Nevada – Page 2 – The MoHo and Other Traveling Tales

Back to the Desert

On I-80 between Winnemucca, NV and Wells, NV

We have spent a lot of time this past year traveling the coast and the western valleys of Oregon and California. Our little winter time jaunts to Desert Hot Springs require a lot of traveling south along interstates. One of the advantages of living in this part of Oregon is that the northern high deserts are just a skip away to the east. For this trip to Colorado, we decided to follow our infamous Highway 140, (the one we take to Medford all the time) due east toward Lakeview, over the Warner Mountains, and south to Winnemucca.

At the moment, we are on I-80 heading east from Winnemucca toward Wells, where we plan to find a resting place. Interstate traveling at its mind numbing finest, but the visions of the last evening and this morning are still fresh in my mind. We are on our way to a family reunion, and Mo’s brothers are traveling east this morning as well. Original plans included all of us leaving this morning, and Roger and Nancy planned to come south to Rocky Point to caravan with us. Instead, they traveled north to caravan with Dan and Chere, and pick up brother number three, Don on their way east past Umatilla, Oregon.

Mo and I were almost ready to go on Saturday night, with only a mid-afternoon Sunday anniversary party to attend, and we looked at each other and said, “Why wait till Monday”. The original plan also included a driving day of more than 500 miles, not something we were particularly excited about. Instead, we dropped in on the party, and dropped right back out again and were on the road by 2:30 Sunday afternoon. Made for a bit more of a rush on Sunday morning, but well worth it.

We haven’t traveled 140 east for some time, and spent much of our conversation trying to remember which routes we had taken on which trips and during which years! What we both remembered, however, was that the road east of Lakeview was narrow, but quiet and beautiful and we knew there would be someplace where we could spend the night on the boonies.

This route is the one we have taken a few times, visiting the amazing Hart Mountain Reserve, camping at the mysterious and magical Steens Mountains, and returning through the Sheldon Wildlife Refuge looking for wild horses. We love the desert, and yet somehow we had forgotten just how much we love it. The vistas opening out to nothing, the roads empty of anything but stray cattle, the spacious skies all make for spacious open mind thoughts, uncluttered. Love that.

We got gas in Lakeview, at $3.73 per gallon, after realizing that the next reasonable gas was more than 200 miles distant in Winnemucca. Driving over the Warner Mountains was quick, and in no time we were dropping down the basalt canyons toward Adel. The meadows opened up to the south of the highway, and a wide level pullover shaded by a single juniper called to us. By 6:30 pm we were settled in with the slide open, the jacks down, and dinner in the skillet. Both of us were happy to have an extra 150 miles under our belts so our Monday drive to Wells would be a manageable 350 miles or so.

The silence was beautiful, and Mo and I just relaxed, and read a bit, talked a bit, and then started laughing when we couldn’t figure out what the animals outside our rig munching happily on the grass should be called. I wrote to Jenna and hopefully she can answer me. We called them cows, but then thought that cows are only females. Then we had the conversation about what is a heifer, and what animal do you castrate to make a steer if it isn’t a cow, and it is obviously a boy.. We went down the lane with a cow moose, a cow buffalo, a cow elk, and the a cow cow, of course. Then a bull cow? like a bull elk? This is the kind of silliness that can overtake at a boondock site in the middle of nowhere.

The goal is to reach Rock Springs, Wyoming on Wednesday where we will hook up with the brothers and their rigs and camp with hookups at the KOA. Then we will all caravan east toward Laramie, and then south to Lakewood and the rest of the family. I would imagine this first night in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Oregon was possibly the quietest night we may have on the entire trip. Our only sounds were the cows and a very occasional car passing by. The stars were brilliant, even the ones low on the horizon, just as I remember from so many years ago at Hart Mountain.

This morning we were treated to high pink wispy clouds to greet the day, and then even a bit of rain between Denio and Winnemucca. I haven’t seen rain in this part of the desert for a very long time, in fact, I don’t remember ever seeing rain in this part of the high desert. I drove this morning, Mo took over at Winnemucca, and before long we will be hunting for another desert boondock site.

