The drive down into the Panamint Valley was glorious. We were melting when we arrived that first evening in Panamint Springs but there is nothing in California so glaring, infinite and timeless as Death Valley. The first breakfast of the Rest of our Lives was on the doorstep of our motel room. Pferdinand’s step doubled as a table and the valley spread out before us. It was already getting hot and the sky was an uninterrupted blue. A Czech couple at the General Store stopped to take our photo. I thought of my old commute on the 101 North as we headed down the empty road. It was sparkling in the sunshine and by the time we stopped again, California was behind us.
The old man and his tea
The morning commute
The Keys to the Vault
A dream came true on our second night out. We waited nearly 20 years for the Mizpah Hotel in the mining town of Tonopah to open. We passed by so many times on our trips to Nevada we had given up hope. It was worth the wait. In the setting sun the majestic Mizpah glowed warm and welcoming and the wrought iron balconies spilled over with red flowers. Inside the colors were rich wood, deep green and gold and the long bar gleamed in the light of stained glass windows. It ran the length of the great room and ended at the ornate cages of the restored bank vault and old elevator. I thought of stagecoaches stopping outside and dusty boots seeking refuge in the liquid amber of a whiskey glass.
I still don’t know if they called it the Bar Mizpah.
