Leaving Las Vegas: Nevada, Part 1

To the west at sunset

I have never been to Las Vegas beyond a layover at the airport on my way to somewhere else. In all of my memory I cannot recall even the slightest desire for it as a destination. Based on what I believe, from my distant observation, there is nothing there for me. Since I am pretty game to try new things, were I to find myself with time on my hands in Vegas, I could probably find things to enjoy: a concert, a magic act (Penn and Teller?), but in terms of planning a getaway, there will always be a long list of places I want to go ahead of it. I had to pass right through Las Vegas to make the transition onto highway 95 to Tonopah. Like a soul submitting to a right of passage, I navigated the gauntlet of casinos and pawn shops, all using every available resource and strategy to pull me through their doors. I remained steadfast in my goal: to tap this pocket of civilization for supplies and go. For Vegas, with no less than three Trader Joe's and three Whole Foods, is an oasis for the California palate in the long, bleak grocery desert that is the journey from east to west. And I have news for you: the parking lot for Trader Joe's in LV is just as tortuous and fraught with danger as those in California, and in fact, every TJs I visited from Seattle to Madison and beyond has the same bad parking lot. I don't know how to specifically describe the problem with TJs parking lots, but I'm willing to bet that you know what I'm talking about. Even a former Navy SEAL can't deal.

With Trader Joe's successfully navigated and a camper full of avocados, organic cheese, spicy hummus and kale salad (and, in the interest of full disclosure, a giant chocolate bar and a bottle of cheap wine), I fled Sin City. I left nothing in Vegas that needed to stay in Vegas (well, Harry left something they can keep). The view as I merged Pagoo onto the freeway was eerily reminiscent of Los Angeles. I passed through interchanges, strip malls, rushing cars and distracted people all enveloped in a shroud of smog, all the while nursing an urging from the depth of my soul to be elsewhere. Yup, just like LA.

I had a 200 mile journey remaining on a trek of 8,500 miles. Of all the highways in all the states I had traversed, this last 200 miles would be the most desolate. There were few oases of service on this route, limited cell phone service and, for the chugging Pagoo, no passing lane for the impatient drivers traveling from Vegas. For the entirety of my travels, Emmy, the 2002 Toyota Tacoma (and bearer of Pagoo) who started this journey with > 217,000 miles on her, had performed unfailingly. She had not so much as an under-inflated tire nor a skip of the engine for 8,500 miles---would she fail me on this last, most desperate stretch of road?

Tonopah, Nevada as you might have seen in from an airplane.
The green hay field circles to the northwest mark Eden.

Murphy's Law would seem to dictate engine failure or a flattened tire along highway 95 but we passed unscathed the burros of Indian Springs, the speed trap of Beatty and the ghost town of Goldfield. We did a u-turn in Tonopah to avoid buying gas at the fuel company from which my sister had joyfully and with much relief, retired from managing last year. I peered in the fading light at her emailed directions and hand-drawn map, one does not want to miss a turn out here: LEFT after the solar reserve or you will be taking the long way around! The second right and look for the big grey building (my brother-in-law's shop)---don't take any turns or you'll be spending the night with the polygamists down the road! Harry's paws are on the dashboard as we  arrive at my sister's house at dusk as the sun flamed orange behind the western mountains. We are both smiling. Lisa is there at the gate waving us in. The lights are on inside and a pack of tail wagging dogs tumbles out to meet our weary company. There's a shop for Emmy, a power cord for Pagoo, a frying pan full of bacon for Harry and a soft bed for me. Eden indeed.

This would be my home for the next month as I prepared for the final journey home to California. To many, the high desert of the Great Basin is stark and devoid of interesting features. In my weeks there, I became immersed in it's brave and persistent loveliness. Nevada finesses the details in fall, as the showy wildflower season has faded leaving hidden treasures of late bloomers. As the flora of the sagebrush community fades, the discovery of color among the grays and browns is joyful.

Orange globe mallow (Sphaeralcea munroana) next to the road

Unidentified Asteraceae

Western pygmy blues (Brephidium exilis)
on Sierra arnica (Arnica nevadensis)

Unidentified Onagraceae, and evening primrose, blooming
in the most inhospitable of places.

From Eden, the view is 360°. From east to west, dawn to dusk, there is always something to admire.While I favor the search and discovery of beauty at a small scale, Nevada also knows how to put on a grand show.

Storm over the mountains

The gateway to Peavine after a dusting of snow

The Super Moon sets at dawn

Lisa and I, accompanied by our pack (ranging anywhere from two to four jocular dogs), would spend the nearly four weeks of my stay there exploring as much of the area as possible.  When your starting point in 20 miles outside of Tonopah, everywhere you wish to explore is remote. It is rarely prudent to drive deep into dry washes or investigate abandoned mines without a partner, and so partners we became. We would leave Eden in the morning with GPS coordinates, water and (when we remembered) enough snacks to get us through the day. We would return with a Jeep full of rocks, salvaged finds and exhausted dogs. These are the stories of discovery, not only of the land, but the deep bonds of family. This was how I left the false glow of Las Vegas behind and found Nevada's light.

Eden in this distance as we are coming home