The great wide open
Burp guns. Tommy guns. Machine guns. We got ’em if you want ’em. And we’re gonna have ’em for the forseeable future.
Of course, the Republicans weren’t gonna do diddly dick with background checks and assault weapons. BAN ALL ASSAULT WEAPONS, GODDAMMIT. I do not want to get shredded by huge bullets while I’m shopping for ice cream sandwiches at effing Save Mart. OK? Is that too much to ask? It would have been utterly shocking had Dum Dum followed through with his spittle-spewing babble about background checks (and man, he is sweatin’ like a big orange sweet potato these days!)
Which do Republicans value more? Donations and votes from the NRA, or the safety of you and yours? Us semi-sane folks figured this out a while ago, and the answer is obvious and extremely embarassing. What gutless slimebags they are, these invertebrate Repubs marching to the lead of Trump, Moscow Mitch, and highly detestable ultra crook Wayne LaPierre. We better remember this actionlessness in 14 months (something tells me … we will).
So let’s get back to Lincoln County, shall we? I wrote last week about what a treat the state parks of L.C. were, and you responded properly, with a quality siesta after lunch. So here’s more from my recent tour of this handsome and overlooked chunk of the Silver State.
About 400 miles southeast of Reno is the colorful cowboy mining town of Pioche (pee-oatch) on U.S. 93. And about 15 miles east of Pioche, on highway 322, is the town of Ursine. What a delightful spot. There’s no commerce there, outside of the way cool Eagle Valley Resort (one of Nevada’s truly great roadhouses), just a super quaint, tidy little village that seems to be from Deep Yesteryear. Ursine, which means bear-like, felt like Lincoln County’s version of Jarbidge, the enchanted town near the Idaho border.
In fact, the 20 mile drive from Echo Canyon State Park to Spring Valley State Park via Eagle Valley Road and Ursine was just superb. The kind of drive that makes you feel good just by being there. I drove back to my trailer in E.C.S.P. that day with a full glass of pinot grigio on the console (sshhhhh!), and it could not have been nicer.
Heading to Reno via Rachel and Tonopah, I was reminded again that The Loneliest Road in America is not Highway 50, but the Extraterrestrial Highway 375. Talk about The Great Wide Open. Whatever you do, don’t run out of gas out there! It may be a while before AAA shows up.