Considering the other towns around it (basically none), Ely is a pretty huge place. Before leaving, I rode around, taking a few pictures here and there. It’s a nice looking town and they really want it to be nicer. But since it’s the only town around, what’s the point? Ely is basically a necessity.

Leaving Ely, I did my best to take US 6/US 50 east. I followed the sign and figured there would be another sign soon enough as reassurance that I was indeed heading in the right direction.

Nine miles later, by the time I was around Ward, an old mining settlement, nothing. No big deal as Ely could still be seen behind me.

Ward, on the other hand, was a fun little place when it was first established in 1876. It lasted six or so years, which is longer than many boomtowns.

This boomtown, however, had a population of 1,500. There was no law in Ward, but there was vigilante justice and the noose. The vigilantes were called the 6-0-1 Vigilantes. The “6″ stood for “six feet deep,” the “0″ was for “no trial,” and the “1″ signified “one rope” for hanging.

Needless to say, the place was relatively crime-free.

Things got settled down and they even founded a school… in a closed-down brothel. By 1880, they opened a city hall and Wells-Fargo opened an office. The population was near 2,000.

Three years later, a fire took out most of the town. The population shrank to 250. By 1885, it was 25.

The road to Ward, which I did not take, is passable in a car or four wheel drive. A scooter could probably make it, but it would take all day. I wish I could have.

The ride was cold this morning. I think it was around 40. But as I descended Connors Pass, at an elevation of 7,722, my highest yet, it warmed up a bit.

On the way down, I noticed an older alignment of US 6/50. I could see the old pavement in places. This was pretty cool. Most of it, if not all of it, was passable on a scooter. I could have taken it, but chose to keep plugging away because of time.

And because I still wasn’t 100% sure that I was on the right road. I figured that I was, but with no signs for the last 30 miles, I couldn’t be sure.

Finally, at the base of Connors, near what I think was called Majors Crossing I saw a sign letting me know that not only was I on US 6 and US 50, but also US 93. Thanks, Nevada!

And yes, this is the same US 6 that crosses the northern tier of Pennsylvania. Much of the route has been rerouted there and here. But it’s still a pretty beautiful ride.

Here, the road stretched out to whatever mountain was in the distance. There wasn’t much here. Just 17 miles of open land.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a pioneer, covering maybe 17 miles per day. They would pack up their wagons on one mountain, travel 17 miles to the next and camp for the night, in full view of where they camped the night before.

The fact that I could cross this same ground in 15 minutes felt sort of obnoxious.

While the old road seemed to go over the mountain, through the ghost town of Osceola, the newer road went around the mountain.

I’m still not sure if Old 6 or 50 went through Osceola. But it definitely has a road that connects on “both ends” of currant US 6/50. It’s possible, but not really important.

On the “other side” of the mountain I saw an archway made of deer antlers. These antlers fall off naturally and some guy walks around, picking them up and making them into stuff. Weird. And honestly, really creepy. In a Texas Chainsaw Massacre sort of way.

Here was Sacramento Pass, where the road from Osceola rejoined US 6/50.

This was also the last pass in Nevada.

Looking down over the 18 miles to where the road faded into the horizon, I couldn’t see that much of this was Utah. I also couldn’t see the gas station at the boarder.

I rode along, figuring that I would need that extra gallon of gas. But in front of me, almost by surprise, the gas station came up on my right. I pulled in and noticed the “Welcome to Utah” sign.

I figured that I could make it to Delta, the next town, but should probably refuel anyway. I was nearing half a tank.

As I pulled away from the station, I saw a sign letting me know how screwed I would be if I hadn’t refueled here. 83 miles is a long way.

But now I was in Utah! And the first bit of road through here was amazing. After reaching to horizon, the road twisted through some wonderful mountain passes.

They were great, though not as amazing as the ones yesterday.

After leaving the twists of the hills, US 6/50 straightened out and showed me a huge salt flat. The road skirted it, but on my right, it stretched into the horizon.

A few miles later, I saw a sign that left me scratching my head. It was a sun-faded state park sign telling me that “Old US 6/50″ was 16 miles north. Huh?

Yep, as it turns out, around Sacramento Pass, Old US 6/50 branched off, entering Utah several miles north of that much-needed gas station.

It then continued for nearly 100 miles to Delta.

