I slept well, despite the rumor of bears and coyote packs expected to be roaming the South Lake Tahoe neighborhood that night in search of a 'free lunch' facilitated by the municipal declaration that Wednesday is trash day - a virtual buffet opportunity for the denizens of the National Forest across the street from our guest quarters. Perhaps it was fitting that Grant and I arose at sun-up by ourselves, showered and left our fine hostesses, Natali and daughters Melanie and Lana, still sleeping when we pulled out of their driveway and embarked eastward upon US Highway 50 - known as the "Loneliest Road in America". And as far as I could tell, the garbage cans were still upright at the curb. I do consider myself smarter than the average bear - but even I sometimes also lose track of what day trash day is.
I was thinking of the Beatles when I decided that I too, just like Jojo who left his home in Tucson Arizona, head for some California gas - I too would stop and get some California gas before I crossed the state line into Nevada. With the sun on the rise, gas in the tank and an empty stomach, we cruised past the casinos on the shore, rounded the south end of beautiful Lake Tahoe, a sapphire water-filled graben in the John Muir's "Range of Light", crested the summit and coasted down the steep backside of the Sierras and into Carson City. Again, the dilemma, do I try for some local flavor and/or cheap meal at the Nugget in Carson City or somewhere downtown, or do we just stop and get a known quantity at one of the national chains that have proliferated in the desert south of town? Grant says, "There's IHOP, I'm good with that." Breakfast decided.
There were (to my surprise) no slot machines in the IHOP foyer, but still, it was my lucky day. IHOP has a special part of the menu for those over 55. Grant reminds me, "Dad, since you say 'you're all about value', you should totally take advantage of your geezer status and order from that page!" Then he lamented, his own current youthful status was the worst of all possible worlds; "too young to buy beer, too old for the kiddie menu discounts". I felt so bad for him at this stage of his life, that I considered ordering a mimosa for myself and not sharing - but that would be cruel. So I had my OJ straight up along with the 2+2+2 "Over 55 Special". My very first senior discount! - and I did not even get carded.
The Loneliest Road in America (apparently US 50 took on this name after a 1986 Life Magazine article) goes west to east across Nevada and follows the old Pony Express Route transecting the majestic Basin and Range province. One travels up to the top of an alpine mountain range then drops down to dry desert lake beds and then back up another range before coming rhythmical back down to another valley floor. This route fired my imagination with many signs hinting at off-the-beaten-path type of adventures: there were immense sand dunes piled up against a mountain outside Fallon, there were numerous historic Pony Express Stations, a gravel road that promised ichthyosaur fossils in situ and a ghost town or two just 52 miles off the highway, and to feed my ever curious 'enjoy the journey' creed, there were tantalizing signs that read "BLM Green Springs 11 miles", or "Petroglyphs 3 miles" that stimulated a strong urge in me to pull off and go see what was at the end of that dirt road. Alas, we were making for home and had points to make in the small amount of time still allotted to this journey. This time through, I did not stop, but the seed has been planted. Now something else for my "To Do List"; someday I need to do a 10-day Desert Rat Adventure along US 50 from Moab, Utah to Lake Tahoe and take the time to experience the desert springs, the ichthyosaurs and the petroglyphs and sand dunes.
