FAREWELL BLACK ROCK
June 2010
It was great to be back on the road once again. I love driving my new-to-me 2006 Winnebago View as it is so effortlessly to do so and has all the comforts of home away from home. It feels like I am just driving a van and I have to remind myself I have a small house behind me. We made a stop at Camping World in Vacaville to get this little diamond shaped yellow plastic sign that states: Pet Inside. In case of emergency, please rescue. I saw one of these in someone’s RV awhile back and just had to have one. I care about my cat. I have found since having Sinbad along on these road trips for the past ten years, I am more aware of not doing foolish things. I worry about him being left alone if I did something stupid and died.
The Black Rock Desert is situated an hour’s drive north of Reno, Nevada. It is a huge ten mile wide by forty mile long dry lake, the partial remains of massive Lake Lahontan of Pleistocene times. You can see the high water mark, the bathtub ring, all around on the surrounding mountains in this area. We arrived at three-fifteen P.M., drove out onto the playa only about three miles and turned off the engine. I dared not to go further as the playa (what dry lakes are sometimes referred to as) was damp in places where it usually is not at this time of the year. When you see dark areas on the dry lake, those are places you do not want to drive into. The darkness means “wet” and you will certainly bog down and get stuck. Northern Nevada had had a series of late rains which made for lush green grasses, fragrant sagebrush with a few wildflowers thrown in for color.
Each time I come out here, I continue to be amazed at how quiet it is. This feature alone makes it always worthy of the seven hour drive. I had been coming here for over twenty years and it always feels as if I have come “home”. The weather was very pleasant with a slight breeze and scattered clouds overhead. I rolled out my little carpet, set up the camp chair and table, sat down and stared out at the nothingness all around, while sipping a cup of tea - simply lovely. I looked over the notes I made in my little notebook, reading about the past two Burning Man events. This year I plan to not go, maybe never again. After fifteen years of participating in the event I have seen a lot of changes and I’ve had enough. It has become too big with upwards to seventy thousand people attending.
I read my Tristan Jones book until sundown, one of three books I brought along. I took a couple of sundown pictures which doesn’t occur until seven-thirty P.M., fixed a light dinner (a diet meal), read some more and turned out the light at nine-thirty. I was asleep in no time. I’ve dispensed with all the bed clothing in the RV on this trip. It is just too much of a hassle putting sheets and blankets on the bed. I am reverting back to the sleeping bag. But the evening seemed so pleasant I thought I would do fine with just the comforter on me. Not! In the middle of the night I spread the Indian blanket on top and had to slip on my knit cap. In spite being cool, I slept good and had a hard time waking up in the morning.
I checked outside and saw that the carpet had blown over during the night. As I unrolled it a Kangaroo Rat scurried away under the RV. I didn’t see him on the other side so figured he was up in the chassis somewhere. Sinbad eventually located him between the dual tires. I poked him out with the broom handle and he evaded Sinbad running up into the engine compartment. Poor Sinbad, he just isn’t that good at catching mice; being an inside cat all his life has left him severely handicapped in the mouse catching department. After awhile we gave up and I went back in to eat breakfast. I then unloaded my Honda 90 Trail bike and motored up towards Trego Hot Springs.
Since I bought the VW Golf I have no need for the Honda 90 anymore around home so I plan to sell it after this trip, but now while riding it on the playa I begin to second-guess this idea. It is handy out here. But is it worth to keep just for one or two uses a year? I think not, but remain undecided on what to do. (I wound up selling it and have regretted doing so several times over the years since)
It seemed like a long ride but was only thirteen plus miles. I missed the regular route in to the hot springs and had come in too far below. This forced me to work my way through the lumpy bumpy terrain of sagebrush to the springs. I have a lot of memories of Trego, having spent many nights here and found myself a bit melancholy. Was it the memories or was it that things had changed? The Jan Barton Memorial sign was gone. So were the wood steps down into the water. Only a slimy silt-filled carpet remained. Surprisingly the place was quite clean from litter and trash and there were new signs posted all about. Warning signs, closed signs, historical information signs–all inevitable I suppose. Or maybe my feelings just knew that this may be the last time I will ever be here?
The water was the usual; hot at the spring source near the railroad tracks gradually cooling down as it flowed away down the narrow man-made dirt canal. Reeds and grasses choked the stream once the temperature cooled to a point where plant life could survive. I wandered around a bit, then got on the Honda, kicked it to life and puttered away glancing over my shoulder for one last look as I crossed the railroad tracks back onto the playa.
