rear axle of a truck that is lifting a gross weight of like 9000lbs.  After about an hour of being manly some more I got my spare on and it is only 4 inches smaller in diameter than my $400 badass impenetrable tire that got penetrated.

I got back in the truck and GPSed the closest Les Schwab.  The closest Les Schwab is in… duh dun Dah! Fallon 94 miles away.  That’s 94 miles at 40mph down mostly dirt roads because you shouldn’t go fast when your drive wheels are different sizes.

On my way over a pass to connect with a different, paved highway (HWY 361) my breaks started to melt, yay! I low geared it to a crawl and managed to pull over to let the breaks cool.  I got out to tour the truck and check my spare when I notice that yet another magnetic trailer light set was dragged to its death.  Gar! $44 dollars a pop and you’d think they’d make better magnets.

All was not lost, after I get my tire fixed in the morning I plan on double backing to HWY361 and check out some promising quartz veins when I make my way out to meet Dave in Ely.

Now I am back in Fallon staying in a Holiday Inn Express because I deserve it… and I needed the shower

I

A Mosey Through Nevada

I woke up late (as per usual), pussy-footed around (not so unlike me), and finally got my tush on the road about 2:30 in the afternoon; that’s what I meant by, “I’m leaving in the morning.” The drive South into Oregon was OK, I decided at the last minute to cut East and go down Highway 97 and gave my old coworker Kryn, who lives in Bend, a call and see if she wanted to meet up for a very late dinner.

I rolled into Bend just before 10pm and we had a nice meal. She is loving Bend, it’s a town designed for outdoorsy young adults, and she is an outdoorsy young adult. We had a great, brief time, said our goodbyes and I got back on the road around midnight.

South of Bend I turned onto Highway 31 by the town of La Pine. All the pine trees were dark and ominous. The sky was ablaze with lightning and I could feel the rumble of the thunder through the armrest of my truck’s door. I finally pulled over and got some shuteye about 1:30 and slept cramped in a ball in the cab of the truck due to the lightning storm.

By morning the skies were clearing and I drove to Fort Rock. Ft Rock is a pretty cool geologic feature. It was a cindercone volcano that formed under an ice age lake. As a result the “tuff” that formed the ring of the cone baked into a brick leaving behind a natural fort. The earliest peoples used the shores around Fort Rock as a camp on the once great lake. The caves in Fort Rock have produced sage sandals over 10,000 years old!

From Ft Rock I went further South into Summer Lake and Paisley where I finally had breakfast (I wish I had one of my hundreds of paisley shirts… Oh well).   South of Paisley are the crumbled remnants of an obsidian lava flow. I grabbed some fine specimens. Then I turned onto Highway 140 (in the Spring time this is the most beautiful place on Earth; in the Summer: meh). That took me past my opal claim. It was best not to stop and dig opals as it was 92 in the shade–and there is no shade in this part of the country.

I decided to continue on to Winnemucca to refill my tank and my belly. I ate at a casino attached to the Holiday in Express. The restaurant was a Mexican Joint called “Dos Amigos” where I was waited on by the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. What the hell this vision was doing serving a schlub like me in backwater, NV I’ll never know.

I left Winnemucca about 6pm and chose to stay the night Unionville. About 30 miles South of Winnemucca is a ghost town called Star City. Star City was the site of a large silver mining operation and boasted 1,200 residents at one time complete with all the bars and brothels a town of that size required. The road up the Star City was a piece of cake… At first! I ditched the Honey Badger (my ghetto trailer that tags along with me on these adventures) and pushed on in just the truck. The road got worse, and then worse, and then impossible. I stopped the truck and got out to hike up and see if there was a place to turn around further up, because backing down thise narrow road was going to be deadly.

I found the teensiest turn around about 500 yards up the mountain, but I was going to have to drive through some decent sized bushes (trees?) To get there. Oh well, let’s do this! The truck was a champ, just mowing down nature, and then I died. Well, actually what I thought was, “Oh God, I am going to die… I should have asked out that waitress… Damnit!”

To my right is a sheer cliff that goes up to the ridge, to my left is a 6ft drop down into a pretty gnarly creek. The bank gave way under my front driver’s side tire and my truck began to roll into the creek. For some reason I steered into my doom, and rather than rolling the full weight of my F150 onto my head and drowning in the creek alone and never to be found, I drove down the embankment and ended up with my truck bisecting the creek.

Once My heartrate calmed down, I did my best Austin Powers impersination and completed an 87 point turn around in the creek and was now pointed downstream. I went from accepting my inevitable demise to, “What the hell do I do now?” What I did was class three rapids in a Ford! I drove more than half a mile down a mountain creek (including what could be considered a rather large waterfall for a truck) until there was a point I could drive out of the creek and back on to the primitive road.

I returned to the Honey Badger, gave Star City the finger, and headed back down the mountain. I arrived at the turn off for Unionville about 9pm and decided I had had enough for one day and made camp under the Unionville information sign on the side of the road.

This is where I discovered that I am easily mistaken for a cattle rustler. My arrival was the most exciting thing this dead end road has had in 150 years. By 11pm dozens of ranchers were swirly around me. Word had gotten out that some cattle rustlers had arrived in the dead of night and were by the mailboxes at the end of the road (I was camped at the mailboxes at the end of the road). Much to all these ranchers’ relief (maybe disappointment for some who may have wanted a new trophy to mount in their study), as it turns out, that I was not there to in fact take their cows. We all had a good laugh, they put away their shotguns and went back to their ranches concluding that the Honey Badger can barely carry my cooler let alone a 1500lb animal or two.

The next morning one of the ranchers was so kind as to wake me up at 6am for a chat about how well I slept the night before. “I slept very well, until some jackass woke me up at 6!”

I packed up my cot and bag and rolled up the mountain to the ghost towns of Buena Vista and Unionville. There I saw two famous people’s homes: Mark Twain’s cabin when he failed miserably as a gold miner; and Sandra Bullock’s less humble manor. I peed in Twain’s outhouse and drove South through the desert toward Fallon, NV.

I drove past Shanghai Canyon, site of my infamous fall down a cliff and subsequent hospital bill. At the base of the canyon was a herd of wild horses. I started taking a panorama of the horses and the mountain. If I had waited 5 seconds I would have had a Navy F4 in my photo. I took the last image and my heart exploded out of my chest as Mr. Comedy did a flyby of my face and scared the shit out of me. I managed to get a photo of him on his return pass.

I am now in Fallon contemplating a $10 shower at a truck stop and writing this long screed using my thumbs and my cellphone!

More to come!