It was the end of the desert heat. We headed north under a stormy sky to Ely, Nevada on Hwy.6. There was a patch of blue on the horizon but we never caught up with it. Whoever said Hwy. 50 is the loneliest road in America has never driven the 6. It’s beautiful and desolate but is never traveled without a nagging worry in the back of the mind. There is nothing out there but endless sky, open range and empty road. We had filled the two extra gas cans before setting off and stopped somewhere in the middle to refuel. The wind was howling and dark clouds scuttled overhead. As soon as we started pouring, the gas was blown right back at us, the stink of petrol everywhere. We moved off the road and out of the wind between two empty corrugated buildings. I gazed out over the scrubland as I held the funnel. It all felt very lonely.
Highway 6
After two cool nights camping on a soft, green lawn in Ely we stopped at the bend in the road that was Baker, Nevada. The heat had returned and there was no room at the inn. Even the RV park was full but we were given a dusty spot under a tree for $18.75. The view over the fields however was perfect and we were the only tent. The lethargy of the afternoon passed into a golden evening and a surprisingly good meal at Kerouac’s, an oasis of good food and wine on a roadside from nowhere to nowhere. We were feeling mellow on the stroll home. The night sky of Great Basin was heavy with stars and the still, hot air was filled with cicada chatter. We slept unexpectedly well until sometime in the night I woke to the sound of coyotes screaming. It was spooky and unsettling, especially as I didn’t know at the time they were coyotes, but drugged with good food and wine, I nodded off again.