3 AM thoughts…and back to the Valley of Fire

I am listening to the sound of rain on the roof at the moment, around 3:30 am I think, and with sleep deciding to take a holiday around 2, I decided it might be a good time to catch up on things. We are parked at the lovely Fort Stevens State Park, on the far north Oregon coast near Astoria, in one of only two open loops, and our rig is just steps from the showers. To spare the sleeping Mo, I slipped over to the unlimited hot water for a very long shower before settling in with computer and tea to remember how it felt back in Nevada just 8 days ago.

While we were traveling in Las Vegas, I didn’t have my computer or camera with me, and of course, didn’t take time to read all the blogs I try to follow. Sometimes when I let the reading slip, I get a little bit worried about folks. What if I miss something truly earth shattering that has happened to someone I care about, even though I may have never met them? I know this is a bit silly, but then it happened again. A distant blog friend experienced a life changing moment and I missed it. It is their life and their story, so I won’t link to it here, but if you know Sherry and David you might want to be sure to check in and send good thoughts.

Blogging is a personal hobby, reading blogs has been a diversion that I enjoy, but we all know it doesn’t require the kind of commitment that up front, real life friendships require. It is somehow ephemeral, and when we slip away for a time, the world doesn’t end. At least not usually.

So when I slip away from writing, I have learned to at least try my best to catch up on my reading. I would hate to jabber away on some stupidity, all lalala about whatever is going on at the moment, completely ignoring that someone is seriously ill, or has lost their life-time pet, or worst of all, their life. Yeah, this blog is all about me, but somehow things shift a bit, and it is also about my interaction with readers as well. After all, all those comments and all those hits mean I am no longer in this thing alone. Just one of those 3am thoughts, I guess.

Now, here in the darkness of a rainy night, I will slip back into the photos of our day at the Valley of Fire more than a week ago, and remember.

Our second night at the Main Street Station was fabulous. We were moved down to the 4th floor, without the expansive views of our first night, but with only the tolerable white noise of the big fans on the casino roof just below us. We were also blessedly on a non smoking floor. To bed by 2am or so, we slept on the perfectly firm bed with a cushy top, snuggled up by a great comforter and several different kinds of pillows, soft to very fat. Take your pick.

Sunday morning we ambled down around 10 to enjoy one of the best Sunday brunches in Las Vegas, or so it said. It was wonderful, 8.95 each for an amazing spread, including unlimited pourings of champagne, with or without the orange juice. Our waitress was diligent in keeping our coffee and our champagne glasses full. The choices were just about limitless, but we did manage to keep our meal somewhat reasonable in size, picking and choosing among our favorites. Everything was scrumptious.

After that leisurely breakfast, it was time to get out of town and see the desert. The last time we were in the area, we went to Laughlin, and we also have been west of town in the Red Rocks area, and thought it might be nice to try something different. A quick check of Google maps on the phone showed the route east to Valley of Fire was a simple turn north from our Main Street location to I-15, and another simple 20 miles or so to the turn toward Lake Mead.

The desert was incredibly gorgeous on that Sunday, with brilliant skies made even more beautiful with wild clouds that threatened rain, although it never actually fell. Our first view of the Valley of Fire was lovely, but if you only pass by on the highway and maybe stop in at the visitor center, you could miss the full effect of this remnant of the Colorado Plateau. I am a red rock canyon country junkie, and had no idea there was a piece of red heaven this far south.

The visitor center was a great stop, with wonderful displays explaining the complex geology and faulting of the area. I saw familiar names that I carry in my heart, Chinle, Moenkopi, Navajo, names of the sandstone formations I am so familiar with farther north. Here, the Apache sandstone overlies Chinle, pink and yellow as well as red, a rainbow of hues that seemed especially surreal in the late afternoon light.

We drove north into the park toward the White Dome area, where I found a trail leading down a canyon and across slickrock that looked like pastel watercolors. Again, only the iPhone to try to capture that color, but Mo had her Fuji mini camera as well, and took a few shots while I was running around oohing and aahing at the amazing color and formations.

We checked out the campground as well, 30 bucks a night for hookups, with several spaces big enough for two or three rigs with unobstructed views of the desert beyond. There were plenty of vacancies, and we added this spot to our list of places that we might like to camp someday. It would be great to just hang out here and have time to wander among the rock formations.

We took a circular route back, traveling east toward Lake Mead and then along the North Shore road into North Las Vegas. The drive was so much fun in the little Fiat, and the gorgeous sunset over the lights of Las Vegas as we dropped back into the valley was the perfect finale.

