|
|
Elko is a town with all the modern conveniences, and being in this state, gambling halls. But outside the city limits, farming and ranching is what makes this place home to most. Everywhere calves are chasing their mothers and scampering about. The sun was out reflecting the white glitter from the pastures and gave the distant mountains a shear gleam of contrast. Time to travel home, but with no rush and a weekend to go and a fishing pole in my tool kit, nature called. 92 miles (148 kilometers) to the South East is a place called Ruby Lake. After crossing Surprise Pass another valley lay before. And cattle could be scene peppering the landscape. The Ruby Mountains lay to my right, the valley to my left and the lake ahead. As the lake came into view, birds are everywhere. Ducks, geese, storks and other water fowl. The songs were exotic for the migration north was in process. At the visitors center one Ranger was on duty. The guest book on the table shown addresses from previous travelers. Most from neighboring states like Idaho, Utah and California, others from Canada and some from Europe and Asia. I asked about the fishing regulations in these waters. They were simple, 3 fish limit. And the use of dynamite prohibited. I also inquired about the road South to Ely. She said it was well maintained. So I proceeded to the boat launching area. With a chair and a beer and no one but nature I sat there all afternoon. But no fish were to be seen much less caught. On the tops of the mountains, the wind was pushing a streak of snow and ice crystals across before settling down on this side of the very steep slope. And then other times, the rumbling sound could be heard echoing off the canyon walls from an avalanche. The sun was getting low and Ely was 93 miles (150 kilometers) away. Ely had the thought of a hot dinner and a hot shower that was appealing. So I travelled south along the lonely dirt road that was smooth. But after travelling 20 miles (32 kilometers) the smooth abruptly turned into muck. The thick clay type mud attached to the tires and made me no longer able to steer or move forward. Instead with the momentum forward but gravity saying to the edge, the truck stayed forward but slid to the edge of the road in the shallow ditch and sank axle deep on the driver's side. What a mess I thought, looking at my cell phone, there was no signal, not a bleep, disregarded the Verizon guy here. The evening was approaching and with the available light from the waning sun I thought, and considered have I have food, water and a case of beer, not in bad shape at all. But since the truck wasn't going to free itself, I got started on the problem at hand. With the scissor jack and with the support of many stones I lifted the tire out of the mud and carefully placed stones as to start a path. With the back and the front tire elevated, I found and used other stones peeking up through the snow and sagebrush wasn't denied. The path was just a few feet (1 meter) long before the sun's last light and stars where natures only candle left. I rested and the cold nipped my sweated brow and thought, "wonder how cold it is?" Just so happened with all the fancy and expensive test equipment I will soon find out to the 10th of a degree. It was 33F (.5C) degrees but the road was 40F (4.44 C). And the consistency of melted chocolate or something else that I won't mention. But it was only around nine and the night was young. I checked the temperature drop over the next hour. I charted out in my mind and knew by morning this road will be like asphalt. But for good measure I stepped in the remaining path to the center of the road so to increase the surface area and heat transfer to the cold night air. And with nothing on the radio, I mean nothing; I cleaned the mud off my hands and changed to some warm clean clothes. Made the interior of the truck toasty warm with the heater, turned on a story from a download on the laptop and drifted off to dream land. I woke at first light before the sun and stepped out. The road well it was solid. With a turn of the key, into drive and went, but not down this path. I headed back to where I came from and stopped at the Visitor's center. It wasn't open and no one was around. I took one of their colorful brochures and briefly jotted down last night's ordeal. For the remainder of this trip, I go in a conservative manner. By the time I got to Elko, my phone rang. The ranger lady was thanking me for the note and sending the guys to close down the road till it's dry. I just hope nobody was out there that came in from the other side, off Highway 50. The rest of the journey was uneventful. From Elko I headed west to Carlin. From there south. On the way to Eureka a large semi-truck hauling a crane was in the same mess I was. He pulled off the road to turn around but his tires were ¾ covered, sunk deep, and no hope of getting out. Him and a local rancher were out talking and waiting for the neighbor to come over with the tractor. I stopped in Eureka for fuel and a walk. The town was hit by almost a full meter of snow during the storm. 6 dump trucks were rotating turns behind the snow plow then taking the load out of town. The plow filled the truck in about 2 minutes from the conveyer belt. At the museum I looked at the old displays. The original printing press and black and white photos from long ago. This is where highway 50 runs through, the 1st Trans American highway. Before then it was used for the stage coach and by the Pony Express. And before that the settlers and before that in Native Indians. Now it's not used much and the Lincoln Highway is nicknamed the Loneliest Road. I drove it to Ely and stopped for some Chinese food in the old mining town. At Cave Lake an ice sheet was drifting with the wind. I caught a few trout and eventually went home.
|
|
|
