Things I missed my first time in Rhyolite

When I visited the Rhyolite ghost town this past October I focused (figuratively and literally) on the large ruins along the main drag. But there's more. So I went back.

Tom Kelly's Bottle House shows what someone can do if they're patient, obsessive, and surrounded by a lot of heavy drinkers. I wish I could've gone inside to see the light coming through.

There are sculptures scattered around the small museum (which wasn't open when I was there). A miner and a penguin? Sure, makes perfect sense. As does a ghost with a bicycle.

Maybe it's Judas trying to make a break for it, because nearby is a depiction of the Last Supper.

There's a mosaic sofa where one might sit to contemplate the art (or anything else) and have one's clothing sliced by the edges of the tiles.

But wait! What's that? Could it be my new girlfriend? It's usually dark haired women who grab my attention, but, you know, it has been a long time.

Listening to the wind

The wind was strong out of the southwest as I drove from Rachel, Nevada, to Tonopah. Ug, sidewinds. It’s another reason I wouldn’t want to tow anything. The Rolling Steel Tent swayed left and right, swerved toward the shoulder and back. No relaxing. Constantly vigilant.

In Tonopah (what a sad looking place) I gassed up, used the restroom, and turned south for Goldfield. Straight into the wind. Swimming upstream in a raging river of air. Not good for the gas mileage. But it was only thirty miles.

A grilled ham & cheese at the Dinky Diner (it was exactly what you want a grilled ham & cheese to be) then off to the International Car Forest of the Last Church. That made the drive worth it.

But where to spend the night? At the car forest? Mmmmm, maybe. But it’s private property and no one was there to ask (or to chase me away, for that matter). I checked my resources. The lot behind the Texaco in Tonopah where big rigs park? Eh, sure. Even though it was backtracking I’d have a tailwind. Ah, like riding a magic carpet.

A sad town like Tonopah is one thing when when the sky is clear, but it dips to another level of sadness when it’s overcast. With cold howling wind. And little splatters of rain. I hunkered down, rode it out and contemplated where to go in the morning.

I want to be in Colorado the last part of June for a friend’s wedding. I was sort of headed that way when I was in southwest Utah. But I figured I could fit in some more time on the West Coast first. From Tonopah that means crossing the Sierras. Most years the passes don’t open until late May or June. With the tremendous snow pack this year it will be even later. However, I-80 is kept open all winter. That would mean driving about four hours north to Reno. Then another three hours to San Francisco. Hmmm.

Or I could drive around the south end of the Sierras and go to Southern California. Again. Also hmmm.

Or, you know, I could head back the way I’d just come and wander around Utah for a month. In the parts where the nights aren’t freezing. Y-y-y-e-e-e-a-a-h, but that would feel like the consolation prize.

But there was the matter of the wind. It would play a large part in the decision. I checked the forecast. Strong winds out of the north-northwest for the next couple of days. Well, that settled things. Southward it is.

Vansteading

Let's say you've had your fill of the nomadic life and you want to get a piece of land and start homesteading. Cool. And of course you'd continue to live in the van while you build your earthship.

It's possible, though, to turn the van into the first room of your new abode. A partially buried van is more thermally efficient. Of course, you'd need to seal it properly and provide drainage and all that. So maybe it's not such a great idea after all. Oh well.

The wayward grandchild of the Cadillac Ranch

I'd like to thank Atlas Obscura for turning me on to the International Car Forest of the Last Church in Goldfield, Nevada. Rather than me retelling the story of this art car project, read Atlas Obscura's report here. Unfortunately, no buses were aflame when I was there.

The Black Mailbox

The Black Mailbox used to be just a rancher's mailbox by Nevada Highway 375 (a. k. a. the Extraterrestrial Highway). Then it became a landmark for where to turn if you wanted to sneak up on Area 51.

The landmark became a meeting place for UFO buffs. Someone spread the idea the mailbox contained secret documents going in and out of Area 51 (because, yeah, that's the way the Air Force handles its secrets) and they started poking through the rancher's mail. Some even left letters for the government. And for aliens.

The rancher got fed up and replaced the Black Mailbox with one that locked. It was white, but UFO fans still called it the Black Mailbox. It's rumored the original Black Mailbox was auctioned off to a lucky UFOlogist.

Now the white Black Mailbox is gone. It used to sit atop this post.

But someone has come along with a new Black Mailbox, in black. The area around it is a combination shrine and litter dump. It must be aliens leaving their empty beer bottles and discarded furniture, because humans wouldn't do such a thing.

So, you're probably wondering if I drove out to one of the Area 51 gates. Yes. But I didn't take a picture because the sign prohibits it, and there was a guard (along with various cameras and sensors) watching me. So here's someone else's illegal photo.

Chet makes some new friends

A hot breakfast in Caliente

After spending a couple of days revisiting Cathedral Gorge State Park in Panaca, Nevada I headed out for Rachel, the gateway to Area 51. I couldn't face UFOs and black helicopters on an empty stomach, so I stopped at the Brandin' Iron Cafe in Caliente. I had learned about it from RV Sue's blog. I had The Duce: two buttermilk pancakes, two eggs, choice of bacon or sausage. It was just what I needed. And service was fast because I was the only customer.

Epicurean Fight Club

Van dwelling requires minimalism. This way of living is second nature for some. Others eventually adjust to living in only 350 cubic feet. Some just can’t do it, or don’t want to. This post is addressed to those who want to be vehicular nomads but have doubts they’d be happy living with only the things they could fit in a van.

