Tuesday, Sept 28
Ely has a Shoshone Indian Reservation and “Jail House” Casino. We’re out at toward
, 325 miles west. I called Michaeleleah and she sounded
great. I went to High School with her
100 years ago. We had art classes
together. She’s a year younger than
I. I haven’t seen her for five years. Carson City,
Mike said she’d be at work today. The house, the gates, the barn, were all unlocked so just help ourselves. She’d be back at . I think today she was training somebody else’s horses. It must be nice to live that way--her house is 500 square feet.
This road has zero litter or junk--there’s a posted $2000 fine for littering. Next comes the Illepah Reservation. Through high rolling hills we travel to
, at 51*
it’s mostly a ghost town. A beautiful
desert drive today--nobody out here but us climbing Little Antelope Summit,
7738 feet. We see lots of deer crossing
warning signs and no road fencing through the passes. The peaks are over two miles high. 20 miles later, at 72*. The radio tells us the west cost is having
record 112* heat--more than 20 degrees above normal. Eureka
My uncle Carlos--actually my mother’s twin brother, had TB in 1948 and thought he was dying in the hospital.So hetook himself to the desert and moved into an old miner shack. I think he lived out there for a year or two. How he managed water, food, and heat, I don’t know. But he got over the tuberculosis, moved to
and got a job as
a mailman so he could walk everyday to keep healthy. In those days, mailmen walked. San Diego
We visited him a few times in the desert. I thought it was odd he’d live in a see-through shack when I was 5 years old.
Police have pulled us off the road for an extra-wide oncoming truck to pass. Static electricity has attacked our shirts, noses and dog. I’d almost forgotten that stuff.
is unfortunately under construction so we aren’t taking pictures. It was a silver mining town as I recall and
this road is called “The Loneliest Road In America.” A huge backhoe blocks the opera house. Eek. Eureka
Abby’s ears are sticking straight up with static electricity. We’re laughing at her as I mop her down with “Bounce” Sheets.
We’ve now traveled 300 miles, straight as a string, and I’ve counted 18 cars besides us. We’re grumpy. We see the Piute Shoshone Reservation at Fallon, and keep on going.
Fallon looks like where I was raised in southern
barren hills--except for Springtime when the hills were covered in flowers and
grass. But not in September. California
Fallon looks like an efficiency only dirt laden town.