The next morning, Monday, we explored our own casino a bit more. The one thing we didn’t like about Main Street Station was the lack of simple restaurants. We only had the big buffet and the fancy restaurant and brewery, but no place to get a morning cup of coffee, not even a pot in the room to brew tea! As we were leaving, we discovered that the Main Street Station is linked with a closed skywalk to the California casino across the street, and there were half a dozen different venues, just steps away from our room that included espresso and bakeries, little coffee shops, and lots of other goodies. We were really happy with our choice to stay Downtown at Main Street rather than on the strip and would choose it again. Especially since it is so easy to get out of town entirely from this area.

Once again, we did the cattle call seating option for Allegiant, with a bit less success this time. Our number was too high to get seats together, and I ended up in the very back of the plane, in an aisle seat across from the big exit door with no window at all. A bit claustrophobic to say the least. We arrived home a bit late to rain and snow in Medford and snow on the pass. Gotta love winter coming finally in February, I guess. Overall, the trip turned out to be a delightful little winter escape.

Sinning in Sin City

It sounds good, but really, at this stage in life, sinning amounts to little more than eating way too much good food and dropping a few bucks into the slot machines. But there is nothing quite like a trip to Vegas to get a taste of all the excesses available to anyone who has the time and money. The most excessive part of this short little whirlwind trip for us was popping for tickets to Elton John’s concert at Caesar’s Palace, The Million Dollar Piano.

For years the music of Elton John was part of the background of my life. I enjoyed it, but never paid much attention. As years went by, however, I would hear something amazingly melodic and rich and sure enough, it was Elton John. I also heard that he put on a concert rivaled by few that was worth seeing. I think the first time I tried to get tickets was back in the early 90’s, in the days when phones would do automatic redial trying to get through that busy signal. By the time I got through, the tickets were sold out. That story was repeated a few times, more recently when he was playing in Portland and other venues in the northwest. Always long gone by the time I got through.

Now, however, he is playing in Vegas. Maybe that is a sign of the times, when all the old stars finally make there way to the Vegas stages. Motley Crue and Chicago are even there right now. The nice thing about this, though, is that there are enough shows scheduled that getting tickets is not an impossible dream. Hence the four day trip to Las Vegas. Allegiant Airlines flies out of Medford, direct, for a very reasonable price. The airline tickets were cheaper than the concert tickets at least. Cut rate airlines are an experience of themselves. Buying online, we discovered that if we wanted an assigned seat, it was an extra 8.95 for each leg of the flight, if we wanted water in flight, it was 2 bucks a bottle. If we wanted to check in prior to boarding, we had to pop for the assigned seat. Mo and I were reeling from the concert tickets and decided to skip the seat assignments. No big deal, right? It was only an hour and a half flight anyway.

The reality was funny, though, like the old days with Southwest airlines cattle calls, we had to get to the airport early enough to hopefully get a low number for the lineup. Once on the plane, we could take whatever seats were left by the time we got there. We checked no baggage and brought peanuts for sustenance.

Arriving in Vegas after ten pm, we caught the rental car shuttle to the state of the art new rental car facility about 7 miles south of McCarren field. I was impressed. The whole car rental experience was simple and straightforward, at least until we attempted to open the windows of our tiny compact car, a neon yellow Fiat 500. It also took Mo a few miles to discover that the reason the engine kept winding up was because shifting was required. No clutch, just shift by hitting the joy stick on the console. Sirius radio and heated seats added to the delight of a tiny car that somehow felt pretty darn roomy inside and had lots of zip on the road.

Mo and I haven’t been to Vegas since 2004 when we flew down and spent a day in town before driving for a week or so around Death Valley. We decided it might be fun to stay downtown near Fremont street and the Main Street Station turned out to be a great choice. On the first night we had a room on the 14th floor facing north, right over the freeway and the railroad tracks. No earl plugs? ahh. I had no idea I would need them inside a big hotel. Somehow we ended up on a smoking floor as well, but a phone call to the desk was worthwhile since the next morning we were moved down to the non smoking, much quieter 4th floor for the rest of our stay.

