Chapter 7: The Old West

I hadn’t decided which direction to go until I was already out of the extended-stay inn’s parking lot. I turned left only because a Las Vegas County Sheriff’s car was heading this way—I wanted to pass him going the opposite direction. If he’d turned around to follow me, I was ready to pull over and wait for the traffic stop. But he kept going, never even slowing down. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and continued on, heading north.

As I neared the city limits and the desert beyond, I pulled into a 24-hour diner that specialized in breakfast. I brought my road atlas inside with me, planning to figure out my next logical destination over a cup of coffee. There were so many places to choose from, but one stood out: Carson City, Nevada. I’d always been a fan of the old TV show Bonanza, and Carson City was one of the towns the Cartwrights often rode into. I figured if it was good enough for the Cartwrights, it was good enough for me.

After my late breakfast, I made my way to US 95 and continued north toward Carson City. The route I’d chosen had several tourist spots along the way, and a few of them caught my interest. I only made it about halfway by evening and decided to stop for the night in Tonopah, where I booked a room in an old historic hotel. The place definitely had character, and my room for the night was ... interesting. It was furnished with older, well-used furniture and had an air of creepiness to it.

The hotel had a reputation for being haunted, but the ghosts must have felt sorry for me—and, as a professional courtesy from one dead person to another—they didn’t disturb me. I had a so-so breakfast at a place out near the highway, then got back on the road, heading toward Carson City. What should have been a four-hour ride turned into an all-day trip, as I had to stop at all the interesting sites along the way.

Like the day before, I made it into town just as the sun was setting. I found a motel with so-so rooms, priced just the way I like them—cheap. I only intended to spend a day there before heading toward Salt Lake City. That was before I actually learned about Carson City and its early history as a mining center. I ended up staying three days and had a blast exploring all the historical buildings and sites around the city.

On my second night, I went exploring the local casinos and tried my luck at the blackjack table. An hour later, I walked out of the casino three thousand dollars richer. For my own safety, I left the winnings with them until morning, when I could come back, collect the cash, and get out of town. The management agreed to my request—it must have been a regular practice.

I stopped by the casino, and as promised, they honored my request without any problems. The staff was pleasant, and I assured them I’d be back soon to give them a chance to win their money back. The manager laughed at my joke, clearly knowing I’d probably never return. It was a pleasant experience overall—and, most importantly, there was no hysterical woman screaming about seeing a dead man walking.

Before leaving Carson City, I asked around and found a motorcycle shop to do a complete service on my bike. The last thing I wanted was a breakdown in the middle of nowhere, especially since I was about to tackle the loneliest stretch of highway in the U.S.—US 50, between Carson City and Salt Lake City. It’s a stretch of over 600 miles of open road with very little along the way. I saw it as a challenge and prepared accordingly. I even bought a small gasoline can to keep on the bike, just in case I ran low on fuel.

The route I planned was a two-day ride, and I wasn’t about to travel any farther than necessary on either day. I decided to ride to Eureka, Nevada, on the first day. That would be a distance of 250 miles, and I probably wouldn’t want to go any farther that day. There were options for motels, places to eat, and spots to fuel up for the next leg of the trip. I was definitely tired when I arrived in Eureka and found a motel, got something to eat, and filled up the tank. When I got to my room, I stripped down and was asleep within minutes—I was that worn out.

The next morning, I was up early—before dawn—and on the road before the sun had even risen. I planned to stop later in the morning to get something to eat. That day’s ride would be longer than the day before, and I wanted to make sure I had access to fuel, food, and water along the route so I wouldn’t end up stranded.

The next town, Ely, was where I stopped for breakfast and checked on my investments, thanks to the Golden Arches’ free Wi-Fi. Everything looked good, and combined with my casino winnings, I had no worries about money. Ely was an interesting desert town, and I took an hour to drive around and take in some of the sights from its mining past. There was a train museum I would have stopped at if I’d had more time.

For a route labeled “The Loneliest Highway,” there was more traffic than I expected. Still, I made sure to stop and fill up whenever I had the chance. Most of the other vehicles I saw were motorcycles and RVs—seems like everyone was after the Loneliest Highway experience. Unfortunately, that kind of defeated the purpose; with more traffic than I’d anticipated, the sense of solitude was lost.

I stopped in the western suburbs of Salt Lake City, Utah, in the late afternoon. I found a clean-looking independent motel and booked a room for the night. I decided to take a nap and then find a place to eat later. It only took one evening for me to decide I wanted nothing to do with Salt Lake City traffic. If I ever came back to sight-see, I’d definitely use the public transportation system. The drivers were aggressive, and navigating the city on two wheels didn’t feel safe at all. I was more than ready to park the bike and walk.

For the next couple of days, I wandered around Temple Square, visiting all the museums and historical sites within walking distance. It was an interesting and enjoyable way to spend my time. I also joined an organized bus tour of the city, led by a knowledgeable local guide. The bus ride was a welcome break from battling city traffic on a motorcycle. Those early pioneers really went a long way toward building a city out of the desert. According to the guide, Salt Lake City is now one of the fastest-growing cities in the country.

After my fifth day in town, I decided it was time to move on. The night before I left, I spent some time planning my route out of Salt Lake City and toward Moab. I had heard that southern Utah was spectacular, and I wanted to see it for myself. On Sunday morning—when traffic was light—I left the Salt Lake City area and headed south, following a winding route that would eventually lead me to Moab and the nearby national parks.

By mid-afternoon, I had made it to Moab and booked a room at a local motel to use as my home base while exploring the region’s natural wonders. I found it much easier to get around the Moab area. Although traffic was occasionally heavy and I had to stay alert for distracted RV drivers, driving there was far less stressful than navigating the Salt Lake City metropolitan area. I spent four days visiting various national and state parks. This was a place I knew I’d return to many times in the future—it provided a welcome distraction from the problems I faced back home.

When I left Moab, I continued south and east, eventually arriving in Taos, New Mexico. The culture there was different from what I was used to. Taos is a town rich in artistic expression and historical significance. One of the places I visited was the home of the adventurer Kit Carson. In real life, he was quite different from the way stories and movies had portrayed him when I was a kid, but he was still an amazing individual for his time.

On my last night in Taos, I had supper at a Mexican restaurant recommended by the manager of the motel where I was staying. While I was eating, a couple at the table next to mine struck up a conversation about my travels. I didn’t want to share too many details, so I simply said I was on a cross-country trip to cope with a personal tragedy. They told me they had recently lost their son in a traffic accident and were still grappling with the pain. I explained that my situation wasn’t nearly as devastating—mine was related to the end of a relationship.

My new friends asked where I planned to visit next, and I explained that I was keeping things flexible, though I was considering a stop at White Sands National Park and, out of curiosity, Roswell. They thought both were great choices, having visited those places many times themselves.