.....as the narrator used to say during the prologue of this old TV show and that goes for traveling, as well. It begins with the story of Dusty, the Privvy-digging excavator in NV.
Dusty runs a Trading Post/Rock Shop/Bottle Museum in one of the few tiny towns along Route 50 in Nevada, the infamous Loneliest Road in America, according to Life Magazine some years ago. The light dancing on the blue, green and amber bottles and of course, the massive collection of turquoise caught our eye and caused us to park the Wee Hoose to check it out. Dusty’s first love turned out to be bottle collecting, which was not unusual in itself, but then he mentioned that the most fertile ground for said occupation is old privies, you bet I asked why is that, Dusty? He launched into an explanation full of hen-pecked miners and guilt-ridden store owners in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, hiding out in the privies, swigging their spirits and bitters in secret, away from the prying eyes and sharp tongues of teetotalling wives, then tossing the incriminating bottles down the holes.
Although enlightening in itself, this information still didn’t make privy digging that more desirable a talent and I figured he was just, well, special, for lack of a better word, then Dusty explained that well hell, he wasn’t anything unusual - the whole town today consisted of privy diggers.
Not being a Nevada native, I questioned that and Dusty kindly informed us that this wasn’t mucking out pit toilets, this was excavation, preceded by a goodly amount of historical research. He told us how he and other diggers haunt the courthouses, perusing old records to scout out vanished towns, then employing ground-penetrating radar, they trace the outlines of pre-existing outhouses and go to work. When we snorted a tad disdainfully, he showed us an intricately decorated bottle he had recently excavated that he was pricing at such a high level that he kept it out of sight of the show window. He pointed out that certain bitters bottles went for several thousand dollars on the bottle market and that he and a partner had recently sold two such bottles, one for over $60,000 and the second for a mere $30,000 because it had a crack in it. Hence the turquoise – he’d used that cash to buy two turquoise mines and hired a local Indian silversmith to mount the stones he retrieved. Several of those stones were extremely unusual, almost like picture jasper.
One such stone was shot through with so much copper, blue and green that we could imagine a scene of a lake with pines and mountains. I had never seen turquoise with so much delineation in it and Dusty commented that mounted, those stones sold quickly. Of course, Dusty also told me about a cool arrowhead with one notch, rather than the two one usually sees where the leather thong ties it to the shaft. That particular flint was worth a hefty sum because it was alleged to have been knapped by that famous Indian, one-eared Jack, who had an ear shot off by a cavalryman, so henceforth, he always left one notch off his arrowheads to commemorate that lost ear. Good story, anyway. At least I actually got to see the ‘picture turquoise.’ Alas, Dusty said he’d recently sold One-Eared Jack’s arrowhead.
I told him that if we were going to linger in Nevada, I would love to see the mines and pick his brain about all the unique experiences he must have had, but Dusty sighed and told us he was getting too old for all this and was thinking of retiring to Colorado, buy some property and kick back, so there went my dream of being a privy-digger’s apprentice, I guess.
Another one...
As Mike went through the dump-routine, emptying the Wee Hoose’s onboard privy, Sam wandered over to ask about our camper van, as so many often do because of its racy rocket ship design. We gave him the tour and he commented that it looked like the perfect size for his needs. He was presently in a 5th wheel (trailer that mounts in the bed of a pick-up truck) with a motorcycle as his dingey (towed vehicle), but this looked like a much more compact way of traveling to him, as he’d been soloing since his wife died. I asked how long ago this happened and he replied about a year and a half. I commented that I imagined it seemed like yesterday and he said she died in a freak accident, pulling out of the garage, hitting something, then craning her head out to see what and inadvertently letting her foot slip off the brake with the gear in forward rather than reverse. Death was instantaneous and Sam found her, 3 hours later. He was RVing to all the places they planned to see together because ‘my doc and my kids said I need to get the hell out of the house.’ We later ran into Sam at Redwood National Forest and told him that since we all on our way to Crater Lake, maybe we could camp together there, so this story could be ongoing…..
Yet another...
Carla managed a campground in NV., and while chatting during check-in, I learned that she lived on site in the big rig next to where she was placing our Wee Hoose. When she wasn’t acting as night mgr. for the campground or going to college to obtain her business degree, she was caring for her husband, who was dying of lung cancer. His docs had given him 3 years, but he’d already outlasted that date by about 3 months, so he was urging Carla to get skilled so she could take care of herself when he was gone. Upon hearing his diagnosis, Carla and her husband sold their home and bought their RV to carry out their travelling bucket-list. They visited all the places they’d always talked about and wound up workamping at this one, but now she told me that he didn’t want to die in NV, so as soon as her semester ended in July, she hoped he’d hang on long enough so that they could go home where he could pass in peace.
I spent a lot of time chatting with Carla and hugged her close before we left the next day. We exchanged email addresses and a few days later I received a note from her, telling me how the loving concern of strangers got her through each day’s trials. At this writing, it’s now July 9th. Hope they made it.