We enjoyed a slow Saturday morning walking Fremont street before we boarded the sleek and efficient SDX bus to the strip. We spent the rest of the day walking the strip, in and out of all those incredible casinos that are like a huge Disneyland for grown-ups. Grown ups with more money than we had, for sure, but I still really loved strolling through Neiman Marcus fingering Oscar de la Renta gowns, Jimmy Choo shoes, and Prada bags. I like a good bag. Two hundred bucks is a big deal, but when I picked up that 2,800 Prada bag I wondered about my daughters and how one purse could pay a couple of big mortgage payments, or a pair of shoes could pay for some badly needed dental work. Vegas is definitely a place to feel the ridiculous imbalance that is part of our culture now. There were lots of homeless folks in our end of town as well.

After miles and miles and hours and hours of walking, we settled in for the “sin” part, a great Italian supper at Trevi’s in the Forum Shops at Caesar’s Palace. I had some kind of succulent drink that should have been on a cruise ship with red italian wine, peach liqueur and who knows what else. It was decadent and delicious. We just sat there a long time enjoying our meal and the changing (fake) skies that turned from dawn to dusk several times as we sat there in the courtyard. I don’t think there is any place better than Vegas for people watching, either, and we were fabulously entertained by the shifting crowd passing by on the mall.

Finally it was time for the show, and we filed in with several thousand other excited folks, dressed in everything from jeans to spandex to sequins. I knew I had been sequestered too long in the back woods when I realized I was gawking at the gorgeous young girls wearing what must be the latest “thing”. Their dresses were stretchy like a girdle, covered the part from the breasts (barely) to the panty line (barely), with platform shoes that had heels with more inches then their skirts. It was great fun, but sure did remind me that I am in my sixties and fashion is completely irrelevant at this stage.

Once inside the theater, we could feel the excitement building. I was surprised that the crowd was so diverse, all ages, all styles, and all seemingly thrilled to be there. When EJ came on stage, the roar was huge. He was dressed tastefully in a sparkly black tuxedo, with a nod to his old self expressed in some crazy bright red tennis shoes and a subdued pair of barely colored glasses. He started with “Benny and the Jets”, not one of my favorites, but the lights and the music and the sound built throughout the show in a way that kept me alternately in goose bumps and tears. You have no idea how much this music is in the background of our lives till you hear the melodies and find yourself singing the words.

His voice is deeper and richer, and while he doesn’t hit the high notes the way he once did, there is a strength and quality in his singing that is breathtaking. Two young men from Croatia on electric cellos, (appropriately called the Two Cellos) expanded the richness of the music and his percussionist took my heart away, even his tambourine sounded like a full scale orchestra. And yes. The Piano. The Million Dollar Piano. I never heard anyone play a piano like this, truly. Rachmaninoff maybe. I know, apples and oranges, but still. Goosebumps and tears. It was not just a rock-n-roll concert. It was incredible. Of course, I wanted it to never end.

We left with the crowd with our eyes filled with lights and our ears with sound, enough that the lights and sounds of Vegas seemed almost irrelevant. Caesar’s Palace is right next to the famous Bellagio Fountains, which obligingly started up their musical water dance in time for us to enjoy. On our way south along the strip, I saw many of those girls in those skinny dresses and high shoes, tugging at the dresses and carrying their shoes! Another reason to maybe skip this particular fashion trend!

We found our SDX stop and climbed up to the upper deck for the slow ride back downtown, thoroughly enjoying the street shows below us at each stop. It was a great day, but we both agreed that the next day was going to be our chance to get out of town and away from all that glitz and craziness. Vegas is great but the desert calls.

Just a quick note here as well, I didn’t pack a computer or even a camera for this trip. Managed to get these photos with my iPhone. It is rather amazing what a telephone can do, but of course, it ain’t the Nikon.

Pahrump to Fernley and home to Rocky Point

I can’t believe that I am once again sitting at my desk in Rocky Point, looking out the window at snow. The snow came down in big fat flakes all day yesterday but didn’t stick, but this morning we woke to more than a good inch covering everything as if it were winter and not April. Somehow luck was with us all the way home, and we slid into Rocky Point on bare pavement under blue skies on Tuesday afternoon. This storm blew up the next day and now will be with us for a few more days according to the weather predictions. I am hoping that all the folks on the road heading north are warm and dry and avoiding this latest round of weather from the Pacific.

