Day 38 – Pony, Lincoln and Fifty
Today was quite possibly the most beautiful day of the trip so far. The pictures are up and if you haven’t made a habit of checking them, do it this time. You don’t have to have skill when the scenery and the road are this beautiful.
I started off in Carson City, Nevada’s state capital. There’s not much to this town and I’d be willing to bet that it’s the smallest state capital in the country. Since running out of fuel might be an issue, I installed little eyelets on my floor and bought a gas can, bunjeeing it fast.
I found myself on the Pioneer Route of the Lincoln Highway. That would take me to Dayton and then to Fallon, if I would have stayed with it.
Oh, I’d be back on the main alignment of Lincoln Highway soon enough, but first, I wanted a little diversion.
See, I thought that Nevada Route 2B was somehow either Old US 50 or Old Lincoln Highway. I also thought that it was paved.
I was wrong on all three counts.
Just east of Dayton, Route 2B, now known as Fort Churchill Road, heads south and then east. It’s 16 miles to Fort Churchill and you pay dearly each and every one of those 16 miles.
About a quarter mile into it, the road turns to dirt. It’s fairly well maintained, but that’s if you’re in a car, or better yet, a truck. I was on a Vespa. The road was mostly “washboard.” I’d encountered these types of roads before on Route 66, but for some reason have never mentioned them here.
I hate washboard roads. With a huge, big fat passion. Hate them. This was horrible. Sometimes the road was packed dirt and that was ok, but then out of no where, washboard! Or really deep sand that nearly threw me a couple of times.
I saw four cars over these 16 miles. They all waved.
While the road completely sucked, the scenery did not. To my left were high jagged rocks. To my right was the lush green valley of the Carson River. The jagged rocks would sometimes form cliffs and sometimes the river would come right up next to the road. At 10mph, you get to take in a lot.
Those 16 miles took well over an hour. I was making horrible time. 30 miles in about two and a half hours. There was no way to pick up the pace.
Ahead of me, I saw the ruins of … something. I wasn’t sure what it was. And then suddenly the road was paved and I was at Fort Churchill. The ruins were the old fort. The fort was a stop on the Pony Express. And while this little dirt road was never the Lincoln Highway or US 50, it was the Pony Express Route. And that kind of trumps them all in my book.
Since these were ruins, there was clearly not much left of the fort. What was left was fenced off and you weren’t allowed to enter. I understand the reasoning, but still, it’s a bummer.
Oddly, I know very little about the Pony Express. I do know that it only ran for a year or so. And also that the roads seem to be in much the same shape as they were in 1860 – crappy dirt.
I visited the fort grounds for a bit and then headed east on the paved road, hanging a right on US 95 Alt to see something called Buckland’s Station. This too turned out to be a Pony Express station.
Well, not the pretty white house you see in the picture. The original Pony Express station is gone. This newer white house was built by Buckland using wood that came from Fort Churchill when it was abandoned by the army.
I turned around and took US 95 Alt North, crossing US 50 to Fernley, a town on an older alignment of US 50, now called Alt US 50. This is supposedly the start of the Loneliest Road in America. But it’s a four-lane with a whole lot of traffic, so I sort of disagree.
Just west of Fernley was Ragtown Crossing. This wasn’t a town – it never was. Ragtown was the first place to get water for the pioneers who crossed the aptly-named “40 Mile Desert.” At best it was a tent city. And at one time it boasted a 200-strong cemetery. That was all wiped out in a flood.
Here, around Fallon, is where the Loneliest Road can almost begin. However, I’m not even sure if it still deserves that name. It’s a busy little road. At a point just after Fallon, upon reaching the salt flats, the road shrank to a two-lane.
Along each side of the road, people have spelled out words and phrases using the near-black rocks scattered around the highway. Most of them were names or dates. A few caught my eye, like “ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US.”
That one made me quite happy. Here’s the story.
On a map, the road from Fallon to Austin doesn’t hold much. Maybe a few towns are named, but even they are either ghost towns or a small cluster of old houses. That’s why I brought the extra gas, right?
However, the “town” of Middlegate (actually, only a roadhouse) sold gasoline. I was only down to a half tank, but fueled up anyway. They had old style pumps and no way to read them inside. Inside, the place was basically a saloon.
The folks sitting around smoking were rough-looking individuals. They drove pick ups and rode Harleys. I was on a scooter getting five bucks worth of gas. Needless to say, I didn’t stick around long.
This place has a history though. Back in 1860, it was a Pony Express station.
I had been following the Pony Express Route from Sand Springs, about ten miles back. I would follow it for another mile to The Shoe Tree.
Route 66 has a couple of really nice shoe trees, but this one completely takes the cake. I’ve never seen anything like it.
What I knew was going to be the best stretch of road today was just ahead of me. Nevada Route 722 runs for just under 60 miles. It leaves US 50 just east of Middlegate and rejoins it just west of Austin.
