Stories from Nevada

[brigdh]

1. I don't know if you've ever been to Nevada. I hadn't (well, I'd been in the Las Vegas airport, but I'm not sure that counts). It is a forsaken wilderness, empty of all human habitation.

Look at a map of the state, for instance. Now, if you look at a map of, say, Ohio, you might notice two or three cities listed and a lot of blank space. Cleavland at the top, Columbus in the middle, Cincinnati at the bottom. Perhaps Toledo in the upper left corner. But you would understand that the blank spaces on the map are not actually blank. There are cities there, just ones not big enough to be granted map-status. Perhaps ones so small that they don't even have names. Failing that, you might expect to find a few houses, by themselves off in a woods or on a hillside. At the least, you would see a farm. You might only see cows or rows of evenly spaced corn, but even that is a sign that there were once humans here.

A map of Nevada would show a few cities along the bottom: Reno, Las Vegas. Much of the middle and top would be blank. And that space is actually blank. Nothing is there except for vast tracks of empty land. I did not know that this much uninhabited space still existed anywhere in the world, except for maybe some of the worse stretches of Antarctica. I think I got culture shock from it; I can't stop trying to describe it to people. If your car broke down while driving on the highway across Nevada (Highway 93: America's Loneliest Highway!), you would die. There's easily over a hundred miles from one human location to another, and most people do have in their cars the food and water that you would need to walk that far. There's no cellphone reception, there are no call boxes, hell, we couldn't even pick up radio stations in the car. Your one hope would be to flag down some of the (sparse) passing traffic- an option better than death on the side of the highway, sure, but I don't know how good an idea pulling over unknown people while on an deserted highway with no witnesses would be.

2. Everyone in Nevada and the surrounding states hates Las Vegas. Because it's stealing their water. People feel scarily strongly about this.

3. There was a town called Pioche near to where we camped, a half hour or 45 minute drive away. We often went there on weekends. Pioche is considered a good-sized city because it has two gas stations, neither of which is open 24 hours. It also has a diner, a drugstore, two bars, four antique stores, and a jail. Many of the things that I would consider necessary for a city were missing, such as a doctor/dentist/hospital/any form of medical care, a place to buy clothes, or, I don't know, a grocery store, but the residents of Pioche didn't seem to mind.

One weekend, desperate for news, I went into one of the gas stations. "Do you sell newspapers?" I asked. The clerk pointed. I, thinking he was pointing to the last aisle, took a few steps forward.

"No!" he said, and pointed again. I looked behind me. "There." He pointed one more time, and I noticed that he was indicating a little wooden box sitting on the counter. It held the local newspaper, a three-page-long weekly whose current front page story was about a little league t-ball game.

"No," I said. "I mean, do you have any real newspaper? New York Times, USA Today..."

"Oh. We don't sell those. You could try the other gas station."

We did. It wasn't open on Sundays.

The next weekend, we were back in town. It was Labor Day Monday, and the drugstore was open. I walked in and noticed a huge stack of newspapers. "Oh!" I shouted. "Newspapers! Can I buy one?"

The lady at the counter told me: "No, those aren't for sale. This is just where they drop the papers off to be delivered."

"Please?"

She showed me one she had left over from Sunday: it was a Las Vegas Review, missing its front page, several of the headlines cut out, falling apart at the seams, and with a footprint on it. I was so desperate for news that I agreed to take it. She charged me full price.

4. I was almost killed by an elk.

Before I went to Nevada, I was under the impression that elk were deer. No. Elk are the horrible lovechildren of deer and elephants. They are fucking huge.

I was sitting in the forest one day while we were working- much of our work involved, basically, hiking. I'd finished the line I was supposed to do and was writing paperwork while I waited for some people to catch up.

