Happy New Year - 2024

 

May this New Year that is upon us find you planning wonderful and exciting escapes to places you have never been before. This round ball of a planet has so much to offer and you have so much to offer it in return.

Happy New Year from the Mob Museum in Las Vegas, Nevada

                                 Get out and and travel in 2024!!!!

                            Traveling freely along the Amazon River in Peru - Make it yours

Merry Christmas

As we travel through this Holiday Season, we want to wish all our friends and loved ones a very Warm and Merry Christmas - and to always remember the reason for the season is - 

John 3:16 - 'For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' 

Enjoying the Town of Elko, Nevada

When traveling along the lonely stretches of the byways, a person can venture into places they may have planned and perhaps not have planned.

On a hunch, I drove into Elko, Nevada. I was not sure why the trip would be worth it, but as I drove along the main road into this small town in North Eastern Nevada, I realized why the black asphalt road had led me there.

This village seems to beckon the adventurer. 

As mentioned in a previous column, my lovely wife, Laureen, wondered why I was traveling to a place we had never heard of. 

Perhaps that was enough.

In the Native American Shoshone language, Elko means ‘rocks piled on one another.’ Not sure that is what I saw when driving into the town of nearly 21,000 citizens but maybe I didn’t look out the windows of the truck enough. Though I must admit, driving through Ruby Valley and into the township there were plenty of rocks nestled on top of each other, so perhaps the Shoshone knew something I did not.

The city of Elko, known as the Heart of North Eastern Nevada, is not that far from the Ruby Mountains - in fact, I stared at them a few times while visiting Elko. They are impressive and can be easily seen the mere 20 miles to the east. 

Tall, imposing mountains which offer hiking, skiing, hunting and over 20 alpine lakes -  high-altitude lakes in a mountainous areas, usually near or above the treeline.

In layman’s terms, lakes that don’t have a lot of trees around them due to the elevation.

The Ruby Mountains are called the Swiss Alps of Nevada.

In fact, on my travels near Elko, I actually met a lovely family by the name of Von Trapp who asked if I wanted to join their singing group. Though my voice is lovely, I had to turn them down and off they went wearing fashionable dirndls for the girls and lederhosen for the boys.

Elko also claims to be the biggest city by virtue of population in nearly 130 miles. That is saying a lot and after asking strangers in the main park if this was true I am not sure.

“Is it the largest city in one hundred and thirty miles?” I asked one man.

“If you say so.”

“But is it?” I leaned into my journalistic atmosphere.

“If you say so,” was the return.

Elko may be small but they have big boots

I wandered off to find one of the many breweries in the local area.

The city received its name, per the myth, by Charles Crocker who was a superintendent of the Central Pacific Railroad.

Railroads were big businesses during the conquering of the west and this muck-muck, Crocker decided he would name this new burg after one of his favorite animals, the elk.

But, even Crocker knew that no one would want to say, “I live in Elk,” so he added an ‘o’ and thus Elko was born in the late 1860s.

Elko was and still is a railroad town

Elko was a part of the original California Trail - the path to the promised land of high taxes and higher real estate prices.

“I cannot wait to mortgage one of our children for a bungalow in Malibu,” one pioneering father was heard to say. 

When the construction of this section of railroad was finished, the engineers and work crews left but the town began to grow and thrive as a hub for ranching, mining, railroad freight, and everything else a growing town needs.

In 1917, Elko was officially incorporated as a city.

There are many interesting things to learn about this Heart of North East Nevada and one of curiosity value is the importance it had with the commercial airmail service. Something called the Kelly Act, which was enacted by congress in 1925, allowed the United States Postal Service to contract out some of its mail service. The first time this act was used was on April 6, 1926 when a commercial plane flew from Pasco, Washington all the way to what one day became the Elko Regional Airport - an amazing distance of 487 miles.

The Kelly Act is much like the newer version, the Jeff Bezos Act.

Stopping by the Northeastern Nevada Museum on Idaho Street - why Idaho Street instead of Nevada Street, I do not know - I saw the original Pony Express Office which had served Ruby Valley and was moved to this location in 1960.

Pony Express Office outside of museum

It was perfect, as though someone could rest there while waiting for the next young rider barreling into the area.

While touring the museum, I saw something that brought joy to my heart. Two young mothers escorting their very young children from exhibit to exhibit patiently explaining what each display was showing.

A whole array of fossils are on display

Traveling as I do, I visit a lot of museums and sometimes they are crowded and sometimes they are empty, but it always makes me remember the times when Laureen, my lovely wife, and I would take the girls to various museums in the states and abroad.

Such good times.

“Can we leave now,” Erica may say.

Jessica would pipe up with, “There’s just a bunch of old stuff here.”

“I’m hungry,” Kelly would finish the conversation.

Good memories.

One of the women looked over and asked if I was a photographer since I had my Canon Rebel around my neck and had been snapping pictures.

“Laureen wished I was,” I replied.

Turns out both ladies were from Indianapolis. That’s somewhere to the east of Nevada. 

Kristina had moved out to Elko nearly a year ago and truly loved the small town.

“It’s so beautiful here,” she told me. “And the people are so friendly.”

Becca, Kristina’s friend, still resided in Indiana. “Kristina told me to come and visit, now I don’t want to leave. No crowds, no crime and the cost of living is so much better.”

It also turns out that Kristina is a professional photographer. I politely smiled when Becca showed me Kristina’s website.