Nevada 722 originally was a realignment of the Lincoln Highway. See, originally, the Lincoln Highway ran about where today’s US 50 is located. But in 1924, that alignment was abandoned in favor of what is now 722. When US 50 came into being, it used this road. That is, until 1967 when US 50 abandoned the “new” alignment of the Lincoln Highway in favor of the abandoned alignment of the Lincoln Highway, bringing it all full circle. It was never the Pony Express Route. Confused? Yeah, me too. Here’s a map to help.
But that doesn’t matter. All you and I need to know is that what is now called Nevada Route 722 is, by far, the Loneliest Road in America. It’s twice-historic (being both Old Lincoln Highway and Old US 50), so you’d think it would be traveled more. But it’s not. It’s not even signed as being historic.
Remember the 16 mile stretch of dirt road? While on it, I saw four cars. While on this 60 mile stretch of 722, I again saw only four cars. This was desolate.
But each turn was amazing and breath-taking. There were no towns along this alignment. There were hardly any houses. It was just The West. The terrain has changed little, if at all, from how it looked hundreds of years ago. It felt (and was) prehistoric.
This road has twists and turns like you wouldn’t believe. It’s also got long, long straight stretches. For some reason, this road is basically forgotten. But honestly, its beauty far outweighs anything else this region of US 50 can hand you.
Yes, it takes a little longer, but it’s more than worth it. I would do it again in a heart beat. And you should too!
It all ended with a 15 mile straight stretch. When I came upon, I glanced at my odometer and counted how many miles it was until I reached the end of the stretch. Fifteen miles. Crazy.
How this section of old road gets unceremoniously forgotten whenever anyone talks about “The Loneliest Road in America” is beyond me. This road should be heavily celebrated. It’s amazing. Possibly my favorite stretch of nonRoute 66 out there.
It’s not that everything turned crappy after Route 722 dumped me off near Austin, NV. Hardly. US 50/Lincoln Highway through there is still amazing, though not quite as lonely.
I fueled up in Austin, again, only being at a half-tank. I asked about a stone tower thing that I saw on my way into town. The clerk told me that it was Stokes Castle and that the road up to it was open.
The road was dirt, but pretty passable. The tower, however, was fenced off with chain-link fencing and barbed wire. A bit of an overkill, I think.
Stokes Castle was built by some capitalist as his summer home. He used it for a month and then abandoned it. It’s been vacant since then. Kind of an incredibly lame story, isn’t it? But nevertheless, this place is pretty cool. Oh and here.
By the time I left Austin, I was beat. It was 70 miles to the next town, Eureka (named so because a miner exclaimed “EUREKA!” when he found gold nearby), and at least that much until Ely, my stop for the night.
This part of the road was grueling. It was picturesque, though not in a Route 722 sort of way. Mostly, it was straight. And chilly.
I passed through Eureka, stopping to eat a Clif Bar and read a few historical markers.
The rest did me good, but the ride was still pretty difficult. I can fully understand how someone can fall asleep while riding. I didn’t and wasn’t really about to, but I felt that if I wanted to, I could have.
Ely was drawing closer and the closer it got, the closer I needed it to be.
I wasn’t really paying attention when I passed this run down log cabin on my left. I turned around to check it out.
I dismounted and poked around, taking a few pictures. There was no historical marker to let me know what it was.
The only thing that was there was a small inscription written with a Sharpie: “Pony Express Station 1860-61. May it remain. Not many left!!”
Was this really a Pony Express Station? I had no reason to doubt it, but now, after a bit of research, I can’t find any reference to the Pony Express passing through here. It was far to the north of this point of Route 50, near Robinson Pass. I can’t find anything on it at all.
Robinson Pass, however, is the highest elevation of my whole trip thus far. It’s 7,607 feet above sea level.
There was one more stop I needed to make before heading into Ely. That was seeing Ruth. Ruth is a small town (ghost town?) that Stephen King passed through, getting the idea for his book Desperation.
I visited it, it’s not really deserted. King wondered if all the residents were dead… and if they were dead, who killed them. While my mind is a little twisted, I saw a bunch of people, so my thought wasn’t who killed them, but which one would be killing me.
Well, none of them did.
I was disappointed upon seeing that it wasn’t a ghost town and rode into Ely.
Ely is pretty neat and pretty busy.
Mostly, it’s because of the cheap casinos. If it weren’t for those, most of these towns would no longer exist. Ely is much the same, though a little bigger.
It’s also where US Routes 6, 50 and 93 all meet. And it’s from here tomorrow that I leave Lincoln Highway (I think) and take US Route 6/50 into Utah, still on “The Loneliest Road in America”
And with that, it’s time to sleep.
Miles today: 358
Miles total: 5,630
