Waning Gibbous Moon
Major’s Place is a bar/hunters’rooming house/RV park on US 50 near its intersection with US 93. It’s a little quirky, but in a good way. The bar is decorated with dollar bills on the ceiling and walls. The rooms are on the dingy side. The grounds sport all kinds of interesting old accoutrements, as well as the Sun-bleached horns of dead deer, elk, and sheep.
Folks around these parts sure can shoot. If I was furrier, I’d be worried.
Just past Major’s Place begins the climb to Connors Pass. The ascent was complicated, first by two trooper-escorted wide load caravans that took up both lanes of traffic. (I squeezed behind a guardrail for safety). And secondly by a heavy equipment work crew that was aggressively removing most of a steep hillside at the top of the pass. Big boys with toys.
I was pretty bushed when I crested the summit. A long line of eastbound cars was waiting their turn to go while the giant machines ripped down massive boulders from the dusty slopes. Two friendly dudes from Sacramento were interested in my walk. They got out of their car to chat. A nice lady from Santa Rosa volunteered to take our picture. History was made.
The downhill was a heck of a lot easier, of course, but I struggled anyway at the end of a long day. Near Steptoe Valley, a dadgum mountain-size killer grey cloud attacked me.
This attack had to be personal because there was nobody else but me around for fifty miles in any direction. That son of a gun tore loose lightning and thunder over and over not to mention two hours worth of raging raindrops right on my head. I got off the road, pulled on my raingear, sat on my campstool, and hid under my umbrella for the duration. Fun, fun, fun.
I can’t wait to dry out my tent, eat some hot food, and rest for a day in Ely tomorrow. I am a tired old man and Nevada is kicking my butt. Where’s breakfast?
Peace, Love, and Thunderbolts,