Photo by Kristina Crews

I may have to go back to college for some photography lessons.

Bidding adieu, I traversed the museum and marveled at how well everything was structured and the care each individual exhibit received from the staff.

And that is no easy task for anyone to take one with over 20,000 square feet and covering multiple levels.

There are intricate Native American baskets, shoes, weapons, beautiful artwork, and everything else either the Shoshone or Paiute may have needed or desired while living in the nearby locale.

The history of mining - which was so important to the development of Nevada, which is known as the Silver State - is on display with tools of the trade as well as descriptions of how they were utilized.  

The history of ranching, which is a major industry that Nevada ranks 3rd in the nation for ranch sizes with the average ranch in Nevada at 3,500 acres. There is exhibit after exhibit explaining the daily routine of ranches with photographs, horse saddles, lariats, and tools of the trade.

A wonderfully historic Stage coach on display

Humongous two million year old mastodon bones can be found in the E.L. Wiegand Gallery  as well as other fossils of creatures that lived near Elko thousands of years ago like; giant sloths, lions, bison, unicorns, and small native horses.

These ancient but now extinct horses measured seven feet long and four feet tall. Much smaller than the horses we know and love so well now.

“Hey, Pardner,” one ancient cowboy may have said to another. “I like your horse but your feet are dragging the ground.”

One huge room is crammed with stuffed animals. Not like in a baby’s room but more of a big game hunters trophy library. 

Beautiful displays of animals for the visitor to see

Turns out that most of the animals were donated by the late Jack Wanamaker. He was a conservationist who enjoyed shooting wild animals from all over the world. Over 180 exhibits are in this one room alone and is the largest such collection in the state.

There were lions, tigers, and bears - oh my. I had to go there.

On the second floor are walls filled with paintings by legendary western artists Will James and Edward Borein.

The styles of both artists allow the viewer to really see and feel what life was like in the early days of western life.

In another gallery are dozens of photographs by Ansel Adams and Edward Weston. These are original and many are personally autographed.

There are even watercolors and etchings by Weston, who seemed to have plenty of time to create these gorgeous paintings and renderings when not snapping photographs.

I offered some of my own photographs but was politely told to leave quietly.

This museum is a must stop for any adventurer traveling through northeast Nevada.

For photos by Kristina Crews: www.krccorner.com

There's Space Aliens in Rachel, Nevada

Little A'Le'Inn, in Rachel, Nevada

 According to Michael, a staff member at the Little A’Le’Inn, in the very tiny town of Rachel, Nevada, “I’ve seen things in the night sky that should not be there.”

“Aliens?” I asked, a hunch since I had just driven the Extraterrestrial Highway.

The sign says it all near Rachel, Nevada

He looked at me. “Not sure, but whatever I was looking at did not maneuver like a plane or helicopter should. Just bizarre really.”

Being a bit peckish, I had stopped by the very uniquely colorful restaurant along Nevada State Route 375 for a spot of breakfast.

Strange sights to be seen at the Little A'Le'Inn, Rachel, Nevada

The eggs, home fries and sour dough toast were yummy.

Nikki, the unofficial manager said, “I’ve lived here all my life. The night skies are almost scary since they are so full of stars. We have no light pollution at all.”

This area of Nevada is so removed from city lights, especially lying in the middle of a valley that no city lights could interrupt the celestial ceilings of the night sky.

“And you?” I asked. 

A moment of silence. “Yeah, I’ve seen things that I can not explain. A green comet, I thought, streaking across the desert sky at night. I’ve seen lots of meteorites but nothing that looked like that. Green, almost effervescent.”

That was strange, but I just happened to be in the middle of alien country and anything could be expected. 

Rachel is less than 28 miles from Area 51, the once top-secret military installation that houses aliens and alien aircraft - wait, I’ve been listening to too many conspiracy podcasts.

The existence of Area 51 was finally acknowledged by the United States Government in 2013, but as of yet, no public tours are allowed.

Heed the warning near Rachel, Nevada

Now, that’s a way to get rid of the national debt.

“Dude, I just shook hands with a Grey,” one enthusiast may blush. “I’d pay another gazillion dollars for that again.”

Driving into Rachel from the small town of Alamo was rather lonely. Fifty-two miles along Route 375 leaves a person wondering what could occur in these isolated night skies.

Lonely and Alien looking landscape toward Rachel, Nevada

Forget the night skies for a moment since it was daytime. 

As I was driving I pulled over for a moment as a huge flock of birds, not sure if they were sparrows but from a distance they appeared to be, blocked the roadway.

I got out and just stood there.

There must have been hundreds just walking around the black top, not paying any attention to me - and I was only 30 yards or so away from them.

I studied the birds for a moment wondering why they were gathered as such when suddenly like a black cloud they all took to wing. For a moment the sun was lost in their ascension.

Glancing across the sky there was nothing unusual, bright blue backdrop with a few puffy white clouds.

As I climbed back into my truck, there were noticeable goosebumps on both of my arms. 

It was very eerie and disconcerting.

I mentioned my incident to Nikki. “Yeah, the birds do act strange around here once in a while.”

It should be noted that just prior to my unnatural experience with the flock of birds, I had stopped by the iconic black mailbox.

The Black Mailbox, Rachel, Nevada

The mailbox that folks can leave messages to aliens if they choose along 375.

I did not since I was not sure of the postage cost to a galaxy far far away.

