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Ghost Towns, Trip Report

Ucame, Utah, Uconquered

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After I posted last night’s entry I headed West out of town to look for a spot to lay my head by the road.  I found a nice gravel pit right by the “Welcome to Ely” sign.  I was too tired to setup my cot so I slept in the passenger seat of the truck.

There is a big open pit mine up the hill and I could see the lights of the giant Caterpillars hauling ore all over the mine site.  It was hard to hear, but I could feel when one of these huge machines would dump their load of processed ore adding to the man-made mountains that the tailing piles began to resemble.  Ten minutes would pass and I would feel a rumble through the body of my truck.  Another load down.  Another day closer to the depletion of the ore body.

Mines are like a kitchen timer.  Once the claim is staked it is only a matter of time until they have gotten every last drop.  Ding!  Put a fork in it, this turkey is done.

All these ghost towns I have been visiting were so abrupt and seemingly spontaneous in the origin and boom times.  Two years later the thousands of people who live there are gone onto the next big thing.   Unionville played out?  Go to Virginia City.  The Comstock load run dry?  I hear there’s a stike up on the Colville Reservation in the Washington Territory.  Colville all done?  Word is the Canucks found gold on the Frasier.  And so it goes…

It is mind boggling to think that if every single ghost town in Nevada had it’s peak population today the state would have somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty million residents and be the second most populous state in the union.  The fact is Nevada never had that many unique residents.  The people from Goldfield, moved to Elko.  The people in Elko, moved to Pioche.  The people in Pioche were probably murdered, since that is what Pioche did best back then; kill new comers.

Night of dreaming about these has-been mining towns came to an abrupt halt with a loud knock on my window.  Freaked out and startled, I awoke and my eyes saw nothing, just inky blackness.  Then I realized I still had my sleeping mask on (yes, I sleep with a sleeping mask, because I am a weirdo; and when I fall asleep my eyes open up, ok?) so I removed it and saw Dave’s smiling face and his big brown dog named Mud.  I opened the door and gave Dave a hug from the confines of my car seat, only then realizing that Dave may be the first man I have ever hugged while technically not wearing any pants…

It was early, not even 7am.  Gross.  I threw on some shorts and our new caravan of two vehicles drove into Ely in search of some breakfast.  We found it at the Silver State Cafe and dove in.  The waitress, who I don’t think was too bright, but nice, informed us that there was a tire shop called, “The ‘Super 8’ or something,” just down the road.

By 8am Dave, Mud, and I were waiting outside the “Big 8 Tire” for the lads who would make the Honey Badger’s gimp knee ready for the playoff drive.  The mechanics wasted no time beating the holy hell out of the trailer’s tire with various sized sledge hammers until the biggest sledge I have ever seen finally got the rusty rim off the wheel hub.  Why didn’t they just start with the biggest sledge first?  Why work their way toward the inevitable and take the long route?

Whatever.  An hour later the Honey Badger was holding 40psi and was ready to roll.  Away we drove.  See ya later, Navada; we’re Utah men today!  A couple more mountain passes and desert valleys (aka hundreds of miles) and we arrived in Delta, UT.  We made a stop at the Thriftway for ice to refresh our coolers and studied a map of the state.  I decided we should head South to Boulder, UT and pay my brother Loch and his wife Kelly a visit.

While ironing out the details of our route we heard girls yell “HELLO!” and turned around to see the sliding window of the drive-through SnoCone stand slide shut.  Delta is very Mormon; they don’t do drive-through espresso here.  After our brief distraction we returned to our geography lesson.  “We like your dog!”  A quick turn to see the window shut again.

If the ladies running that SnoCone stand want some of the these lads, who are we to argue with their marketing genius?  We went to get a SnoCone.  The window slid open and there were two 12 year olds.  Lame.

What’s the deal with child labor laws in Utah anyway?  In Washington when you approach a drive through stand their is a young lady (of legal age!), wearing a bikini ready to serve coffee.  In Utah, it’s the over sugared middle schoolers serving SnoCones.  Oh well, I ordered a 16oz blackberry/mango, and it was only $2.50.  I tipped the girls two bucks and the look on their faces was that of two young people who not only had never seen a tip before, but that of naivety to the fact that tips even exist at all.

Dave, and I sat in the shade of the a tree while I enjoyed my flavored ice and the two young ladies bounced around and did laps in their little hut.  Dave pointed out that these girls were probably doing shots of syrup all day long and were wired beyond control.  I think you’d have to be.  It seemed like I was their only customer all week. Come on, Delta, it’s 94 degrees outside, get a dang SnoCone!

Dave and I headed back to our to our little gypsy caravan and the girls slid open their window to thank us.  Then a few more steps and they slid open their window to wish a good trip.  As I was getting into the truck the window slid open again and the wished us a fun adventure.  As I was pulling out of the parking lot one of the girls ran out of the SnoCone hut to wave and wish me safe travels…

They need a YMCA in Delta or something.