I heard some branches rustle and looked up to see a pair of legs walk through some trees off to my left. Before I could call out to Liz, the girl who was walking the line to my left, I saw another pair of legs go by. Liz doesn't have four legs, I thought, intelligently, to myself. The elk came out of the trees and stood in a clearing, stopping while it looked around. I froze. This thing was less than 15 feet away from me, and I was sitting on the ground with my legs crossed and a clipboard in my lap. I really didn't want to draw its attention.

We stayed like that for about a minute, when I had the genius idea that I should take a photo of the moment. Unfortunately, my camera was in my backpack, which was between me and the elk. I stood up slowly and took a step forward, but it heard me, and turned around to face me. The only coherent thought that ran through my mind right then was Jesus Fucking Christ, those are some huge antlers. The top of my head- and I'm not short, 5'7- did not come up to the elk's chin. I jumped backwards, and somewhere in the midst of debating if I would have time to climb a tree if it came towards me, it turned the other way and ran off.

Once my heart started beating again, it was pretty cool.

5. I've spent the last six weeks sleeping in a tent, waking up at 5:30 to eat, pack a lunch, pack lots of water, gather supplies, load the van and jeep, drink disgusting instant coffee, and be gone from camp by 6:30. We spent most days hiking, often up the sides of mountains, while carrying backpacks, water supplies, radios, gps units, clipboards, shovels, screens, and whatever we'd found that day. We usually made it back to camp between 5:30 and 6:30. It tended to take an hour to cook dinner (hey, when you're working with canned goods and a propane stove, nothing is easy), and then then we drove the ten minutes to use the park's public shower, a device where, if you didn't push a button every 15 seconds, the lukewarm water gave out on you. By the time we got back to camp, we were exhausted and fell into bed (read: sleeping bag).

I have never been this fit or this tan in my life.

Luckily, though, it hasn't effected my well-developed sense of work ethics: I celebrated my return to civilization by sleeping for over 12 hours, crawling out of bed at 1:30pm, eating take-out chinese, and heading directly for the mall.

Comments

[questionable537.livejournal.com]

I remember towns like that from when I lived in New Mexico. We actually lived out in the middle of nowhere, approximately two hills (read: mountains) away from the highway, reached only by one lane dirt road. From that highway, the nearest town was over 20 miles away. I mention this because I remember quite clearly having to leave home before 6:30 a.m. in order to reach the school bus in time. Classes started at 9.

Eep. I got a lot of sleep on the trip. And I lived in a fairly urbanized part of the state.

The way you described that town sounds about right. It reminds me of the town where one of my relatives lives. The address she gives to the IRS when filling out tax forms is "three houses south of Bonnie's house." There are no street names.

But there are tumbleweeds--which show up right on cue.

Congrats on surviving the west. Those of us who spent chunks of our childhoods there can sympathize.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

*laughs* It all seemed so strange to me! Not only being outside of a city, but being so far from any city, any habitation at all- I hadn't realized how much more heavuly populated the East Coast is. I'd simply thought that was the way everywhere was nowadays. Culture shock, man.

And tumbleweeds! I got such a kick the first time I saw one.

[questionable537.livejournal.com]

I remember the first time I actually recognized a tumbleweed as such was when our cat batted one inside our house while my mother and I were watching a spaghetti western flick marathon on AMC. The kitty had it perfectly timed to the showdown music.

I swear that cat must be a prima-donna... ^_^

[ranalore.livejournal.com]

We take our water seriously around these parts. I don't hate Vegas exactly, it's a very convenient stopping point between here and Provo, but it's definitely a resource hog.

I am always amused when someone encounters elk for the first time. For some reason, a whole lot of people seem to have this idea that they are just slightly larger deer.

So, what was the purpose of the excursion? And you should post some pictures of your tanned self. *G*

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

For some reason, a whole lot of people seem to have this idea that they are just slightly larger deer.

They seem similiar! People hunt deer, people hunt elk. They're four-legged, have antlers, look vaguely horse-shaped...