Rachel is located at the southern end of Sand Springs Valley. Driving through it. there is nothing to see in this empty bowl-shaped place which measures about 25 miles wide but with the emptiness, it seemed a lot wider and more desolate.

Northwest of Rachel is a dry lake bed with no name. Suspicious?

And if that isn’t strange enough, the history of the valley will surely raise eyebrows - much like Science Officer Spock does when he is inquisitive about some space anomaly. 

Seems that near this locale is something called the Alamo breccia - an ancient layer of sea sediment from an inland sea over 50 million years ago.

There have been a lot of past inland seas, thus a person can wander many deserts and find seashells and other fossils - no big deal.

But the fossils found in this breccia layer are not supposed to be there. Fossils of these deep water fish at one time in the past were violently thrown to the shore of the sea to mix with the more typical and newer shallow based life. Now, these fossils are all mixed together - hardly what a scientist would expect.

Geologists theorize that a massive meteorite smashed into the land about 375 million years ago. This would have caused the older and deeper sea life to crash onto the shoreline and later mix with the shallower sea life once the sea dried up.

“Well, what about the crater? Where is it?” one geologist may have asked.

Years counting in the hundreds of millions would have filled the crater leaving no sign of it today.

This only leads more and more people to believe there is something ‘alien’ about the lands surrounding Rachel.

And this brings in the curious. So, there is a welcomer. 

Little Fidget, the greeter dog, greeted me with a wag of its tail and a sniff of my leg. 

“He loves guests, and gets plenty of attention,” Michael stated. “We get anywhere from one hundred to five hundred visitors daily during our top season.”

The crush of tour buses, mellow biker gangs, families on vacation, foreigners looking for space foreigners, and men dressed in black, occurs during the months of March through October.

For a tiny hole-in-the-wall joint, Little A’Le’Inn is truly worth a visit.

There are alien statues outside, a mock-up (maybe) of an alien craft hanging off the rear of a tow truck, plaques dedicated to this and that, and just the vastness of the desert is enough for any visitor to enjoy.

One plaque explaining the importance of Rachel, Nevada

The large valley used to be home to various bands of the Paiute Indians and in the hills around Rachel petroglyphs, arrowheads and other signs of early native American settlement can be found.

There is no evidence that any long term residency had taken place from any of the tribes moving through the area though.

Rumor has it that for more of a permanent residency they traveled to south to Las Vegas - perhaps at Caesar’s.

Then the miners moved into the local mountains seeking their fortunes. Like all such dreams, there were good and bad times in the search for fabulous wealth.

There are dozens of abandoned mines and ghost towns within an hour of Rachel.

One example is the town of Logan, approximately ten miles west from the town of Hiko and three miles south of Mount Irish Peak. Here a settlement was founded after silver ore was discovered in 1865. But, like many mining camps, this one did not last long either.

A post office opened in 1868 and closed in 1871 when the mines played out.

It became a ghost town, and there are others to explore such as Crescent, Freiburg, and Groom.

Yes, the same name as was given that humongous dry lake bed which Area 51 now occupies: Groom Lake.

A note of caution on two aspects of traveling through these deserts.

When wandering through a ghost town with mine shafts, be very careful where you tread.

These are remote areas that have been unoccupied for many decades and anything that once may have been sturdy in the mines probably isn’t now. Folks can and do lose their lives exploring where they probably should not have.

And, when approaching Area 51, the signs concerning the use of deadly force are real. I have been escorted away from the tall chain link fences in the past by a couple of not-so-friendly security personnel.

One of them had the strangest eyes too, they sort of had an inner lid - but perhaps it was the sunlight.

Nikky told me a story about the production of the 2011 film Paul. A parody of many science fiction movies and some scenes were supposed to take place within the Little A’Le’Inn.

“A film crew came in, took photos, did sound checks and then left.” she stated. “Then they copied the interior and filmed it someplace else. So, if you watch the movie Paul, it didn’t happen here.”

Ah, the magic of Hollywood.

I have never viewed the film but plan to now, so I can tell anyone in the room watching that it wasn’t filmed where it looks like it was.

I stood outside after my adieus and looked across the vastness of this huge empty valley. 

Tens of thousands of people from all around the globe come here to visit, but are only those from planet earth?

Alamo, Nevada

 

The Alamo, Texas

Going on a road trip is awesome. The planning, the packing, the pressure, the pain, and then the panic.

“I’m going to be gone for two or three weeks,” I looked at Laureen. “Who’s going to make your coffee each morning?”

My trip to northern Nevada, Western Idaho, Eastern Oregon, and Northern California had been in the works for awhile. I do, occasionally plan trips but most of the time I wing it. This time I had some destinations in mind - actually I didn’t but pretended I did.

My friend Paul asked, “Where are you going?”

“The byways, my friend.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

I really didn’t but I knew I would be driving north at the beginning of August. Then Laureen changed my plans.

She broke her right foot. I think it was the metamucil or the metacognitive bone, but I probably have that wrong - I do remember Laureen explaining which bone it was that was broken after the x-ray but I wasn’t really listening.

Being the dutiful husband I am, I postponed the trip to be at her beck and call. And in the following six weeks, there was a lot of beckoning and a lot of calling 

She mended just fine but I was exhausted. I had to get on the road for some relaxation.

One hurdle while driving north on Interstate 15 toward northern Nevada is that the traveler must navigate the traffic of Las Vegas.

The economy may not be looking so great right now but try explaining that to the builders in Sin City.