Delta, may have been 94 and bluebird, but 30 miles South was the beginning of some monsoon.  The temperature plummeted into the 70s and sporadic downpours were making Dave’s clothes wet (they are strapped to the top of his Jeep).  We took US50 to I-15, to SR-20, to US89, to SR-12.  The weather was rumbly and awesome.  Once on SR-12 we entered Canyon Country and were on the doorstep of Bryce Canyon National Park.  The rocks were bright red and spectacular.  SR-12 is one of the most beautiful drives in existence; especially when thunderheads and sunshine are mixed in equal parts!

We drove through Tropic and a beige canyon that will live on in infamy in my mind.  Two years ago I was passing through the same narrow canyon when a huge mountain lion ran in front of my truck.  That was exciting enough, but around the next bend I saw Him.  Standing next to a shiny red Ford Focus rental car was a short, fat man with a waxy bald head, no teeth and a $3000 suit on.  He looked me in the eyes and stroked his huge .50 caliber sniper rifle as I passed by.  Terrified that this wack-a-doodle was going to snipe me in the face as the road followed the river bend back around for a picture perfect shot, I drove the next 400 yards blind, since I was crouched under the dashboard of my truck.

This time around I wasn’t terrified of the fat man in the expensive suit holding a six foot military-grade weapon.  I wanted him to be there.  I wanted Dave to see this reality.  I wanted so desperatley to not feel like the crazy one, when I know fat-sniper-rifle-guy must be the crazy one!

As we drove out of the canyon and into a high valley my disappointment abated and gave way to sweeping views of the terrain below.  Canyons just look so good.  Good job, Nature.  After we made it through the burg of Escalante the real awesome part began:  Hell’s Backbone!  We were in for a treat, just as we made it to the top of the ridgeline the thunderheads had just passed leaving a hole in the sky for the sun to shine through on the canyoned Earth below us.  The light reflected off the fresh streams of water now cascading off the smooth rocks of the mesas and canyon walls.  It looked as though someone had poured quicksilver over the whole of Southern Utah just to watch it shine!  It may have been the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.  I will take that view with me to the grave.

Coming off of Hell’s Backbone we arrived at our destination of Boulder.  Home to 200 residents and two members of the Wade family.  Only I didn’t know where they lived.  They had moved since the last time I was here.  Dave and I killed time by eating all fancy-like at the Hell’s Backbone Grill.  We both got filet mignon and enjoyed the thunderstorm and out meals.  Our waitress happened to be friends with my sister in law Kelly and told us where to find her.  Instead, she found us!

Once we arrived at the new Wade Family compound on three gorgeous acres, Loch showed us the garden and his plans for the amazing water wheel grist mill that will run off the irrigation water from Boulder Creek.  construction is slated for next year.  Loch and Kelly took Dave, Myself and all the dogs to the top of the hill in the back yard to view the valley and watch the thunder storms surrounding us.  A good monsoon indeed.

Tomorrow Dave and I head to Colorado.  I am not sure if or when I will be able to update next.  I will try to get something written at soon, but internet connectivity may prove elusive.  Stay tuned!

Ghost Towns, Trip Report

Butterfly Murder.

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I have contributed to the death of thousands.  Butterfly after butterfly gets eviscerated by the grill of my truck.  Beauty and tragedy at 70mph.

I woke up about 8:30 and got what was left behind by the rest of the hotel guests at the Holiday Inn Express.  Some warm milk, a cinnamon roll with what looked like a finger hole in it, and Raisin Bran.  Dreamy.

Last night, after I made my trip update, my computer’s battery was real low so I got my charging cord out.  Well, I should say I got half of my charging cord out.  I apparently left the half that plugs into the wall somewhere that is not my computer bag.  Hrrmmm…  Another thing to do in Fallon when your almost dead, go to Radio Shack.

I then took my bruised beast of an F150 to Les Schwab to get my tire fixed.  I chatted with the tire guy and he had all the same questions everyone else has when they meet me out here,  “What the hell did you do to your truck?”

“More manly things than anyone else with trucks around here it seems,” Has become my reply.

They took off my tire and saw the golfball-sized hole and said they couldn’t fix it.  I had to get a new tire and they didn’t have what I needed.  The dude said I could go to either Winnemucca (115 miles away to the North), or Sparks (51 miles away to the West).  I am trying to go East!  Onward to Sparks, I guess!  It was noon by this time, and the drive took about an hour as I was still driving like a granny with my two drive wheels of different diameters.

I rolled into Sparks and, guess what, got another tire tech who wanted to know just what in the hell had I been doing to my truck.

They took about an hour to get a new big ass Wild Country AT tire on my rig.  The charge: $308!  Whaaaaaa?  I then took my warranty out of pocket and asked, “Does this help?”