Long before Henry David Thoreau gave society the finger and went off to live a couple of years in a one-room cabin, the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus was making the case for enlightened minimalism. He believed the key to happiness was an untroubled life, and that the hassles of achieving and maintaining an extravagant life tended to outweigh the joys of having lots of goodies. Or as Tyler Durden said:

I don’t know whether Chuck Palahniuk (who wrote the novel) or Jim Uhls (who wrote the screenplay) put those words in Tyler Durden’s mouth, or whether Brad Pitt ad libbed them, but the idea is totally Epicurean.

[People misunderstood Epicurus when he said we should minimize unhappiness and maximize happiness. To them, happiness equaled having everything you could possibly imagine, so epicurean came to mean fond of or adapted to luxury or indulgence in sensual pleasures; having luxurious tastes or habits, especially in eating and drinking. Because being happy with only a few carefully chosen possessions was, like, incomprehensible.]

The money we don’t spend on things we don’t need is money we have to spend on the type of life that actually would make us happy. That money can finance freedom. The chance to do that, the time to do that, keeps ticking away. Nearly every nomad or minimalist I meet says they wish they had done this sooner. Is there anything you could own that would compensate for the regret of never doing it?

Oh, and the first rule of Epicurean Fight Club? Talk the hell out of Epicurean Fight Club.

Blustery day

After two nice days at Lake Powell, nature decided it was time for some classic desert wind in the 20 to 30 mile an hour range. Before, I could keep the doors and windows open and let the light breeze take the edge off the heat. But now I need to keep the Rolling Steel Tent buttoned up so it doesn't scatter my belonging and replace them with dust and sand. It's mighty stuffy. Some people don't mind the wind at all.

What time is it?

I’m at Lone Rock Beach campground on the Utah side of Lake Powell. Utah is on Mountain Daylight Time.

Just down the road is Arizona which, in it’s curmudgeonly way, rejects Daylight Saving Time. So it’s on Mountain Standard Time. You’d need to keep the time difference in mind if you have some time-critical thing you need to do in Page AZ, such as embarking on a tour.

However, the Navajo Nation observes Daylight Saving Time since the reservation is in Utah and New Mexico besides Arizona. That means if you’re staying in Page, and if that hypothetical tour operator is a Navajo taking you to Antelope Canyon, you need to readjust to Daylight Saving Time.

But the Hopi Nation, which is surrounded by the Navajo Nation, follows the rest of Arizona. Moenkopi—the western gateway to Hopi—is across the street from Tuba City, which is Navajo.

Oy.

Of course, Arizona’s position is that everyone else should scrap Daylight Saving Time. Problem solved. And everyone else’s position is that Arizona should stop being stubborn.

Meanwhile, last week, I was moving back and forth between California, Nevada and Arizona. Time zones weren’t an issue in that case, since Pacific Daylight Time is the same as Mountain Standard Time.

Fortunately, time is generally irrelevant to me these days. I go by my internal clock, by the sun, by impulse. There’s now and there’s later. Time only matters when I’m dealing with other people. Ew, people.

Nicer than most ghost towns

Grafton, Utah, seemed like a good idea at the time. Farmable land by a river, mild climate, amazing scenery... But the town was abandoned when flooding and troubles with the native population became more than they could handle. Today there are four buildings and some barns standing. Another is being restored/rebuilt by the Grafton Heritage Partnership.

If you've been to Zion National Park several times already and want to experience something different in the area, turn on Bridge Street in Rockville and follow the small signs. If the restoration crew is working, you might be greeted and followed around by a friendly pit bull.

Slot

I went to Snow Canyon State Park near Saint George UT today. Among other things, I took a short hike up a slot canyon. I love slot canyons. So cozy.

The new spot

I'm glad a pattern has been broken

I'm usually greeted by thunderstorms when I come from Las Vegas to Saint George UT. Not this time. It was sunny with just enough breeze. Thank you.

My go-to camping spots west of Zion National Park were all occupied so I had to try someplace new. New can be good. I went part way up Flying Monkey Mesa instead of camping across the highway from it like I usually do. The best spots there were taken, too, (shrug, tourist season) but there was a large pullout that would work well enough. The mesa at my back, the valley and the town of Virgin before me, more mesas in the distance. Nice.

But then some guys in an RV showed up, killing my solitude, blocking part of my view and running their generator. (Shrug, tourist season.)

However, to my delight, the people in a very cool spot left this morning. The "road" to it is narrow, rutted, lumpy and has almost no shoulder before a long drop, so I'm hoping it discourages others from encroaching.

I could've set up all the way out on the tip of the point, but the tilt, view and the breeze would've been in the wrong direction.

So, why does it matter where I set up this morning if I'm going into Zion today? Because that's why I'm here, right? No, that's not why I'm here. I've gone to the park the past two years. There's no rush to go again. I'm here to figure out where to go next. Someplace new. New can be good. Gotta break those patterns.

Going to the dogs

I missed them the first time I passed through because I was looking in the wrong direction. (A lot of life is like that, no?) But since I was back on Route 66, east of Amboy, California, I was determined to find the “foo dogs” I had read about at RoadsideAmerica.com and which my friend, Atli, had mentioned. (She's always finding cool stuff.)

“Foo dog” isn’t the right name, though. They’re guardian lions. Either way, I finally spotted them. They reminded me of the Big Boy statue I saw in a pasture between Cody, Wyoming, and Yellowstone. Why are the lions and Big Boy where they are? Because.

Some people have created their own significance for the lions. They’ve left offerings and written comments in a log book. A ring of small cairns has been assembled next to one of the lions.

Not everyone thinks the lions are special. One of them has been shot up. Because.

I think I have a clue why the lions are there. I nearly tripped over a boundary marker in front of one of the lions.

Had the property owner put the lions there to show the corners of his plot? A big sign announces land for sale. The land the lions are on? If so, what will become of them? The desert is filled with mysteries.