New housing projects are popping up like weeds. Huge industrial complexes are sprouting like weeds. Hotels and apartment buildings are growing like weeds. And medicinal cannabis clinics are appearing like - well, weeds.

It was so confusing driving in stop and go traffic along Interstate 15 with all the freeway ramps and lanes closed that finally my GPS sent me a message: ‘you are now on your own.’

Laureen called me on my second day on the trip.

“Where are you?”

“I’m on Flamingo Boulevard for the thirtieth time in the past forty-eight hours.”

“So, stop and ask for help,” she replied.

Something no true man wants to do, but I had. A kindly Las Vegas police officer advised me, “I’ve been on Tropicana for the past three days. I don’t know where I am now.”

A week later, I located Route 93 and headed north. Nearly two hours after that, I came to the small quaint village by the name of Alamo.

The sun was slowly setting in the west, as it usually does, and my energy levels were in sync with that blazing bag of  hydrogen and helium.

Since I was pulling the tent trailer, or pop-up trailer as some like to call it, I pulled into Pickett’s RV Park and obtained a space.

It was a nice place to stay for the night. Courteous folks, large sites, and shady trees.

I did not know much about this berg but soon learned it is very small. Took thirty seconds to come to that realization. No stop sign. No traffic signal. Just the long black pavement of the highway bustling past a Sinclair gas station.

The town has a population of around 1,000 people and is pretty rural. Sitting along State Route 95 only 90 miles north of Las Vegas does allow the small locale plenty of byway travelers which support the couple of gas stations and motels in the area.

Sitting at nearly 3,500 feet in elevation gives the area a coolness that the folks down the hill in Vegas never feel.

“The pavements are melting,” one resident of Las Vegas may say to another during the summer. “Let’s head to Alamo.”

“What can we do there?”

“Not become a pile of liquid goo.”

A post office has been in operation since 1905, so Alamo is not a ghost town per definition.

I took a few moments (after setting up a very bougie sort of camp with carpets, a welcome mat that I do not really mean, and exterior solar lights), to drive the few streets the town has to offer in the way of neighborhoods.

It was impressive. Beautiful green lawns, tall billowing trees set against the background of neatly painted and well-kept houses. The schools I drove by would be the envy of any larger town.

Alamo has it going on, except for a lack of restaurants and bars.

The town was founded by a group of Mormons and with their religious beliefs concerning abstinence from alcohol, none was allowed within the town limits.

That changed earlier this year, when the town board started allowing alcohol sales in gas stations and supermarkets, but bars were still a no-no. 

No issue for this traveling writer - always carry a large ice chest just in case you end up in a dry county or town. 

Many believe the founders of the town wanted to immortalize the battle which took place nearly 1,400 miles southeast of their mainly ranching community.

But, the true story may be that when the community was imagined by Fred Allen, Mike Botts, Bert Riggs, and William Stewart, they thought the name Alamo, which is Spanish for poplar, would be appropriate because of all the poplar trees growing in the area.

“Remember the Alamo trees,” Riggs may have yelled at a community meeting.

“Let’s forgo the tree part, shall we,” Stewart may have returned.

Alamo is located within the Pahranagat Valley, and no matter how hard I tried I could not pronounce that name, but it is a beautiful long valley with soft rolling hills dotted here and there with ranches. Long white fences squaring off grasslands where horses and cattle seem pretty happy just munching away.

A few miles to the south along Route 93 is the Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge. 

It is over a 100 years old and was started by the locals as a respite for migratory fowl which would be flying here and there on their way somewhere. 

The over 5,000 acre refuge actually wasn’t created officially until August of 1963 in Lincoln County and is part of the larger Desert National Wildlife Refuge Complex. This complex, at nearly 2 million acres, happens to be the largest such refuge in the lower 48 states. 

Rumor has it that Hawaii did not return a phone call since it was embarrassed that all they had was a bunch of islands, and Alaska scoffed saying that the average citizen there had that many acres in their front yards.

I drove to the refuge and found it very relaxing and peaceful just sitting on one of the many benches that surround a large lake.

People in motorhomes, camping vans, and tents seemed very content while sitting in their lawn chairs in the designated campsites staring out across the sparkling blue waters toward the Badger Mountains to the west.

“We love it here,” Beatrice told me. “We’re from Henderson and like to get away up here and away from the hustle and bustle of city life.”

Her husband, Anthony, told me he likes to look for the green-winged teal, various mallards, pintails, and shovelers.

I had no idea what he was talking about but smiled as though I did. “Any luck today?”

“A beautiful mallard, but that’s about it,” Anthony stated. “Though to be honest, I’m just relaxing.”

Easy to see how that can be the call of the day. A slight breeze with the temperature in the mid-seventies made for a perfect outing.

The entire valley has seen humans strolling around its lush lakes and rolling hills for thousands of years.

Evidence of early American Indian tribes have either lived or traveled through the valley for the past 8,000 to 13,000 years ago. With all the abundant wildlife available in the area it was a no-brainer for the native tribes to settle here.

Deer, elk, antelope roam the hills and valleys freely making hunting relatively easy for experienced  hunters. The lakes and streams are full of trout, crappie, and catfish. Tens of thousands of fowl, of every species, make their way across this vast land giving the opportunity of those living here to have plenty to eat.

This valley had it all from ancient inhabitants all the way to the modern ones.

So, is Alamo worth a visit on its own? Not sure I would make it a final destination, but for a place to slow down for the night and relax, then definitely yes.

