Bonnie and Clyde's Death Car

The Death Car in Primm, Nevada

 “I know it had been parked in that spot,” I told Laureen.

“How do you lose a car?” She asked.

I didn’t know but I knew who would, the friendly bartender across the room.

No, I had not misplaced my own vehicle after imbibing in an adult beverage. We were looking for the bullet-riddled Bonnie and Clyde V8 Ford which had been last seen at Whiskey Pete’s in Primm, Nevada.

This couple of midwestern small-time thieves and killers met their fateful end while driving the stolen Ford on a country road on May 23, 1934. Law enforcement officers were waiting for the duo and greeted them with a barrage of lead. They were not about to take any chances with the pair wanted for the cold-blooded murders of at least 13 people and countless robberies. Nope, Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker met their end with at least 112 bullets fired at them.

“You want to know where the car is?” Frank, the bartender asked me. It was nine in the morning and even though we had stopped at the Casino, it was too early to belly up to the bar, even for me. We just needed some information and the smiling man was only too eager to supply it.

I nodded. “You guys do have all the answers and even know the question before it is even asked.”

Laureen, my lovely wife, merely shook her head. I’ve noticed she does that a lot lately when I talk.

“They moved it across the interstate to Buffalo Bill’s,” he told us. And he also informed us that the car may be haunted. “I’ve never seen anything spooky, but a friend of mine who works late once said he saw a shadowy figure in clothing from the thirties standing beside the rear bumper. When he went over, no one was there.”

And off we went to see the car and see if perhaps Clyde Barrow was actually wandering around wondering why his shirt had so many holes in it.

‘Bonnie had just laundered it by the old crick and I could swear there were no holes in it when she had me put it on,’ his specter may be wondering.

It should be noted that I am not a fan of the killers who were so famously shot up as they rode in their stolen car - quite the opposite. These murderers are unfortunately a slice of Americana during the time of the Great Depression. Unemployment was over 25 percent, food lines were a norm in large cities, folks leaving their homes in the East and heading West with hopes of finding work, and there were people like Bonnie and Clyde stealing and killing, sometimes just for fun.

It was also the era of gangsters like Pretty Boy Floyd, Machine Gun Kelly, John Dillinger, Toots Galore, and many more.

“Wonder why they moved it?” Laureen asked as we returned to our own non-shot-up car in the parking lot of Whiskey Pete’s.

“Perhaps it just appeared there,” I replied. “Like magic…or worse.”

Turns out that after the killing duo met their demise, there were a lot of shot-up ‘Bonnie and Clyde Death Cars’ making the rounds in the United States. People would plop down a nickel and then get a chance to ooh and aah counting the bullet holes that had torn through the metal of the V8.

“I counted fifty, ma,” Little Richtie may have told his ma.

“Man said there were over a hundred,” Ma may have replied. “Count 'em agin.”

But the one now located within Buffalo Bill’s is the real deal. The Ford had been put on display after the killings for nearly 30 years in carnivals, amusement parks, state fairs, and other such public places where people could get a glimpse of the last sitting spot of Bonnie and Clyde,

For a dollar, folks could sit in the front seat for a photo-op when the car turned up in Las Vegas in the 1970s. 

“Smile pretty,” the photographer may have said to a paying customer. “Don’t mind the blood spots.”

Over the next couple of decades, the death car moved from various locations until finally stopping at Whiskey Pete’s, and more recently, it was moved to an entire gangster-styled wing at Buffalo Bill’s.

It was easy to find as we wandered the rather eclectic Buffalo Bill’s casino interior.

“There it is,” I said, as in the short distance the death car - that is the name it goes by - I could make out the bullet-riddled remains of the V8 surrounded by tall and thick plexiglass.

The bullet riddled driver's door

Inside the enclosure are also two dummies made to look like the two dummies that met their untimely end within the car. Did I mention I was not a fan of Bonnie and Clyde?

The location of the car is rather unique and the lighting is a bit dim as to represent a darkness about the car and the people killed inside it, perhaps. But it had an interesting effect, on purpose or not.

Near the vehicle is a large kiosk with photographs showing the aftermath of the gunfight, along with newspaper articles from the period, and other artifacts including personal effects of the couple from when they were alive.

A mirror created by Clyde Barrow

From when they were dead is the blood-stained bullet-ridden shirt Clyde had been wearing while killed behind the wheel.