Several of the sand dunes on the playa were now fenced off with wood posts and rails. It is an attempt by the BLM and Friends of the Black Rock to keep motorized vehicles off of dunes. It is nice that they are being protected but the fencing poses an odd image, as if the dunes are corralled in from escaping. Two hours later I was back at camp.
I ate lunch (too much for my stomach bothered me all afternoon) and set up my shooting range for my little .22 rifle. My first shot was at a small fist sized rock fifty-feet away and I hit the thing! I shot at it again to see if it was just dumb luck and hit it again. “Careeeinggg” The bullet ricocheted off down the playa. I was very surprised to say the least. I then placed a paper target out a hundred feet and two tin cans out at hundred-eighty feet and two-hundred-twelve feet. First shot at the target–bull’s-eye. I shot again. Another bull’s-eye! I placed four out of five shots on the red bull’s-eye. I couldn’t believe it. I then tried the first can. Pow! I looked in the spotting scope and there it was a hole in it! I shot again. Another hole! I tried the furthest can and was able to hit it too. There were a few misses on the cans but the little .22 with the scope was dead on. I had wished I brought my Grandfather’s .22 automatic. The plinking didn’t entertain me as long as I thought it would. No challenge I guess. Soon I was back with my book.
The wind picked up around three P.M. and I retreated inside to read. A half an hour later I was taking a nap. It’s a hard life out here. Thirty minutes later the wind was ripping along at twenty-five mph. The sky was overcast so at least the sun wasn’t beating down on me now. I try my best to stay in the shade keeping a hat on at all times. This place takes a toll on the body and I feel the older I get, the easier it is for the playa to beat me under. My eyes were sore from the glare, dry air or whatever else I didn’t know. Overall I felt drained without much energy to do anything. This is a strange place that can do that to you. I caught up my journal notes and read, taking it easy. I only had a salad and a few soda crackers for dinner – the stomach issues were still there. No more whole sandwiches for lunch. I would stick to a half a sandwich from now on. Lights out and I was asleep at nine P.M.
The sleeping bag worked well but I felt it was a bit warmer that night anyway. I was up at six-thirty A.M., ate breakfast and went for another scooter ride. The wind was howling and the little Honda worked hard beating into it. The plan was to ride over to the railroad tracks and follow them south towards the little town of Gerlach. At the tracks I saw fencing down in several spots by road on the far side so I went for it. Instantly I was in muck and mire and barely crawled out without bogging down to a complete stop having to put my feet down into the goo. Nevertheless I had that awful thick playa paste kicked up and plastered onto the bike. I retreated back over onto the dry playa surface and continued on south kicking away at the clods stuck to various parts of the trail bike. This didn’t last long for soon the playa itself began to get soft. I figured it would only get worse for the southern end is the low end drainage for the playa. I then crossed over to the other side of the not-so-dry lake to work my way up the opposite ‘shoreline’. This was easy going with the wind at my back. I continued on up to the eight-mile entrance which is where the Burning Man circus attendees enter from. From there I proceeded out onto the playa once again to the approximate spot of Black Rock City. No “streets” were visible and I found very little MOOP (matter out of place). It was time to head back to camp. This was a long hard ten miles straight into the teeth of the wind. The sound of the wind was deafening and at one point I stopped, switched into low range and motored on in fourth gear barely reaching twenty mph. By the time I returned back to camp I had had enough but the little Honda 90 probably could have done even more. I could sense a weather front rolling in and the skies looked gloomy to the west. I loaded the Honda onto the rack, put all the gear away and broke camp. It is difficult to get a good night’s sleep when you are thinking about possible rain while out in the middle of this vast dry lake.
It was nice to just putz along Highway 34 with the wind behind me. No other cars were on the road so I was able to go at my own pace. I went as far as Fly Geyser just because it had been years since I was last there. The geyser is a multi-colored spire ten feet high atop several layers of travertine with pools of hot water much like a stepped wedding cake. The geyser was still spewing away water and steam. It is a shame one cannot drive in to it anymore for it has been gated off for over twenty years now being on private property. If people would all respect things and places leaving them better than they found them, maybe places would last longer for all to enjoy before being gated off. Well who am I kidding? If it were my property I’d have gated it off too. Anyway one has to enjoy the geyser from a half a mile away looking through binoculars standing behind a heavy steel pipe fence with a large sign stating trespasser’s bodies will be fed to the coyotes.