And, besides - it is only 13 miles to the most eastern section of the Extraterrestrial Highway.

Happy Halloween - In search of Ghosts

My watch showed me that it was nearly midnight, but I really did not need the timepiece to alert me to such an hour.

I had been wandering here and there, albeit carefully, through the deep clean sands of the Mojave River bed just northeast of the town of Daggett.

Nothing but lonely sands in the riverbed

In search of the spectral Hatchet Lady of Newberry Springs.

I was in search of one of the most terrifying hauntings in the High Desert, according to a news article in the Victorville Daily Press dated October 26, 2010.

In fact, the article entitled, ‘High Desert’s Most Haunted Places,’ describes this ghostly apparition’s path listed as the ninth most haunted place around. 

‘Newberry Springs. Legend has it that the “hatchet lady” roams the Mojave River bottom at night.’

That sounded rather sinister, and thus the reason I was traipsing through the ankle deep sand in search of this specter recently.

That is what I do for a weekly column, especially for the month of October.

This ghostly apparition is not a very nice ghost. According to the Urban Dictionary, ‘The Hatchet Lady caught her husband cheating, and in a fit of rage she lopped off his head with a hatchet, and then committed a gory suicide in the same swing of her arm.’

Seems a little extreme to ‘lop’ off someone’s head when caught cheating while playing poker. But perhaps it wasn’t a card game.

Now, this demented and thwarted woman patrols the Mojave River bed looking for her next victim between Minneola Road and Harvard Road in Newberry Springs.

Dirt trails, possibly leading to the Hatchet Lady

Rumor has it she shrieks in the air like a banshee. Though I have never heard a banshee but just the name sends shivers up and down my arms.

There is quite a distance in miles between both roads and after walking and stumbling through the near total darkness for an hour, while yelling out for the Hatchet Lady, I was tired.

“Hey, Hatchet Lady,” I yelled, while nearly tripping over a rather large abandoned truck tire. “I’ve got a deadline here, show yourself.”

Suddenly, out of the darkness near a tall other-worldly looking tamarisk flew one of the largest owls I had ever witnessed.

I was glad to have worn Depends this particular evening. I did not shout my presence again.

Another hour later, I was really tired and made my way back to my truck parked along Minneola Road. 

Perhaps the hatchet swinging damsel had set hours and I had merely missed them.

The following day I ended up at the Barn along Route 66 in Newberry Springs. I knew I would find the truth about the Hatchet Lady from the patrons there. If not, a cold adult libation would certainly find its way in front of me.

Wes, a local, was wetting his whistle. “Nope, never heard of her and I’ve lived here over ten years.”

Renee, the owner of the bar, shook her head. “Sounds scary, but I’ve had the place over at Lake Jodie for decades and nada.”

Joel, the maintenance manager for the Barn also shook his head. “That’s interesting, I’ve lived here for five years and haven’t heard of her.”

I took out my phone, found four different websites about the Hatchet Lady and showed it around the bar.

Blank faces stared back at me.

“But you know, this place is haunted,” Joel stated.

Huh?

Turns out that both Joel and Renee have felt and seen strange happenings at the establishment.

“I was working one night after the place closed,” Joel started, “when suddenly I heard the men’s bathroom door slam shut.”

“Okay,” I replied. “Doors slam shut.”

He then walked me over to the bathroom door and pointed at a large cinder block holding the door open.

“We leave it open using that,” he said. “When I came over that night, the block was over there.”

He pointed to a spot across the hall at least eight feet away.

“Interesting,” I replied.

He then filled me in on other strange occurrences that had been going on at the Barn.

“The kitchen light came on and when I checked on it, the switch was in the off position. I checked the wires and they were correct. I turned it off and while walking away the light went back on, but the switch was still turned off.”

Ghostly happenings at the Barn in Newberry Springs

Renee happened by the two of us. “One time I was sitting listening to a band, taking a break from the bar when I felt a hand on my shoulder that gave me a squeeze. I thought it was a patron wanting my attention but when I turned around there was no one there.”

“As I was laying some new flooring behind the bar after closing hours,” Joel added, “I heard the freezer door open and then slam shut. Then footsteps walked from the kitchen, across the dining area and disappeared into the rear of the building. I was alone at the time.”

“What did you do then?” I asked.

“Went home.” Joel replied.

I asked Renee who the spirit - a great term to use in a bar, maybe.

“I’m not sure, but I do not believe it means any harm,” Renee responded. “Sort of like it is keeping an eye on the place.”

Sometimes when investigating a locale or event nothing happens - a big fat zero, like I found out with the river bed wandering banshee who hefts a mighty hatchet.

Though, I did sort of wonder how a person could cut off her cheating husband’s head and then cleanly decapitate themselves with one swing.

Perhaps Hatchet Lady should have saved that swing for the majors?

“You know, John,” Renee stated. “Lake Jodie is haunted.”

Joel, who also lives at Lake Jodie piped up. “There have been times when I see shadow people by the lakeside, and when they see me looking they disappear.”

A shadow person, per paranormal sources, is a shadowy figure or black mass resembling a humanoid figure. Often they are interpreted as the presence of a spirit or other entity by believers in the paranormal or supernatural realm.

Lake Jodie, where shadow people are often seen

My interpretation is, these black blobs walk around scaring people without uttering a word - like watching an IRS agent sitting behind their desk and staring at you during an audit.