Yessir, it did.  The charge dropped to $174.  Not as bad.  It was now 2pm and I had hoped to be in Austin, 200 miles to the West of Sparks, by this time.  Sigh.

Back on the road and flying.  An hour later I was in Fallon, yet again.  Filled up on gas, and I was outta there.  Still cruising US50 I drove passed the tanks in the desert again.  This time they were being loaded onto flatbeds.  I guess play time was over.  Since I was retracing my steps I turned back down HWY361 to scope out some of those promising rock formations that had potential for riches.  I found three old mines, one new one, and biggest dribble of bird crap ever (it fooled me, I thought it was a quartz intrusion from about a mile away; that was a long hike to get a good view of tremendous amount of poop).  I am really good at being 150 years late to all these gold loads.

I hopped over the mountain range and crossed the big valley back toward Ione.  I had initially planned to cross the next range there yesterday and now was my chance.  Waved to all the no trespassing signs people who squat in abandoned houses in ghost towns always place on their fences and blew through Ione.  Been there, done that.

I was not a mile East of Ione, when, I can’t say it is maternal instinct, since I’m not a lady  and unless you consider the Honey Badger my child, but a thought popped into my head: Check on the Honey Badger, the little guy needs you.  I halt my rig and get out thinking that I might be dragging my tail lights again (I had just bought my 4th new pair in a year that morning back in Fallon).  Nope, taillights are copacetic.  Then I hear the hisssssssss of air coming from my trusty trailer.  The driver’s side tire had a crack in it.  Lame.

I split into action and grabbed my mostly used bottle of Fix-A-Flat.  I shook that sumbitch vigorously for 30 seconds and the emptied the can into the tire.  I do have a spare tire for the trailer, but I don’t happen to have a tire iron that fits the lug nuts on the wheel (note to self: get a second tire iron).  I had to hope the can of goo would stall the inevitable; there was another 50 miles of dirt roads between me an Austin… Where I should arrive at about 7:30, well after everything has closed.  I drove through, what looked to be an indian reservation that was the size of a football field and seemed to contain no residents.  Just cows.  And cows who don’t move for trucks at that.

The valley was gorgeous.  Bathed in the long light of the late afternoon sun the greens of what was a much more watered valley than all the other scrub brush desert I had be through.  In fifty miles I saw maybe ten homes, and one very determined dog who angerly chased my truck for about a mile even though I was doing about 30mph.

About 20 miles South of Austin I came upon a ghost ranch.  Rad.  I blew by it and took photos at speed of the homestead making a metal note to return and explore the abandoned big brick ranch house someday.

The road was weird.  There would be a mile of smooth, expertly paved road, followed by a mile of graded gravel, followed by a mile of pavement, and so on.  I reunited with HWY722, and then US 50, and chugged up the mountain into Austin where my first stop was the town’s gas station for fuel, ice, and two cans of Fix-A-Flat for the Honey Badger.  The tire was low but the hiss had stopped.  The little buddy just had to make it to Ely to get some new duds 150 miles away.

Away from the 8000ft pass that markes the exit from Austin the evening light began to bathe the next valley in reds, purples, and rainbows.  Puffy little cumulus clouds began to drop their hard days work of gathering the moisture from the rising air warmed by the sun earlier in the day giving me a colorful view.  The high desert is so stunning.  I could totally live here if it wasn’t for the lack of ocean and the constant bloody boogers.

Cars are few and far between.  I see more deer on the road than fellow travelers.  As the last remaining rays of light bend over the curve of the Earth and night begins I saw a dark vehicle off in the distance, barely, coming toward me with it’s lights off.  As it got closer I did the neighborly thing and flashed my lights on and off to remind him that he turn on his lights.  Turn on his lights he did.  Then he did a U-ee and pulled me over.

“Why are you flashing your highbeams at me?” asked the fat tub of sherrif’s deputy glaring through my window.

“Because it’s night, you’re driving a black car, and your lights were off.”

“Oh… Sorry about that.  Lord a’mighty, I can be damned fool sometimes.”  Forehead slap. “Sorry about pulling you over.” Long pause, “Thank you?”

“No problem?”

Back on the road.  I blew through Eureka, I was on a mission.  Ely or bust.  Time to meet Dave.  I haven’t seen that dude in eight years!

I got to Ely about 9:30, parked at the beginning of town, and scanned road for Dave’s Jeep.  Nope, nothing.  Duh, this is Dave we’re talking about.  He has never been on time for anything, ever!  About 20 minutes of playing Triple Stack on my phone and I get a call from the man.  He’s in Ferny (halfway between Sparks and Fallon) and won’t be getting into Ely until really late.  So I walked to the Nevada Hotel and Casino, grabbed some dinner, then some desert, and now I am that jerk who nurses and piece of cake for two hours while he steals their wi-fi signal updating his blog.  What a dick.

Ghost Towns, Gold, Legends, Silver, Trip Report

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!

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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

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