We left Pahrump early in the morning on Monday, driving hard and straight north on Highway 95, through the tiny town of Goldfields, and passing Tonopah, the Nye county seat, in the blink of an eye. Somewhere in all my western travels, I don’t think I have traveled this route, usually preferring to go west to 395 in California. We were rewarded with decent gasoline prices, at 3.69 per gallon for the $172.00 fill-up in Fallon, Nevada. I heard rumors of prices well above 4 bucks on 395, but will have to see what Donna and Russ have to say about that, since I believe they traveled that route south in their pretty new Lazy Days called “Therapy”. I think we must have passed each other somewhere close to Susanville.


*Goldfields, Nevada in the process of restoration by the local folks*	*We were on the other side of Tonopah before we knew it*

The skies were clear all the way north, but the temperatures were only in the high 40’s as we traveled through Nevada. Our plan was to boondock for the night, but when we reached Fallon, it was still only 3 in the afternoon, and once on the major east-west route of ALT 50, boondock sites were in short supply. The lovely BLM land, great for boondocking, all seemed to be considerably south of Walker Lake, another spot that I would have liked to explore, but it was much to early in the day. Like horses heading for the barn, we were on a roll and wanted to get as close to Reno as possible before stopping for the night.

A quick search on Streets, turned up a CampClub USA park west of Fallon in Fernley, Nevada, right on our route. My visions of camping in the open desert on a big alluvial fan with never ending vistas was only partially realized. I was still on an alluvial fan in the desert, with a decent view only obstructed a bit by the RV next to us. By 4pm we were settled in to a very nice little park called Desert Rose. In addition to our CampClub discount, this park had just about every other club discount, including Escapees. It wasn’t fancy, but clean and lined with level concrete pads, new trees, grass, and “the best cable TV this side of Michigan”, according to the very gregarious caretaker. We even had decent Wi-Fi where I was able to post the last couple of blog entries.

We slept well, after staying up much too late catching up on cable news and the internet. Tuesday morning dawned clear and gorgeous again, if a bit cool, and we were on the road by 7:30. Our route was straightforward, through Reno on Alt 50 to I-80 to 395 north to Susanville, Alturas, and then on 39 home to Klamath Falls. The skies were still gorgeous, with puffy clouds and snowy mountains in the distance as we approached our mountain home.

We love to camp at Medicine Lake, and the snow covered barren slopes of Glass Mountain, formed entirely of black obsidian, beckoned us as we passed the familiar turn-off on our route.

Once in Klamath Falls, we gassed up the MoHo at Fred Meyer for 3.72 per gallon, picked up some vet only cat food for Jeremy, and took the Lakeshore route home so that we could stop in at Moore Park for our free dump site. Klamath Lake seemed especially full, and the A Canal delivering water from the lake to the farmers on the Project was also full, indicating that for the first time in a couple of years, we are having a good “water year”. The farmers will get their irrigation from the Project, and the salmon will have enough water to make it back up the Klamath River. We will have enough water to get the kayaks back out in Recreation Creek hopefully very soon, at least if this snow ever melts.

Once home, we were happy to see that almost all the snow was melted and the road looked fine. The grass was starting to green up except for extensive areas where the voles have tunneled a virtual city protected by our 4 month snow cover. Daffodils are starting to appear, and the buds on the trees look good. Mo backed the rig into her waiting berth and in no time we were unloaded and back home with the fire going, checking the recorded shows on the DVR and laughing at Jeremy racing around the house after all the invisible ghosts that must have taken over while we were gone.

Something wonderful about rounding this bend in the road and seeing our home turf across the lake

I spent all day yesterday washing bedding and rugs and clothes from the MoHo and tried to get adjusted to being back home while I watched the snow fall and remembered the 100 degree afternoon in Laughlin. Sometimes that re-entry can be ambivalent; I’m so happy to be home, yet somehow feel a bit disoriented. Mo doesn’t seem to get as confused by all this as I do, and she just settled in easily to our home routines without a hitch. By this morning, however, all seemed just fine to me, in spite of the deep snow. I have no clue if I will be working next week, thanks to the government shutdown rumors, but either way, it’s good to be home.

Pahrump, Shoshone, and the China Ranch

The drive from Laughlin up the hill to Highway 95 toward Vegas is steep, but not really very long and we rolled up the hill in the morning sunlight. Another possible stop on our route was Boulder City, where a soil scientist friend had promised a cold drink and a copy of his presentation on the Spirit Mountains. Again, it was not to be. I only heard about the RV search at Hoover Dam after we had already decided to re-route around Las Vegas traffic as much as possible and skip the drive across the new bridge at the dam.