Both would be equally frightening. 

“I’ve heard footsteps on the exterior steps and then something walking to the water’s edge, but there is nothing there,” Joel continued. “I actually had someone grab my left shoulder one evening while I was sitting on the steps outback, as though using me for leverage to make it down the stairs.”

Footsteps can be heard but no one is there

As Joel is telling me this tale, I noticed large goosebumps on both of his arms. He pointed at them, “See, I hate even thinking about the shadow people and other things I’ve witnessed out there.”

At that point I knew I had to contact the ghostbusters team of Cody Dare and Shawn Warren of The New Reality Paranormal investigative team.

Arrangements were made to meet at one of the houses at Lake Jodie (in all transparency - Lake Jodie is a gated community and no address will be supplied in this column) at a certain date and time.

Like many things in life, other duties turned up and I was not able to be there while Cody and Shawn did their paranormal activity. I believe I had a mani-pedi scheduled instead.

Cody got back to me. “Dude, there is a lot going on there. The place was lighting up like crazy.”

That’s paranormal lingo for, “Wow, Dude, the place was lighting up like crazy.”

“This place has all kinds of different energies just wanting to be heard. They actually want to talk to you.”

Why me, I wondered.

Shawn punched into the conversation. “There is a little girl there who is very prominent. It’s very heartbreaking to know she’s still there.”

Both these professionals know I am a skeptic, but not about their work. They have investigated dozens of places with supposed paranormal activity and have told me things that neither they nor I can explain.

And, that is paranormal, folks.

Though I didn’t locate Hatchet Lady, probably better for my noggin, I did learn that many people in the Newberry Springs area have experienced things there are no seemingly logical explanations for.

And who doesn’t like a bit of mystery or goose bumps in their life?

 Happy Halloween!

It is that time of year to get your scare on! Yep, October is the month for spooks and goblins to be wandering the streets in hopes of administering a whole lot of fear in us mere humans.

Well, for those that believe.

According to a United States government survey conducted in 2021, 41% of Americans believe in ghosts, the other 59% are too afraid to say either way.

“What if I’m wrong and Casper shows up in my bedroom floating around angrily?” one participant may have asked.

So, with October here, I thought I’d check in with my buddy, Cody Dare, of The New Reality, to learn what haunts I needed to check out.

“Dude, you gotta go to the All Saints Lunatic Asylum in Apple Valley,” Cody said. “There’s a lot of paranormal action going on there.”

Halls you may not want to enter

It has also been a professional Haunted House in the High Desert for the past eight years. Of course it is haunted - it is supposed to be.

Can’t be a lunatic asylum if all the patients are sitting around in Lazy-boys watching sit-coms and telling each other they are fine.

Nope, a lunatic asylum has to be a place of horror, torture, grief, terror, and all the other things that make people afraid to enter. No one is afraid to enter a lunatic asylum that resembles something like Friends.

“Oh, Rachel,” Monica may say. “You look just horrible with that leather mask strapped to your face while bound to a shopping cart.”

Rachel will only snarl and drool, but we all know it will work out for the best by the end of the episode.

Never saw this in 'Friends'

I drove to Apple Valley to check out this lunatic asylum, making sure I took my get out of asylum free card with me - just in case.

Christy and Richard Cerreto, the owners of the All Saints Lunatic Asylum met me at the double glass doors of their haunting business.

They were normal looking people. Not sure what I was expecting, but a couple who enjoy scaring the bejesus out of people may have looked like they had just exited a wild rage of Alice Cooper enthusiasts.

Nope, and to boot, they are college professors. Perhaps the place is haunted - making demons appear like well-educated humans.

How dastardly!

Actually, the couple were a lovely duo who just like to be surrounded by ghoulish and bloody exhibits.

“It started at our home,” Christy explained. “We love Halloween and would sit on our front porch handing out candy and scaring the trick-or-treaters.”

“Then it branched out to a maze of fear in our backyard for the neighbor children,” Richard chimed in.

I was wondering if this was my cue that it was time to leave. I’ve seen too many films where this could go wrong - I was just hoping there wasn’t a shed I’d hide in and learn it was full of chainsaws.

“We don’t use chainsaws here,” Christy reassured me.

Huh? I thought I had just said that quietly inside my own head.

No chain saws, but ....

Prior to showing up for my personal tour of the fear factory, I had contacted Cody Dare and Shawn Warren from The New Reality - the paranormal investigative group.

“All Saints Lunatic Asylum has always given me an uneasiness, a feeling of darkness, and never feeling alone,” Cody shared with me. Now, Shawn is pretty amazing when it comes to the paranormal stuff - him being a psychic medium and all - not sure what that means, but he is good at it.

He continued. “You can feel the oppression as soon as you walk into the door, always making me feel disoriented.”

Nervous? Just talk to the nurse at the asylum

Richard, Christy and I were in the lobby, where visitors to their macabre realm check in, and I did not feel any of the things Cody or Shawn had shared with me.

Then again, I generally state when someone insults me, “You hurt my feeling.” Perhaps I left that feeling by the glass entry doors.

“The New Reality has been here,” Christy commented. “It was awesome to see how professional they are.”

Richard nodded. “They always try to find a logical reason for any strange occurrences, then they can rule them out.”

And that is the case for legitimate paranormal investigators. At least 95% of weird stuff can be put down as wind, clouds, imagination, or other issues which may be nothing. It is the remaining 5% that cannot be explained that intrigues these investigators of the unknown.