Besides, the pictures of them on road signs seemed just like the pictures of deer!

So, what was the purpose of the excursion?

Archeaology. I was on a field school, to hopefully teach me something about it outside of theory and books.

And you should post some pictures of your tanned self.

I will, once I, uh, remember the bring the photos from home and get them scanned in.

[p-zeitgeist.livejournal.com]

That hugeness is one of the things I like about elk. They remind me of what the world looked like when I was five: in a way, they look the right size to me, while when I see a deer, I always have a moment of disorientation during which I think it's too small. It's the same with horses -- they're never as big as my subconscious, which is evidently stuck in a time long ago, thinks they're supposed to be.

I love your description of them as "the horrible lovechildren of deer and elephants.

I'm only surprised that you didn't wind up hating Las Vegas for stealing your water, and with the same frightening intensity. I've always found that sort of thing oddly, almost instantly contagious.

And it does. Steal everybody's water, I mean. Las Vegas, Phoenix, all of those places. I'm glad I'm not responsible for water policy in the West -- if something even more catastrophic doesn't happen first, it looks to be one of the growing nightmares of the next fifty years.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

It's the same with horses -- they're never as big as my subconscious, which is evidently stuck in a time long ago, thinks they're supposed to be.


*laughs* I have the exact opposite problem with horses, actually. I expect them to be pet-sized. Rideable, of course, but not the big, muscled animals they are. I'm sure this is a symptom of having watched too much My Little Pony and no real horses when I was a child.

I'm only surprised that you didn't wind up hating Las Vegas for stealing your water, and with the same frightening intensity. I've always found that sort of thing oddly, almost instantly contagious.

I just figured that, well, people have to live somewhere. Granted, 'desert' was probably not the best choice, but now that they're there, they will need all the basics of life. If the choice is take water to Las Vegas or take all the people of Las Vegas to a better place, the first is much easier.

Though it might not work for a long-term strategy. I don't know nearly enough to be able to say anything on the topic.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

*laughs* Now that sounds like a story! You got hit by a bus?

And I promise pictures... as soon as I remember to bring them from home. And scan them. And post them. So, um... soon! Really!

[mistressrenet.livejournal.com]

Welcome back! I know someone who had a friend who was killed by one of the elk he was raising, so I believe everything you say.

Apparently the blank spaces on the map also have meth labs.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Elk! They're killers, I tell ya. When people disappear, it wasn't guys wearing hockey masks or with really long fingernails, it was the elk!

Ah, yes, meth labs. Fortunately we did not run into any of those. I had enough trouble dealing with the elk.

[mistressrenet.livejournal.com]

They're really damn big, for sure. Scaary.

Yay!

[childofatlantis.livejournal.com]

I did not know that this much uninhabited space still existed anywhere in the world, except for maybe some of the worse stretches of Antarctica.

Neither did I. o.o Thanks for this, it's really interesting. :)

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

It blew my mind. I don't understand how people live there- or how so few do. Shouldn't those spaces have filled up long ago? What happened to overpopulation?

I'm glad you liked it!

[cyne-dias.livejournal.com]

Well that was an adventure...

Just so you know, I disown you as my partner in boringness. *g*

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Awwww!

But normally I'm boring! This was just a brief interlude of adventure, I promise.

[goddessgrrrrl.livejournal.com]

OMG that is SO COOL...

I know a bit about Nevada's vast emptiness, having driven through it on my way to Massawhatses this summer (luckily, my car didn't break down!). I was on the 15, a bit less lonely.

I'm hoping to hear more stories about your summer... It just sounds so neat.

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

:) Thanks!

I'll have to think of some more. I'm sure with six weeks, I'm just forgetting a few things....

[redshoeson.livejournal.com]

ROFLOL!! See, shouldn't have read this while I was at work. I'm like /crying/ from the internal laughter.

4 is absolutely hysterical. The end of 5 is priceless. :D

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

^^ I try.