‘It’s totally empty,’ says an AAA counselor. There are no points of interest. We don’t recommend it.’ The 287-mile stretch of U.S. 50 running from Ely to Fernly, Nev., passes nine towns, two abandoned mining camps, a few gas pumps and the occasional coyote. ‘We warn all motorists not to drive there.’ says the AAA rep, ‘unless they’re confident of their survival skills.’
Life magazine, July 1986
If you find yourself making the trek across Nevada on Hwy. 50 and you feel lonely, you missed the point. As someone who is now traveling alone, I found more camaraderie with my fellow strange travelers here than just about any other road I’ve ridden. Since there are so few people here, you’re afforded the opportunity to become friendly with strangers on or in their vehicles. I passed a couple in a silver Miata with the top down, and we waved at each other. Then when they passed me as I was getting gas, we waved again. Finally when we had to wait for the pilot car to drive us through a construction zone, we waved and chatted it up. They were my waving buddies. Fun!
One does feel like a bit of a survivalist on this road, but as any half-crazed totally-prepared survivalist will tell you, the key to making it through a hostile environment alive is a good small community. If communities are born from friendly gestures like a wave, then I feel like I formed a temporary one today with a few other motorists on what I would call one of the waviest roads in America. My plan was to camp tonight at Great Basin National Park, but Ely caught me in its kitchy grip. Ely is pronounced EEE leee if we are to trust the word of the friendly fellow manning construction traffic mentioned earlier. He seemed knowledgeable about the region, although underneath his reflective vest, he was wearing a t-shirt extolling the virtues of finding corn in excrement. I had been listening to the new Sarah Silverman audiobook, Bedwetter, on the ride today, so such scatological humor, if bewildering, fit the day’s tone nicely. Anyway, I am not camping in a National Park. I am in Ely for the night. As I rolled into town I was enchanted by the Historic Hotel Nevada, built in 1922. So I booked a room overlooking the less historic Jailhouse Motel / Casino. Yes, I liked the idea of camping tonight, but the combination of a motorcycle discount, shoddy yet serviceable WiFi, and lots of road weary bikers with whom I could commiserate proved to sway my judgement toward keeping that tent packed yet another day.
No comments:
Post a Comment