Of course I have had some adventures already along US 50, namely in Ely, Nevada. As an undergraduate geology major, I had several Basin and Range field trips in my junior and senior years (middle 1970's) and we had set up camp a few miles outside Ely. One evening, someone had the idea to go to the Green Lantern, a brothel on the outskirts (or as some would say offskirts) of town, where prostitution is legal; with the idea of buying T-shirts. The original Green Lantern establishment had burned down recently and so the ladies would met us inside the big house trailer. Our State University van had followed the innocuous green circles and arrows posted high on Ely's downtown light poles (city fathers did not want overt brothel advertising, but the initiated knew to follow these green circles to the brothel). Guided by 24 eyeballs scanning each lamp post, we drove up to the place of business, a bar. The Madam, clad in a black bustier and fishnet stocking met the eyes of the dozen young men or so, boiling out of the official California State vehicle; and she decided that I (an officer in Inter Varsity Christian Fellowship - mind you) was the leader of this pack, so she said to me, "Honey, first I need to see ID from everyone in your handsome group"; I am sure the Green Lantern was closely scrutinized, being the kind of highly regulated establishment it is, and she could not risk being shut down. I stammered (in my most cool kind of way), "But we just came here to buy some T-shirts". She seemed very disappointed with what I had just told her. The madam then had one of the girls start asking for sizes as she pulled Green Lantern T-shirts from behind the bar and took our money. The Madam then started to direct her attention to me once again, and cooed to me a suggestion that maybe me and some of my boys would also like a tour? [wink, wink]. My response [gulp, gulp] was something to the effect that "Oh, my dear Madam, that is so kind of you, but you see, we are all but poor college students, and most of our meager funds have just gone toward T-shirts". She continued with a smile, "But surely, you boys can pool your money and then we can draw straws to see which of you handsome gents is a winner tonight." At some point, I managed to back out gracefully with "me and my handsome gents" and get back to camp. The next day we all took a series of group pictures in the Cherry Mountains wearing our Green Lantern T-shirts.
This time through Ely, I saw neither the "Green Circle" signs nor the highly rated Basque Restaurant. I believe the Green Lantern was put out of business some years ago, but I still have my T-shirt (now too small) at the bottom of my sweater drawer plus a raft of geology field trip memories.
Highway 50 brought us into Delta, Utah at early evening. We were about to leave the Loneliest Road and join I-70, but as I told Grant, there is not a whole lot along this stretch of I-70, I think an early dinner in Delta is the right call. The steak I had in mind did not materialize, as it the place had gone out of business. We found a pizza place two blocks off the highway and settled in to split a large pepperoni.
After dinner we crossed the Severe Fault that bounds the eastern extent of the Basin and Range Province and shortly thereafter we hooked up with I-70 for a push to a campsite at Goblin Valley State Park. My idea was to cut cross country for about 20 miles on a BLM dirt road and come into Goblin Valley from the backside, it would be a nice adventure and a change from interstate highway driving. Just as the sun dropped behind some of Utah's radiant red sandstone bluffs, I found the BLM road easily enough, and it was a good gravel road across the relatively flat desert floor. As the off-road miles lengthened, so did the shadows, and about the time it became more dark than light, the road became more rock than dirt. I slipped into 4WD, flipped on the high beams and barreled along while Grant was trying to get updates on the NBA Finals Game 7. I would hit a bump, a rock or a rill, and we would be strongly jostled. Grant was having a hard time navigating around the internet while I was navigating around mesas and outcrops. One of us was enjoying the off-road adventure and one of us was not. Exasperated to the max, Grant gruffly asked, "How much longer?" I drove over another road rock in the dark and he growled in frustration.
I said, "Hey, this is just like the Disneyland 'Indian Jones Temple of Doom' ride..."
"I HATE that ride - you know that!"
I thought we were having fun - I thought wrong.
I checked my odometer, 7 more miles to Goblin Valley. But we had come up to Temple Butte Equestrian Camp. I say, "Hey, this is Temple Butte, kind of a coincidence don't you think? Indiana Jones 'Temple of Doom' and now we find ourselves at 'Temple Butte' - pretty cool?"
"Let's just stop here." I agree, out of kindness I suppose.
We set up minimal camp (ground tarp, air mattresses, sleeping bags). No matter what, Grant was going to have a bad night, but all negatives were exacerbated by the insects attracted by the nearby horse dung, and then Grant's mattress would not hold air. He soon abandoned the outdoors and tried to sleep fitfully in the passenger seat of The Q - this, our last night of camping.
Morning light brings a new perspective.