It is much like when my beautiful wife, Laureen, shops and tells me she is saving money by buying a whole lot of stuff we don’t need because it is on sale.

Cody takes more of an intuitive empath approach - again, no idea what that means.

“The place is off the charts with paranormal activity. There is something very dark in the chapel room.”

The asylum is broken up into many rooms. There is the administrative room, the morgue, the children's room, the hospital room, the dentist office, the chapel, the Sasquatch cage, and so much more to entertain and delight.

Welcome to the Asylum

“When the crew was here,” Christy started, “They were conducting an EVP and clearly a doll was directing one of the female members to choose a certain doll in the room. When she chose the wrong doll, the voice told her ‘no’ and directed her to the correct one.”

For the neophytes, an EVP is in reference to an electronic voice phenomena which are sounds found on electronic recordings that are interpreted as spirit voices.

Though I have been on an investigation with Cody and Shawn, I still have no idea what that means except in layman terms it may be when Betelgeuse insults us and we can hear him.

“Sorry, Betelgeuse, but I left my feeling at the door,” I may return.

I asked both Richard and Christy if the building in which the asylum is located in Apple Valley was built on some sort of sacred Native American land. Perhaps an old western cemetery? Perhaps a devil worshiping pond?

“Nope,” Richard replied. “A stripmall built in the 1970s. I think there was a butcher shop here, a church and who knows.”

A butcher shop. Hmm.

“Cody got struck by a screw, right into his chest,” Christy told me. 

Haunted casket?

“I’ve stepped on nails, right through my foot when I was picking up dog poop in the backyard,” I replied.

She stared at me. “No, when they were filming by the casket, Cody was conducting a sensory deprivation when suddenly a screw flew at him from the casket, right into his chest.”

I nodded as if I understood.

“They caught it on tape,” Richard shared.

At that point the tour through all the rooms was conducted by my guests and it was enlightening, thrilling, and terrifying. But, I am not going into detail since I would not want to ruin the surprise for any potential visitors.

Besides, I had my eyes closed most of the time. When I saw Granny rocking in her wheelchair with a face that would terrify Jeffrey Dahmer, I knew this place was the real thing.

And here's Granny

As I learned during the tour, pretty much everything within the walls of the asylum are antiques acquired from actual places where folks may have not been treated as well as they should have been while alive, or even after death.

Could it be that it is not the actual building where the asylum is located that is haunted but the artifacts contained there? Does the very existence of these items conjure up dark energy that then releases itself on unsuspecting humans? Does the culmination of all these objects together in one place open the portal to the underworld? Is this where the beginning meets the end?

I don’t know - but it is very cool.

Just before I left, Richard pointed out a slew, or should I say a slaying of awards earned by his and Christy’s haunted enterprise. It was quite impressive: best live theater, best innovative business, best place to work, best place to have a birthday party, and my favorite - best place to wet your pants in public.

Lots of spooky awards

Did I feel any paranormal activities while at the asylum?

Nope, but that does not mean there isn’t. I know this though, wandering those dark halls and viewing actual pieces obtained from real asylums, mortuaries, hospitals, morgues, and who knows where else, there could be very well stuff happening there no one can explain.

Perhaps there is some sort of energy present at this asylum. Perhaps there is not - but, the only way to find out personally is to visit.

And no, I am not a paid spokesperson for the All Saints Lunatic Asylum. In fact, both Richard and Christy asked me to come back when it was open for guests for free. I turned them down.

I like my pants dry.

For more information: http://www.allsaintsasylum.com/

Catch Cody and Shawn on their Youtube channel - The New Reality Paranormal 

 

Don Laughlin's Car Museum

 In 1980, a man purchased a new 1,100 cc Honda Gold Wing with a desire to ride the

open roads.

The Bike!

Over the following four years he managed to put over 30,000 miles on that sturdy Honda

and when he put the kickstand down, he may have said, “That is not enough miles for me.

I want to see the world.”

The Honda’s owner, Emilio Scotto, may have been guffawed at by his friends and family,

since the man had never even left his native country of Argentina.

“You barely rolled out of Buenos Aires,” it is rumored a neighbor may have sneered.

“Now, you want to roam the world?”

Scotto shook his head. “I don’t want to roam but fly on my Gold Wing through the

heavens touching down in as many lands as I am able.”

The neighbor looked at Scotto, believing he may have had one or two Aloja de Chauchas

too many.

Scotto quit his job in 1984, and with 300 bucks in his pocket, he took off on his

motorcycle for the trip of a lifetime.

Over the next decade, the intrepid motorcycle rider covered 485,000 miles, visited 232

countries - including islands, colonies, atolls, and other not-really-recognized countries. It

is estimated that Scotto touched down, his words not mine, on nearly 99 percent of the

landmasses on earth.

Scotto holds the Guinness World Record for the longest journey conducted by an

individual on a motorcycle.

He finally arrived back home in Argentina on April 2, 1995 and promptly received a

traffic ticket, possibly from a jealous traffic cop.

When he met up with family and friends, it is rumored he said, “My rear end hurts -

really hurts from sitting down for ten years on bumpy roads.”

It should be noted that even though Scotto left Argentina in 1985 with few pesos, he did

pick up numerous sponsors for his around-the-world journey as his story was shared

campfire to campfire, which made eating and putting gas in his motorcycle a bit more

affordable.

