Tonopah, Death Valley, Bridgeport Loop Tour
An epilogue
Two great pleasures of taking to the
open road are the things you are bound to see and the lessons you might draw
from seeing ‘em. The recent trip to the west’s vast Basin and Ranges through
Tonopah, Death Valley and Bridgeport provided much to see and much to think
about.
At random, here are some photos that didn’t fit any of the
trip’s narratives and some possibly unrelated thoughts that occurred while in
the saddle.
If old trucks could talk, they’d have interesting stories to
tell.
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| 50s era Tonopah Commute Vehicle |
 |
| Wonder how much he'd take for that '64 Bronco? |
Gold, silver, talc and borax: it’s easy to think that
mineral wealth is endless.
 | |
| Playa - just dig here... |
 |
| At Badwater |
A town of 1,100 inhabitants is considered large, but a town
of about 200 may support a radio station.
 |
| Back streets of Goldfield, NV |
Every pair of ruts that leaves the highway and heads over a
distant hill goes to someplace where something happened.
 |
| Whether in the Mojave... |
 |
| ...or on the Modoc Plateau |
When personal transportation consisted of a burro carrying
one’s grubstake, people still got around.
 |
| Keep stuffing what? |
In the sparsely populated region east of the Sierra and west
of the Rockies, if someone to whom you were related lived in town for a spell,
someone in that town still remembers ‘em.
 |
| Nearest neighbors |
It takes longer for scars to heal in the Basin and Range,
but the scars tell us interesting things about the grit of those who settled
the region.
People out this way seem not to simply get tired of
something and toss it out; rather, they wear stuff out, sometimes leaving it
where it dies.
 |
| Graveyard |
The power of sunrise is incredible as is the voice of the
hills in the sunset and the depth of the starry night sky.
 |
| Sunrise over the Mojave |
A small town museum is not a place to pass by.
When the environment doesn’t provide enough moisture to
support thick, green and beautiful forests and meadows, one becomes aware of
how subtly beautiful the bedrock of our plant can be: colorful, spacious,
clear, yet forever in constant, sublime change.
 |
| In bloom |
 |
| Panamint Valley |
History fades, but not quickly.
 |
| Detritus along the T and T |
The first dozen and a half years of
my father’s time were spent growing up and roaming the gritty extents of Utah,
Nevada, Arizona and the Mojave – our continent’s great Basin and Range. After his stint in the Army during
World War II, he found himself Californi-ized: landing first in the LA Basin
and later relocating to the northern Sacramento Valley where he and Mom raised
two boys.
 |
| The Old Timer |
Dad always seemed to itch for something. I couldn’t understand what. We had lakes and trails and meadows and
forests; blossoming orchards in the spring, cool mountains to retreat to in the
summer, ripened fruit during harvest and warm, wood-fueled heat during our
dank, foggy winters. What more could you wish for? I
wondered.
One of the missions of this tour was to walk in ‘the Old
Timers’ footsteps from seventy years ago. In that effort I was totally unsuccessful, except that now,
I think I know what that itch was all about: the recurring, seductive call of
the desert. That wistful call will
serve as this trip’s principal lesson.
© 2015
Church of the Open Road
Press
I believe that Ford pickup is a '61.
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