The drive to Pahrump was short, just under 160 miles, and the road was great. We managed to skirt the worst of the Las Vegas traffic on the south side of the city, staring in awe at the miles and miles of low brown stucco homes covering the desert. Highway 160, west from Las Vegas, is part of the Old Spanish Trail and winds through the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area and crosses the beautiful Spirit Mountains at Mountain Springs. Once through the pass, the wide desert vista of the Pahrump Valley opens up to the west. As Mo drove the smooth, even highway, I started checking out the Streets and Trips listings of Camp Club USA parks in Pahrump. We called a couple of places, discovering that once again, no one had cable, but the Charleston Peak Winery RV Park was on our list, and had an opening for our club, 1/2 price at 20 bucks once more.

There are many RV parks in the area, and we toured around town checking them out the next day, but still were happy with our choice, especially at the price. Once settled in on the high fan above town, with an unbroken view of Charleston Peak to the east, we were especially tickled. The swimming pool was closed for the evening, but it was just a few hundred yards to the tasting room at the “only” or “first” winery in Nevada. I am still not sure which, but I suppose I could look that up eventually. The winery said one thing and the chamber said another, so which is true?.

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Seven tastings are offered for free, and even though they no longer grow their own grapes except for a very small vineyard, they made some award winning cabernet from Sonoma grapes. The original vineyards planted were destroyed a few years ago by wild horses. Mo stayed with Abby and I enjoyed sitting in the unpretentious, intimate little tasting room with award winning wine while Mo settled for a glass of chardonnay in the MoHo.

The evening was much cooler than any we have experienced in a couple of weeks, with a wild, blustery wind blowing across the desert. I’m not quite sure why, but even in that wind our slide topper didn’t seem to flap too much. Maybe it’s a different kind of construction than some. So far it hasn’t been a problem. Charleston Peak was brilliant snowy white against the dark cloudy skies to the east, with the western skies clear enough for a gorgeous sunset.

Sunday was our day to relax and explore more of the area south and west of Pahrump. When we traveled to Death Valley in 2004, we had a rented car, (pre MoHo days!) and spent a lot of time exploring the park. It was time for something different, and with the help of the excellent Discover Pahrump brochure, we mapped out a route.

West of Pahrump, Highway 372 changes to 178 when you cross into California, crossing a small range of mountains and opening up to another valley. The tiny community of Shoshone lies in the heart of the valley, a pleasant stop for folks traveling farther west or north into Death Valley. It was a nice stop for us as well, and with the price of gas, we were glad we had filled up the tracker back in Nevada and a mere 3.69 per gallon. Shoshone is full of crusty characters, and has a history of fascinating people. The museum there is tiny, but wonderful, with a special section devoted to Death Valley Women, with photos, newspaper articles, and stories. In the back of the museum are the collection of bones once thought to be mammoth bones, but later identified as several different animals probably washed into the Pleistocene lake from several different areas.

Shoshone lies at the edge of the ancient lake, and the area is riddled with soft sediments from the old lake bed, then uplifted and eroded into washes and gorges and mesas, surrounded by more wild volcanics, ash flow tuffs, and even obsidian. Suddenly in the cliffs, we saw caves that were obviously man made, and got out to explore. Later, the museum volunteer pointed me up a dirt road west of Shoshone to view more of these man made caves. Near town, in addition to a very strange and wacky looking cemetery, we found what was left of hand carved homes inhabited by desert dwellers in the 20’s and 30’s. They looked ever so much like homes carved out of the volcanic tuffs in the Cappadocia region in Turkey. Certainly not as old, and not as artistic, but the idea was the same. Carve out a safe home, warm in winter, cool in summer, using what is available.

Apartments carved in stone in the desert near Shoshone, maybe a little over 80 years old?

click here for many more photos of the area around Shoshone and the cave homes.

Apartments carved in stone in Cappadocia, maybe over 1200 years old?

Click here for more photos of the fantastic home in the Cappadoccia region of Turkey

After exploring the cave apartments, we continued up the wash toward the volcanic hills. The road ended after a few miles, but yielded a wonderful array of blooming wildflowers.