Yep, you guessed it...another one.
Jack pulled up on his BMW motorcycle to where we stood, entranced by our first glimpse of Crater Lake. In true gypsy camaraderie, he took my camera and posed us for several shots before he was happy with the results for us. We of course chatted and learned that he, too was traveling solo but his wife usually biked with him. This time, however, she stayed at home in Connecticut to work with a cancer rally there, as she was a breast cancer survivor. Jack, being an officer of some merit with the BMW Bike Club (he was the Beer Chairman), was on his meandering way to the big rally in Redmond, after many stops throughout the blue highways of the US, including the illustrious Car-Henge in Nebraska. Guess someone decided Nebraska needed something! We heartily agreed, as that's our route home, but try as we might, we can’t make our homeward route include Car-Henge, which would add several hours to an already long-lasting state! But we have Jack’s email because we took a picture of him on his bike, of course, so we’ll send it along, after we all finally wander back where we started in another month or so….stay tuned because as you know, there are a million stories.....
An exciting story:
Camping near Crater Lake in Oregon, we caught sight of a Sprinter van camper festooned with logos, copy and advertisements about SPRINTERTOUR.COM so naturally, we had to investigate. We met Rob and Jan, a couple who, finding themselves at loose ends after moving to Colorado to be near family, (who later left that state), sold their house, left their apartment, developed a pitch for corporate sponsors to back them on a trip 50 national parks in the USA, sold the idea and are on their way. For more details, visit them at
http://www.sprintertour.com/ You won’t be disappointed and since we all hit it off so well, you will hear more about future joint projects on this blog, so stay tuned. You can also follow their adventures on Facebook.
A Darker Story:
Upon leaving Crater Lake and starting our trek east back home, we stayed at a quiet park which is also a ranch, in the Oregon back country. All during set up, we were vaguely aware of a woman and a girl walking the trails alongside the park, continually calling a name. When the woman approached, I asked if she’d lost a dog and she said, no, her son. We immediately went into panic mode and she said, he’s 20. We heaved a sigh of relief and then she added, ‘He left a suicide message and his girlfriend and he were camping here, so she and I are looking for him.
This is big country, ranches look like state parks and the hills, mountains and gulches are studded with brush and tumble weeds big enough to hide a person. We were surprised the police hadn’t been summoned, but she described the guy and told us where she would be if we should see him. We went ahead and grilled dinner and sure enough, a young man matching her description wandered out of one of the gulches, back onto the trail, gave us a long look, then turned back into the trail. About that time, the camp host tooled by in her golf cart, so I flagged her down, brought her up to speed and asked her to drive over to where the mom was and let her know we’d seen her son and where he’d gone.
Shortly after that, we saw all 3 walk out of the woods and the mother came to us to thank us. Mike asked, “Is he ok?” The mom shrugged her shoulders, so we said we’d keep him in our prayers. Camping is never dull…sometimes we could use a little dull….
One enters the log structure, receives headsets, rides a LONG escalator up through projected video of folks walking alongside covered wagons and the entire 'tunnel' is room after room of similar dioramas, cleverly done with sound, video, statues, models, sound and light effects, you name it.
Kearney has the distinction of being the location where several famous westward bound trails intersected, so some smart Nebraskan decided to create a way to exploit that fact. Fortunately, NE did it with intelligence and taste. At the end of the tunnel is this room dedicated to American travel in the 50's, complete with diner, murals and a window overlooking I-80, over which this structure arches, with semis and cars steaming beneath it.
Kinda like this, actually.
Wouldn't you know it....we were just in time for the 150th anniv. of the Pony Express. Missed the re-ride by a month, dang it, but got a pretty good reminder of what it must have looked like by this exhibit in one of the original way stations, where the ride originated. Very well-done museum, with lots of kid activities, as well. The Pony Express ran less than a year, out-moded by the development of the telegraph and then the railroad, but what a cool way to get your mail..the first e-mail (equine!?)
Of course, the farther east we go, the more bizarre the museum offerings become. This was the Glore Psychiatric Hospital, now a museum and this was one of the cheerier displays. There were printed disclaimers advising that it might not be ideal for kids, but there were several kids there. Their parents were proud their offspring were not freaking out....yet. Bet there were some pretty dramatic nightmares at home that night.
Wouldn't you know it....we were just in time for the 150th anniv. of the Pony Express. Missed the re-ride by a month, dang it, but got a pretty good reminder of what it must have looked like by this exhibit in one of the original way stations, where the ride originated. Very well-done museum, with lots of kid activities, as well. The Pony Express ran less than a year, out-moded by the development of the telegraph and then the railroad, but what a cool way to get your mail..the first e-mail (equine!?)
Of course, the farther east we go, the more bizarre the museum offerings become. This was the Glore Psychiatric Hospital, now a museum and this was one of the cheerier displays. There were printed disclaimers advising that it might not be ideal for kids, but there were several kids there. Their parents were proud their offspring were not freaking out....yet. Bet there were some pretty dramatic nightmares at home that night.