We pack up camp quickly and are headed for Moab for a pancake breakfast. We drive for maybe a mile or less on the rough road then we hit pavement, and then the turn off to Goblin Valley State Park. We could have slept with the goblins rather than the pesky gnats - if only we had driven just a wee bit further.
I was thinking of the Beatles when I decided that I too, just like Jojo who left his home in Tucson Arizona, head for some California gas - I too would stop and get some California gas before I crossed the state line into Nevada. With the sun on the rise, gas in the tank and an empty stomach, we cruised past the casinos on the shore, rounded the south end of beautiful Lake Tahoe, a sapphire water-filled graben in the John Muir's "Range of Light", crested the summit and coasted down the steep backside of the Sierras and into Carson City. Again, the dilemma, do I try for some local flavor and/or cheap meal at the Nugget in Carson City or somewhere downtown, or do we just stop and get a known quantity at one of the national chains that have proliferated in the desert south of town? Grant says, "There's IHOP, I'm good with that." Breakfast decided.
There were (to my surprise) no slot machines in the IHOP foyer, but still, it was my lucky day. IHOP has a special part of the menu for those over 55. Grant reminds me, "Dad, since you say 'you're all about value', you should totally take advantage of your geezer status and order from that page!" Then he lamented, his own current youthful status was the worst of all possible worlds; "too young to buy beer, too old for the kiddie menu discounts". I felt so bad for him at this stage of his life, that I considered ordering a mimosa for myself and not sharing - but that would be cruel. So I had my OJ straight up along with the 2+2+2 "Over 55 Special". My very first senior discount! - and I did not even get carded.
The Loneliest Road in America (apparently US 50 took on this name after a 1986 Life Magazine article) goes west to east across Nevada and follows the old Pony Express Route transecting the majestic Basin and Range province. One travels up to the top of an alpine mountain range then drops down to dry desert lake beds and then back up another range before coming rhythmical back down to another valley floor. This route fired my imagination with many signs hinting at off-the-beaten-path type of adventures: there were immense sand dunes piled up against a mountain outside Fallon, there were numerous historic Pony Express Stations, a gravel road that promised ichthyosaur fossils in situ and a ghost town or two just 52 miles off the highway, and to feed my ever curious 'enjoy the journey' creed, there were tantalizing signs that read "BLM Green Springs 11 miles", or "Petroglyphs 3 miles" that stimulated a strong urge in me to pull off and go see what was at the end of that dirt road. Alas, we were making for home and had points to make in the small amount of time still allotted to this journey. This time through, I did not stop, but the seed has been planted. Now something else for my "To Do List"; someday I need to do a 10-day Desert Rat Adventure along US 50 from Moab, Utah to Lake Tahoe and take the time to experience the desert springs, the ichthyosaurs and the petroglyphs and sand dunes.
Of course I have had some adventures already along US 50, namely in Ely, Nevada. As an undergraduate geology major, I had several Basin and Range field trips in my junior and senior years (middle 1970's) and we had set up camp a few miles outside Ely. One evening, someone had the idea to go to the Green Lantern, a brothel on the outskirts (or as some would say offskirts) of town, where prostitution is legal; with the idea of buying T-shirts. The original Green Lantern establishment had burned down recently and so the ladies would met us inside the big house trailer. Our State University van had followed the innocuous green circles and arrows posted high on Ely's downtown light poles (city fathers did not want overt brothel advertising, but the initiated knew to follow these green circles to the brothel). Guided by 24 eyeballs scanning each lamp post, we drove up to the place of business, a bar. The Madam, clad in a black bustier and fishnet stocking met the eyes of the dozen young men or so, boiling out of the official California State vehicle; and she decided that I (an officer in Inter Varsity Christian Fellowship - mind you) was the leader of this pack, so she said to me, "Honey, first I need to see ID from everyone in your handsome group"; I am sure the Green Lantern was closely scrutinized, being the kind of highly regulated establishment it is, and she could not risk being shut down. I stammered (in my most cool kind of way), "But we just came here to buy some T-shirts". She seemed very disappointed with what I had just told her. The madam then had one of the girls start asking for sizes as she pulled Green Lantern T-shirts from behind the bar and took our money. The Madam then started to direct her attention to me once again, and cooed to me a suggestion that maybe me and some of my boys would also like a tour? [wink, wink]. My response [gulp, gulp] was something to the effect that "Oh, my dear Madam, that is so kind of you, but you see, we are all but poor college students, and most of our meager funds have just gone toward T-shirts". She continued with a smile, "But surely, you boys can pool your money and then we can draw straws to see which of you handsome gents is a winner tonight." At some point, I managed to back out gracefully with "me and my handsome gents" and get back to camp. The next day we all took a series of group pictures in the Cherry Mountains wearing our Green Lantern T-shirts.
