So a guy, to get off his feet among other things [like replacing the stolen titles and getting a tire illegal to repair in California [not that we were going there anyway] and impossible, due to a lack of investment in infrastructure aka a tire repair machine, to repair in Gerlach] took Monday off for a drive to Winnemucca across, the desert being damp, the High Road
with burnt burner detritus west of
Sulphur [which, in 1973, appeared as below but now is all
scraped off]
while Jungo, once a lively hotel and railroad stop, has nothing, nothing at all so on
into Winnemucca and after the DMV and the tire from there to Auburn [or Auld Lang Syne or Dun Glen] Peak
![Dun Glen]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dun_Glen,_Nevada#/media/File:Chafee_Nevada_1908.jpg){kind=link}
to visit Radar Ranch for a memorable lunch of guacamole and veggie tacos followed by a tour
of the auld lang premises, pleased to find the studio [not shown], repurposed
as a meditation hall, feeling much as it once did. Off the mountain at nearly three
I descended
for gas in Mill City, around the north end of Rye Patch Reservoir
and west over Imlay Summit where on the down side I passed a jolly crew [“livin’ the dream”]
salvaging some sort of heavy equipment before Rosebud Canyon, Rabbithole Spring
and the High Road, where in a pothole at The Dip I dislodged the air cleaner, setting off the
‘check engine’ light, which has remained on ever since…possibly because, leery of stopping,
I drove some thirty miles of graded gravel before putting it back on.
Tuesday was filled with temporarily wrapping up the shed-shed project,
stuffing stuff away and loading up for the next day’s
trip down the desert [with a small detour to place festival seating at the Sand Pass Ruins]
and over the hill where I figured the “Road Closed 12 MI. Ahead” sign at Blue Canyon just had to be kidding. Nine miles later it turned out it hadn’t been, though “Road” must have recently opened as the two clogged lanes were by then crawling slowly past the remains of a burnt semi trailer at Gold Run and oh so gradually picked up speed. Not overly late I called in
from Heather Glen [not shown], made it to Benicia in time for burritos and later still we
went downtown with Enrico [just in from Radar via Reno and Nevada City] for a sentimental sidewalk dinner at Gaby’s, the Union having been the site of our first dinner upon taking possession of 120 – 128 West H Street in September of 2000…just in time to begin the Bushwhack Years.
Nice ride over to Radar and back on the High Road and Rosebud…. getting up there and out there!
Good memories of some tours we’ve made in the vicinity.
Festival seating at Sand Pass is a nice addition.
“the Bushwhack years”…how quaint to remember those halcyon days of mere incompetence instead of sheer, evil menace. That said, .I had this very disturbing thought today: what if someday in the future we will look back on these days as something sort of innocent and benign….after all, as recent history has so aptly shown, even when things are bad, they could always get worse….
Looks like you had some lovely road time.
Please do tell us more about the festival seating at the Sand Pass.
Your “road closed” story reminds me of a slightly similar road closed story. I was with my family, probably around 10 years old, perhaps a bit less, Mom, Dad, and siblings 2- and 4-years younger. We were probably in a Pontiac station wagon. It was well into Spring and we were driving through the Colorado mountains. Whatever our destination my father had found that if we just went across Independence Pass it would be a lot closer, so we headed there. There was a fairly unprepossessing sign that said “Independence Pass Closed”. In the complete absence of snow my father said, “It doesn’t look closed–we’ll try it.” As we reached some elevation snow began to appear on each side of the road, then rather suddenly in began to encroach onto the pavement. Finally the road ahead of us simply disappeared in a broad field of snow. What remained was narrow and one side was a fairly steep and long downward incline. Mom and the three of us were told to get out of the car while Dad turned it around with really less than enough room, but he succeeded moving just inches in each direction at a time. Mom confessed later that she was certain he would go off the road and she would be facing the night alone on a snowy mountain pass with her three children. The ride back down was uneventful and very quiet. So I always believe “road closed” signs.