Yes, Mo and I did plenty of tent camping before we got the first MoHo in 2005

Back on the highway, we continued south toward the small community of Tecopa, site of several hot springs resorts. I say “resort” with tongue in cheek, because these places were not fancy in the least, just dusty campgrounds with faded signs that said “hot mineral baths” or “massage”. The springs are known for their healing properties, and have been used by humans for centuries, but they didn’t look all that tempting to me. My favorite spring is still up in the mountains of eastern Oregon, in the middle of a meadow at Hart Mountain. But that’s another story, prior to MoHo days, when Mo and I tent camped up there.

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Beyond Tecopa to the south and east on the Spanish Trail, is the desert oasis of China Ranch. The road into the valley is twisting and winds between fantastical apparitions of the badlands. Once through the tiny canyon, the small valley opens up, green and lush with date palms and irrigation. It wasn’t very clear about where to go, and we followed a dirt road and a sign that pointed to the gift shop. The parking lot was almost full, but the gift shop was very small and didn’t seem to be near the date palms at all. There were a few signs pointing to the river, but we really had no idea where to go, and of course with Abby, we needed to check on the dog friendly areas, if they existed.

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I went into the tiny, crowded gift shop, where one person was busy making date shakes, and no one else seemed to be around. I finally asked a customer if they had any idea of what you were supposed to do in this place and she gave me the 50 cent trail brochure. Ahha!! No restrictions on dogs! We didn’t even see a leash sign, but kept Abby on her leash anyway. The maps on the brochure were fairly primitive, and even as a map maker I had a hard time figuring out where to go. We ambled up the lane toward the date palms, trying to find a circular route which eluded us, and trying to avoid the hot badlands which didn’t sound all that great on this hot mid afternoon.

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The palms were beautiful, graceful and gentle in the desert. Each variety had an informative sign explaining it’s origin, something we had seen at the Oasis in Indio, but of course here everything was much more rustic and casual. After hiking an hour or so, we walked back to the shop for a cold drink. I kept thinking I wanted a date shake, but every time I would slip inside the line was too long, and the poor guy was still doing everything by himself. Mo and I settled for a cold diet pepsi and some time on the shady bench outside the store.

Our trip home followed the original path of the Old Spanish Trail back to Highway 160 south of Pahrump. There are great signs about the trail in two places, but each of them comes up suddenly with no warning, so you have to be ready to whip in or turn around to read them. It was sobering to stand in that wide open, hot, dry desert basin, with range after range of rugged mountains in every direction and envision hardy travelers following this path from Abiquiu, New Mexico to Los Angeles in 1829. John C Fremont, another hero of mine, passed on this trail in 1844. In 2002 it was designated by Congress as a National Historic Trail. Our circular route back to Pahrump followed much of this path, and even I-15 follows along the historic trail for some distance in Nevada.

Once home again in the late afternoon, we settled in to reading and relaxing before our planned outing to the Pahrump Nugget Steakhouse for their highly touted best steaks around. Sometimes Mo and I skip lunch entirely and eat a very early supper, but again, this time we were considering Abby and our opportunity to eat out required dark night skies. The casino was fairly quiet on a Sunday night, but the restaurant was full to the brim with a big bunch of bikers who were staying in a nearby hotel. At first we though the whole idea might have been a mistake when the waitress said there would be an hour wait. The restaurant didn’t even look full, but all the wait staff was in the back room with the bikers. We said we would be happy to sit in the bar, actually just a couple of tables next to the restaurant, and settled in to watch all the frustration of the employees trying to deal with a lot of people with not a lot of staff. Finally we managed to get a couple glasses of wine and then a sweet young man, who turned out to be the off duty chef, came over and took our order. Once they figured out that someone needed to wait on us, everything went great. My steak was perfect, and I have 3/4 of it left for our dinner tonight.. Once back home, we felt like it was a perfectly lovely day and we were ready to settle in to the slight evening breeze.

Our trip is coming to a close. As I was writing this entry, the wild crest of the Sierra Nevada Mountains opened up to the west, and the snow capped ranges of western Nevada are framing my view to the north as we approach Walker Lake. Not sure yet where we will stop tonight, but I do hope it is on a big alluvial fan somewhere in the Nevada desert, with a view for miles and no lights to be seen.