This time through Ely, I saw neither the "Green Circle" signs nor the highly rated Basque Restaurant. I believe the Green Lantern was put out of business some years ago, but I still have my T-shirt (now too small) at the bottom of my sweater drawer plus a raft of geology field trip memories.
Highway 50 brought us into Delta, Utah at early evening. We were about to leave the Loneliest Road and join I-70, but as I told Grant, there is not a whole lot along this stretch of I-70, I think an early dinner in Delta is the right call. The steak I had in mind did not materialize, as it the place had gone out of business. We found a pizza place two blocks off the highway and settled in to split a large pepperoni.
After dinner we crossed the Severe Fault that bounds the eastern extent of the Basin and Range Province and shortly thereafter we hooked up with I-70 for a push to a campsite at Goblin Valley State Park. My idea was to cut cross country for about 20 miles on a BLM dirt road and come into Goblin Valley from the backside, it would be a nice adventure and a change from interstate highway driving. Just as the sun dropped behind some of Utah's radiant red sandstone bluffs, I found the BLM road easily enough, and it was a good gravel road across the relatively flat desert floor. As the off-road miles lengthened, so did the shadows, and about the time it became more dark than light, the road became more rock than dirt. I slipped into 4WD, flipped on the high beams and barreled along while Grant was trying to get updates on the NBA Finals Game 7. I would hit a bump, a rock or a rill, and we would be strongly jostled. Grant was having a hard time navigating around the internet while I was navigating around mesas and outcrops. One of us was enjoying the off-road adventure and one of us was not. Exasperated to the max, Grant gruffly asked, "How much longer?" I drove over another road rock in the dark and he growled in frustration.
I said, "Hey, this is just like the Disneyland 'Indian Jones Temple of Doom' ride..."
"I HATE that ride - you know that!"
I thought we were having fun - I thought wrong.
I checked my odometer, 7 more miles to Goblin Valley. But we had come up to Temple Butte Equestrian Camp. I say, "Hey, this is Temple Butte, kind of a coincidence don't you think? Indiana Jones 'Temple of Doom' and now we find ourselves at 'Temple Butte' - pretty cool?"
"Let's just stop here." I agree, out of kindness I suppose.
We set up minimal camp (ground tarp, air mattresses, sleeping bags). No matter what, Grant was going to have a bad night, but all negatives were exacerbated by the insects attracted by the nearby horse dung, and then Grant's mattress would not hold air. He soon abandoned the outdoors and tried to sleep fitfully in the passenger seat of The Q - this, our last night of camping.
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| Grant's Last [miserable] Campsite A New Day |
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| Temple Butte Utah Arriving like a real-life Indiana Jones at Temple Butte of Doom Ride |
We pack up camp quickly and are headed for Moab for a pancake breakfast. We drive for maybe a mile or less on the rough road then we hit pavement, and then the turn off to Goblin Valley State Park. We could have slept with the goblins rather than the pesky gnats - if only we had driven just a wee bit further.
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