Now, what does one man following his passion of traveling around the world have to do

with this column?

It isn’t about Emilio Scotto or his motorcycle, but about a person’s desire to see more of

the world than they had ever hoped for before.

Traveling is a way to do that - to venture out and visit strange new lands, see strange new

people, experience strange new experiences, and sometimes just to be strange.

Then again, Scotto’s motorcycle is on display with his complete adventurous story at Don

Laughlin’s Car Museum, located within the Riverside Resort Hotel and Casino, in

Laughlin, Nevada.

The Riverside Resort Hotel and Casino

I’ve written about Laughlin in the past - the small gambling and entertainment mecca

which sits on the west side of the cooling blue waters of the Colorado River. A great

place for family and for those folks who don’t have a family.

John R Beyer next to a statue of Don Laughlin

The town works for both categories.

It had been a long time since I had visited the car museum located at the Riverside. In

fact, as I get older, my perspective of that long time may have been longer.

If recollection serves me well, the last time I visited, it was called the Don Laughlin’s

Horse and Buggy Museum.

This is no horse and buggy museum

Laureen, my lovely wife, couldn’t make the trip to Laughlin so my buddy, Paul, ventured

out with me.

Men love auto museums, and I am not being sexist, but generally I see men being guided

by their girlfriends or wives through the museums on a leash. This is because the men are

wearing drool buckets attached to their ears and terrible and ugly spillage could occur if

they stop suddenly in front of a bright shiny gorgeous automobile.

“It’s just a silly old Lamborghini Veneno,” the wife or girlfriend may say, while giving a

little tug on the leash attached to the drool bucket.

“But, it was created to celebrate Lamborghini’s fiftieth anniversary back in 2013.”

A snap on the leash. “And when is our anniversary?”

“I understand the museum has a gift shop.”

Who wouldn't drool?

According to the car museum’s website, ‘The exhibit is a rotating collection of antique,

classic, and unique autos assembled from private collections from all over the world.

Included among these are several owned by Don Laughlin himself, an avid auto

enthusiast and collector. Don Laughlin’s Classic Car Collection has something for

Everyone!’

An exclamation point - must be pretty darn exciting in that car museum, and I was there

to find out if it was true or not.

The actual exhibit is divided into two different floors of the casino. The first floor, along

Casino Drive, is open to the public for free. It’s a tease to tempt car aficionados to head to

the 3rd floor on the south tower to see the majority of the vehicles on display for the

small price of five bucks.

I had to cover Paul’s ticket.

As I entered the ground floor exhibit, I was met by a staff/security gentleman sitting

behind a desk.

“Do you like working here?” I asked.

He simply waved his hand in the direction of a shiny medium blue 1963 Corvette

Stingray sitting stunningly by the large glass front window.

I started shaking a bit.

Wandering along the roped paths leading to this vehicle and the next, it was hard to

explain the pounding in my chest.

A 1949 Harley Davidson, a 1966 Triumph, a 1967 Velocette standing proudly against

one wall.

A 1969 Mini-mini Indian, a 1950 Whizzer Sportsman, a 1981 Honda ATC 110 also

standing proudly against another wall.

Desert vehicles, sports cars, and the like were there. But enough gawking, it was time to

head to the 3rd floor main event.

Stepping off the elevator we found ourselves in a world of wonder.

Thirty-thousand square feet of vehicle viewing area greeted the visitor. Some of that

space is for a small gift shop, and to my relief Paul is frugal - now, if Laureen had been

there?

Car after car was just begging for us to stop, ponder, and wonder how such a mechanical

beast could be so beautiful.

I could feel the horsepower roaring up to the white ceilings - though, in reality none of

the vehicles were running and we learned that most only have a smidgen of fuel just in

case they have to be moved a bit, or started to ensure everything was in working order.

One notable exhibit was the bright red Skylane Hot Road which was rotating on a

pedestal so everyone could see the beauty of this automobile in a full 360 degree

exposure.

There was a 1934 Ford Tow Truck, a 1977 Lincoln convertible, a 1954 Kurtis, a 1932

Buick Coupe, and it went on and on.

Row after row of vintage cars and trucks in immaculate condition. It was almost too

much for a late morning jaunt.

I looked over at Paul, who was receiving a cup of water from another staff member while

being led to a chair.

“Happens all the time,” the staff member said.

Being a friend, I stayed by Paul for a few moments until he waved his right hand. “You

go ahead. I forgot to breathe while looking at the vehicles. I just need a little rest.”

I foraged ahead into another row of vehicles. All meticulously cared for by their owners

to the point of almost worship.

Suddenly my eyes were drawn to a 1937 bright red Cord, built by the Auburn

Automobile Company out of Connersville, Indiana.

It made me stop in my tracks. Curved like an artist created it out of a piece of clay and

then threw away the mold.

In 1937 this car sold for 3,000 dollars. A lot of money for its time, that today would

easily go for 150,000 dollars or more at auction.

Amelia Earhart owned one - and I had always wanted one.

“We’d have to sell one of our daughters,” Laureen would say.

That’s when I would start looking at grades, who picked up the doggie messes the most,

and so-on.

To this day, no Cord in my driveway.

The Don Laughlin Car Museum is a wonderful way to spend a few hours and just relax

amidst some truly awesome vehicles that would stand up to any artist.

If you doubt that, look closely at a work by Salador Dali. Enough said.

For more information: https://automotivemuseumguide.com/don-laughlins-car-museum/