And I missed it. I have no idea how passable it is, but still. I can’t really find much on it. And 100 miles is a long way to travel without knowing the conditions of the road. I don’t even known when it was realigned. But it does go through Death Canyon. How inviting!

I desperately want to do this stretch of road, from Sacramento, CA to Delta, UT. It was amazing.

Here, US 50 left us - though US 6, which I followed, is Old US 50. Things tend to be confusing like that.

Delta was fuel. And there’s a Radio Shack in the town. How does it survive? No freaking idea.

The road and land through here is… rather boring. Sorry, Utah, you’ve got a ton of great scenery elsewhere. It’s just that here was a bit of a yawner.

I did get to see a train - Union Pacific. That was fun.

A few towns passed by, but there’s not much to say about them.

Goshen was pretty good. It had some old buildings and some GREAT old soda machines and an old ice machine. Well that was about it. But those soda machines impressed me. They were super old, maybe from the 70’s, but I definitely recognized the Pepsi machine from VanHorn’s Garage in New Berlin.

After Goshen, there’s an old stretch of US 6 that I didn’t know about, but I did discover a chunk of it.

I also discovered… something. But I have no idea what they were.

They were buildings sort of dug into the cliff. But they were ancient. Maybe they were from 50’s? I’ve been searching online, but have found absolutely nothing on them.

More things to explore… someday.

Around here is where US 6 now joins I-15 to go into Salt Lake City, about 70 miles to the north. Around here is Spanish Fork, where, a few years ago, the Mormons helped build a Hare Krishna temple. Why? I’m really unsure. But it’s a great looking place and since it was Sunday (when the aptly-named “Sunday Feast” takes place), I stopped in.

It’s a fairly traditional looking Indian-style temple made to US building standards. It’s surrounded by a farm, though not really a working farm. It’s more like a ranch (which, I know, is a working farm). Oh, and it’s a Llama ranch. Why? I’m not sure about that either.

The Spanish Fork temple is nice, but a little weird. Hardly anyone lives there. I was greeted by Hanuman who was cooking and we talked a bit.

I visited the temple room and walked around the grounds. The program was at 5 and we sang a few songs. Oddly, there were a bunch of visitors there. Mostly locals. Some where really into it and some were just checking it out for a college class.

Around 6:30, I bought a few books and cut out, I wanted to make SLC by nightfall.

Thanks to I-15, I was there in about an hour. I called Mandy, where I was staying for the night, she gave me directions and after a few follow up calls due to my horrible memory, I was there!

She and Earl have three awesome cats.

We caught up (I haven’t been to SLC in nearly a year) and then Earl and I were up to 4am trying to install RoundCube on my server. No luck. I blame my host, GoDaddy.

Tomorrow (Monday), I take the scooter to the shop and leave it there. I then pick up a rental car and then pick up Sarah at 11pm from the Amtrak station in Salt Lake City.

And finally, sleep!

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 306
Miles total: 5,936

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.

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 358
Miles total: 5,630

I had such a beautiful day!

It was tough saying goodbye to Josh and Cole. I really do miss them. It’s weird being in one place for so long, nearly growing roots and then to just suddenly leave. Ok, I guess it wasn’t that long. Only eight days. But still.

I loaded up the bike for the first time in over a week and headed out of town. I took I-80 east to Sacramento. This was the first time I’ve headed east on this trip. East is where home is. 3,000 miles or so east, that is. I-80 boringly winds its way to 10 miles north of Lewisburg. But Sacramento, nearly 80 miles after Berkeley, would be where I left it behind.

US 50 was my road of choice. And it starts in Sacramento. From here and for 30 more miles, US 50 is basically an interstate. It’s six-lanes in some places. For the first 120 miles of my trip today, I was on limited access, interstate-like roads. I took not a single picture and there isn’t much to really tell about it.

The first 120 miles are a boring blur. I climbed from near sea-level to 3,500 feet, rode through flatlands and was now climbing higher into the Sierras.

US 50 is known as “The Loneliest Road in America,” but this stretch was anything but lonely. Again, I found myself caught in the middle of a biker gang. I’m not sure how I do this, but this one was nearly 100 strong. None of them waved. None of them. Not even a head-nod. They passed me on turns, they motioned for other riders to pass me on turns, but they didn’t actually acknowledge me.

Traffic was heavy and headed to Lake Tahoe. It was Friday and folks seemed to be getting a jump on the weekend. Good for them.