I drove back to Soldiers Meadows road and made camp on the lookout point about a mile in. This spot provides a nice panoramic view of the playa down below, where I could watch the winds whip up alkali dust devils. I fixed a sandwich, only a half this time, and decided to go for a little hike up into the hills behind me. That little hike evolved into a rock gathering expedition.
One of the things I wanted to do on this trip was bring home more red shale to edge the cactus garden with. I knew places out here where get shale but cannot get to it now in a motor home. This exposed igneous rock outcropping would have to do. I carried a few flat pieces of the dark reddish brown volcanic basalt down the hill to the RV and returned with my backpack. Thin pieces like the shale I have at home were hard to find as most here were in slabs two inches or more in thickness. After some time searching I loaded the backpack, added a few pieces into my shoulder bag and staggered under the load back down the slope of loose ankle-twisting jumbled stone. I climbed up and stumbled back down two more times. I figured I had enough and quit. Well, I was going to quit anyway, enough or not. Then it was a matter of how to pack all this rock away for the trip home. Of course during all of this I saw a very nice Collared Lizard who posed for the longest time and I had no camera with me!
The rest of the afternoon was spent doing very little–no surprise there. I read, gazed down upon the playa, stayed inside out of the wind, ate a light dinner, read some more and turned out the light at nine P.M.
There was a definite change in the weather the next morning. The sky was full of thick clouds a few of which were dark and menacing. I was in no hurry to move on that day as all I had planned to do was collect a bucket of playa dirt for the cactus garden. I’ve collected buckets of dirt from Red Rock Canyon and Anza Borrego also which is spread out over the surface of my cactus garden finishing off the desert effect. I dug the dirt out at from the Eight Mile entrance at the approximate site of the Burning Man event. As I found a few artifacts on the ground I was pretty sure I was within the old Black Rock City limits. Now my little cactus garden will have some of the Burning Man energy in it even if I never go back again.
After “stealing” dirt, I then drove back up onto Highway 34−really just a two-lane road−towards Gerlach and stopped where Guru Road begins. The Guru Road is a dirt road that parallels the highway. People, locals for the most part, have set up rocks with sayings etched onto them plus artsy creations which are in a bad state of disrepair. There I ate lunch while waiting for the hail to stop, then walked the mile long road. I remember the road as to be not that great so felt walking would be better than taking the RV out onto it. I saw now conditions have been improved and it would probably be doable in the motor home. I timed the walk just right for the sprinkles started up again just as I was driving off to find a new campsite.
With the weather conditions as there were I opted to stay along the “shoreline” less than a mile from the road. This lasted less than an hour before I moved off the playa. I did so not so much as any fear of getting stuck but if it rained enough the tires would kick playa goop up underneath the vehicle which in the end is nearly impossible to remove. What gets left behind corrodes metal due to the high alkaline content of the playa dirt. My Land Rovers and the old Winnebago Brave motor home had the scars to attest to that. I ended up down the road at the county gravel pit. The gravel pit is a nice flat area sheltered from the winds (for the most part) and very few people ever come by. I once found a complete horse skeleton up the hill from it. There I spent the rest of the afternoon doing the usual, inside that is. It was too cool outside and if the wind was not blowing then sprinkles or hail fell. Sometimes it was all three. I thought if tomorrow begins as today ended up being, I would head for home where I knew warm bright sunny skies await.
The morning looked to be another cold (by my standards) and blustery day so I packed it in. We were rolling before breakfast and had a nice tailwind out from the north to push us along the eighty miles to I-80 at Wadsworth. We stopped at the rest stop just a mile onto the Interstate, ate breakfast, dumped the tanks at the free dump station and headed for home. I stopped again in Dixon for fuel and had the pleasure of seeing a woman pull away from the gas pump with the nozzle still stuck in her car. She ripped the hose clean away from its connection at the pump. You don't get to see that very often.
After a stop near home at the car wash to get the bug splats and playa dust off the motor home and the playa mud off the Honda we pulled into the driveway at four-twenty P.M. It was nice to be home. And so ended another chapter of my life for I never returned to the Black Rock Desert again.