day 19 -- vegas to ely, NV

I skipped the obligatory ride across the hoover dam since I'd decided to head north into the heart of nevada instead of continuing down into death valley. visiting badwater in the heart of august was appealing, but really seeing the valley requires some off-roading for which the big ol' bike isn't well-suited. and given the visit-places-I'd-otherwise-not-see thing, a run across the middle of nevada made more sense. death valley and the rest of socal deserve more leisurely inspection some sunny spring. cruised the strip at the wrong time of day, and then back into the searing desert, but this time earlier in the morning and heading into the uplands sooner. watched for the elevation-sensitive band of joshua trees come and go. geology on parade...reclining mudstone and sandstone mountains on one side, lava surges on the other, from octahedral magma columns to immense pillows of lava formed from undersea eruptions (just a guess on that one). towns that are more meeting place for far-flung ranches than proper focused communities. I stopped in alamo, NV for the midmorning coke-and-snickers ice cream bar perk-up, not expecting much from the darkly tinted windows across from the gas pumps. but inside was a service station slash convenience store slash grocery store slash bank slash deli slash chinese restaurant. and way more people there than the town (such as it was) could possibly hold. the UPS guy attempting to make deliveries to folks in the restaurant instead of driving out to their ranches, high school kids idling, a guy working out some sort of post-divorce financial arrangement that would avoid a trip to far-off pioche. down through the dazzling but sun-washed-out rainbow canyon into the surprisingly green railroad town of caliente and back into the formerly mining hills to pioche. it was there that more rain-in-the-desert stymied me. up to that point I was happy to have taken US93 north toward US50 so that I could run more of the 'loneliest highway' across the state, but the alternative and even-more-isolated 'extraterrestrial highway' could possibly have steered me around the storm. as it was I started out of pioche on the last valley stretch toward US50...pointed directly into a fierce-looking thunderstorm. headed back to pioche, which is an old mining town that looks to be sliding down a steep hillside -- it even has the skeleton of a cabled incline on display. had a couple of beers at a dark dark pub with a real live intact wild west bar that was far fancier than the beer-in-a-fridge selection. looked out again...storm hadn't budged. to the cafe for battered shrimp and soup and random chatter from a hyperactive kid who wanted to be anywhere but that lunch counter. and still the storm was parked in the same place, though it had moved slightly east and the purplest out of the way.

san francisco was getting no closer, so off I went. suffice it to say that I got wet, but not that wet. enough that the leather was still damp the next day, and luggage was soaked through, but no big deal. that didn't stop me from losing the whole zen-of-rain sense...and I grew angrier when I realized there was no one to blame. I tried the storm for not moving more quickly, but that didn't make too much sense. I tried the weather report I'd halfheartedly checked, but there was indeed a solid blotch of green there too. I blamed a conspiracy that had led me to believe that it never rained in the desert. nothing worked. all told it only rained on me for about 15 minutes, but I still found myself cruising along at, um, too many mph afterwards until I remembered that there wasn't any more rain to outrun.

I had set sights on a quiet campground at the hickison petroglyphs a little farther west on the loneliest highway, but the rain was still threatening when I reached the now-casino town of ely, and in the event it rained off and on throughout the night. I really didn't need anymore dreary casino experience, but I figured it was better to stay at the 'historic' hotel nevada that the motel 6, so I parked around the corner from all the other cruisers (several with gas cans strapped to the back fender, apparently anticipating that the overplayed 'loneliest highway' bit was accurate). a free 10-oz beer at the 'club' across the street, a free hand of blackjack downstairs, and a free margarita came with the room (in which katharine hepburn may or may not have stayed), but apart from wondering who would come to nowhere to gamble I couldn't really muster much interest. I suppose it's convenient to the utah crowd, on the way for US50 aficionadoes. who knows. the ely strip is retro-70s enough (I'm sure the casinos are no older than that), and the neon reflecting off rainy streets was picturesque, but for a town crammed with motels there was a whole lotta nothing going on. slot addicts, barflies, trudging families. the hotel nevada was plastered with signs advising guests that the water may scald them. chalking this delightful quirk up to the age of the building (1929), there were poems, placards, and serious cautions on this subject, some right next to each other. something about low-flow shower heads, but dubious considering there are plenty of 19th century buildings in which the water works just fine. borderline charming/chintzy.