I hit the porta potties one last time. Back in camp, I pulled the big tarp off my van. Playa dust had found it's way underneath after all. The night sky sparkled above me. The desert sky never fails to make me smile. It was time to go. I loaded up my gear and tarps, turned on my brake lights, and inched my way out from between the tents and RV's. Once out on the road I turned on my headlights. There were only two other vehicles poking along between me and the Greeter's station, and I passed them both. I didn't see anybody at the Gate. It was right before dawn, and from campsite to highway it only took me 13 minutes to get out. I wasn't a quarter mile down the road when I spotted a trash bag on the side of the road, its contents spewed along the shoulder. Then I passed another trash bag, and then another. Between the playa and Nixon I saw way too many Kamikaze trashbags in the road, the result of careless people not tying their gear down properly. People like that gave Burning Man a bad name.
Passing through Gerlach, I saw signs protesting a proposed coal-burning energy plant that a company wanted to build in the area. Residents didn't like the idea of pollution from the plant contaminating their homes. One sign read: "Coal Power– Energy for the End Times." The early morning air was calm and brisk. The sun slowly rose over my left shoulder as I drove the long, straight road south from Gerlach. Pyramid Lake was blue and very pretty as I passed by. Just the other side of Nixon, I came upon an art car: a giant, steel mesh human head, happily tooling down the road. My gas light came on just as I was going through Wadsworth. I guess it was a good idea to borrow that gallon of gas.
I made it to Fernley at a quarter past 7, local time. The sun was bright in the east. As soon as I got in range of a cell tower, my cellphone started buzzing with text messages. I had eight messages waiting for me. I stopped at the truck stop in Fernley and called home. Everything was okay–everybody was still alive. I filled up Satori with $40 of gas at $3.09 a gallon and hit the road. It was 413 miles to Las Vegas. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was bright, the air smelled clean, and the road ahead was mostly empty. The road to Las Vegas had not changed much since my drive through in 2003. I spent my time admiring the golden Nevada landscape. I drove over a rise and into Silver Springs, in the middle of a pretty valley. I passed some lush farmlands that thinned out as I climbed into higher elevations.
The stunning blue waters of Walker Lake took me by surprise. Going through Hawthorne, I passed a lonely train depot. Hawthorne was the site of a big army ammunition storage facility, and the town was pretty proud of it, too. I kept to the speed limit passing through, but I suddenly found a county sheriff's car following me. He kept following me as I left the city limits. A couple of miles down the road, I pulled over and let him pass. Just in case he was looking for a reason to pull me over, I tied a red bandana to the bicycle on the back. It was a gorgeous, cloudless day in western Nevada. I had my CD player, but that morning I left it off. Sometimes, I like to drive with the windows down and just listen to the whoosh of the wind.
Past Luning, I came onto some open range, so I kept my eyes open. In Mina, somebody was building an extraordinary house. They set up a yacht alongside the road, then cut a hole all the way through it to form an arch for the house being built on the far side. I also passed a brothel, as well as a sign for "desert lobster." It seems a local businessman was raising fresh-water lobsters until the state closed him down, for some reason. At "Graffiti Junction," I stopped to make sure my bike was tied down securely. The landscape was desolate and wild. To the west, it looked like there was already snow on the peaks.
Back at the motel, I ran myself a hot bath and soaked in it. That's when I found a bunch of scrapes, bumps, bruises, cuts, callouses, blisters and sore spots I didn't even realize I had. The desert had taken its toll on me. I tried to call home on my cellphone, but it wouldn't charge up. It even made an ominous electric crackling noise when it kicked out. When I couldn't get a dial tone on the room phone, I realized it was because there was no cord connecting it to the wall. I complained to the front desk, but they couldn't find a spare cord. It didn't matter– the phone were set up so that I couldn't call long distance, anyway. I couldn't even get text messages. I finally said the heck with it and went on to bed.
I hoped somebody remembered to let Dicky out of that box...
Gerlach Coal Plant
Nevada Test Site
|All original content (c)opyright 2005 by Tim Frayser
Last Updated: February, 2006