All along this route, I could what may have been old alignments. This corridor has had many roads through it, all following the same basic path. In 1848, it was the Carson Route of the California Trail. This was a sort of short cut to avoid crappy winters at Donner Pass. In 1860, it was a Pony Express road. By 1895, it was California’s first state road: Lake Tahoe Wagon Road.

In the early days of automobiles, it was the “Pioneer Branch” of the Lincoln Highway (the main route went through Donner Pass on what would later be known as US 40). In 1926, it became US 50. And that’s what it is today.

Many improvements and reroutings have occurred since the 1840’s and the possible old alignments were here and there along the four-lane. However, since I knew basically nothing about US 50’s old alignments, I generally stuck to the main road.

Along some of the older sections of road, granite hand-carved mile markers keep track of distances. These were carved in the 30’s by prisoners at Folsom Prison in Sacramento. Mostly, they follow the old stage coach line, but I’m not sure how exact it is since they were laid in the 30’s.

The towns here were small and it felt more like the old west than California. But this is where many of the pioneers ended up, I suppose. The town of Kyburz was probably the smallest. While it has a post office, the sign in front of the building reads, on both sides: Welcome to Kyburz - Thank you for visiting Kyburz. I’m glad places like this exist.

And here is where US 50 East climbed and kept climbing relentlessly to 7,377 feet. I started the day at sea level. Not three hours later, I had climbed over 7,000 feet. This wasn’t the highest I’ve been on this trip. That would be Glorietta Pass at 7,525 feet above sea level. This was, however, pretty close.

From here, I could see several old alignments, but knew nothing of them. I didn’t just want to wander off. Well, I did. But I didn’t want to get lost.

As I cleared Echo Summit, I could see the literally breath-taking view of Lake Tahoe. I gasped as it came into sight and wished I could pull over to take a picture. The road was amazingly narrow, and afforded no such luxury.

I was able to eventually get a less-spectacular shot.

Pulling the summit was tough, but descending it was even more stressful. The lanes were small and twisty. Traffic wasn’t horrible, but I could have handled it being a bit lighter.

At the bottom, in the town of South Lake Tahoe, I had a choice. I could either follow US 50 to Carson City, my stop for the night, or I could circle the lake. Since I made amazingly good time so far, I decided to circle the lake on California Route 89 North.

Route 89 wiggles its way along the shores of the lake, sometimes making several successive hairpin turns. The scenery is constantly beautiful. The elevation hovered around 6,000 feet as I made my way into Tahoe City. And from here, 89 continues north, moving away from the lake towards Truckee, also known as Donner Pass.

And Donner Pass was definitely something I wanted to see again. I saw it in 2004 with Nikki and Ashley. But first, I rode around Truckee. It’s a neat little town and very “wild west.” It’s one of those places that would be fun to stop if you were with other people. But since I wasn’t, I took a few (too few) pictures and rolled on.

Donner Memorial State Park isn’t where the Donners were. Members of their party stayed (and died) there, but the Donners were a mile or so to the east.

In 2004, we found where they were. It’s a lovely little meadow… now. Then, it was 22 feet of snow and not such a great place to be. There were 89 people in the Donner Party when they set out from Missouri in May of 1846. They got caught in a blizzard in October right where I was standing. 39 members died and the survivors resorted to cannibalism to make it through.

The Donner Party is famous for the cannibalism, but the cannibalism at this site didn’t start until late-February, after the first rescue party had reached them and left with 21 of them. The first cannibalism within the party happened when 15 of the pioneers set out on a 100 mile journey to find help in mid-December. They became lost in a blizzard and four of the party died. The rest resorted to cannibalism to keep going. By the middle of January, they had reached help. That’s where the rescue parties rallied from.

This is a wonderful story and one of my favorites. I wish I would have been able to spend more time there. If you’re interested, you could spend hours here, and I suggest you do!

I rode through Truckee, taking a picture of an Amtrak Train heading east - just like me. The engineer sounded a friendly “hello” to me with two short honks of his horn. And while I’m headed east, this hardly feels like I’m headed home. I’ve got so much more to see!

Since Carson City was my stop for the day, I headed south, meeting back up with Lake Tahoe and US 50. From there it was 15 miles to Nevada’s capital. My motel is on the western side of the city, so I haven’t actually had a chance to see any of it.

That’s why there is tomorrow.

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 285
Miles total: 5,272