One sadly interesting artifact is a news clipping stating that over 20,000 people attended Bonnie’s funeral and over 15,000 attended Clyde’s. It is believed through the articles on display that many people in the country believed that the couple were more like a pair of Robin Hoods than just the plain thugs they were.

Crowds of people staring in at the death car

There is no evidence they gave away their stolen loot to the poor of the time.

Also, a place to sit for a few moments and watch a short video of the couple runs 24/7 for those wanting to remember Bonnie and Clyde and their life story.

We skipped the screening.

A short distance away, we found the 1931 black Lincoln bulletproof sedan once owned by New York gangster, Dutch Schultz, which, in turn, was then taken by Al Capone after Schultz’s murder in 1935. It was then rumored that the car was used by President Franklin D. Roosevelt after it had been confiscated by the federal government and Capone sent to Alcatraz.

The armored car owned by mobster Dutch Schultz

A little-known fact, Dutch Schultz was murdered while using a urinal at an upscale restaurant in Newark, New Jersey. The urinal is not on display at Buffalo Bill’s.

Having written a column about the Mob Museum in Las Vegas, it was interesting to find such a vehicle located in Primm, Nevada. A lot of history and violence tied to both cars on display but again another piece of Americana. Not the best part of the United States history but with all countries there is the good and bad - and we must be able to view it and perhaps learn from it.

Visitors were snapping selfies, taking group photos, and just taking in the scene of two vehicles that have been seen and portrayed in both docudramas and Hollywood films.

Speaking of Hollywood, the 1967 movie Bonnie and Clyde, starring Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway was a box office smash.

As we were leaving Buffalo Bill’s, I took another tour of the couple’s car and wondered how many lives these two ruthless killers changed for the worse. 

Too many, I imagined.

For more information: https://primmvalleyresorts.com/hotel/hotel-amenities/bonnie-clyde-exhibition/

Cottonwood Cove, a respite from the heat in Nevada

Entrance to Cottonwood Cove via the town of Searchlight, Nevada

One of the most memorable aspects of traveling is not the places visited, though that has a lot to do with the traveling, but the people you meet along the way.

I’ve been fortunate to meet famous folks, ordinary folks, and sometimes some unsavory folks along the byways. But all were wonderful in their own right.

Laureen, my lovely wife, and I decided recently to boat up to Cottonwood Cove Resort and Marina on Lake Mohave, approximately 35 miles north of Davis Dam on the Nevada side of the lake. We would leisurely cruise the blue waters of the Colorado River and spend the night at the Cottonwood Cove Motel along the shores of the marina.

Beautiful view of Lake Mohave from Cottonwood Cove

A wonderful way to spend a weekend. Sun, fun, and burning through a whole lot of fuel which made my wallet feel a lot lighter when we docked at the marina gas station.

“I bet we’re still a buck cheaper than Katherine Landing,” a young man said while pumping fuel into the tank on our boat.

“Yes, you are,” I replied not feeling any more chipper as I handed him a hundred and received no change back.

“Did you bring snacks?” I asked Laureen. “I don’t think we can afford the cafe for dinner.”

The winds had picked up about halfway along the trip and the lake often looked like a churning clothes washer. But we were out in the fresh air, tunes blasting away on the pontoon, and getting splashed by cold lake water was just part of the adventure.

Even with some pretty rough water, we made Cottonwood Cover in a little less than two hours and decided to chug further north to Nelson’s Landing on the Nevada side of the lake.

And this is where we encountered two young men who were in desperate need of help.

I wrote about the tragedy that had taken place on September 14th, 1974 when a monsoon west of the landing created a sudden flood which led to a 40-foot wave of water roaring through Nelson’s Landing, killing nine people.

Nelson Landing along the Colorado River

We had only seen the beach from the land and decided to take a gander at the site from the water's edge.

As we slowly pulled into the cove, which was packed with swimmers, Laureen noticed a young man frantically waving a white Frisbee at us.

I waved back.

“I believe he wants to talk to us,” Laureen said, with a slight shaking of her head in my direction.

Turns out two of their friends had paddled across the lake to the Arizona side, about a mile or more in distance, and had not returned. The choice of craft for the adventurers to cross some pretty rough water was a small inflatable raft with two short plastic paddles.

“It’s an orange raft and we lost sight of them,” the Frisbee-waving twenty-something yelled out to us from his perch on a high cliff.

A young woman beside him asked if we would mind going and looking for them. And off we went across the lake in search of a small orange raft.

Fast forward to the end.  We did locate the two boys on the Arizona side - Gavin and Westin - hefted the raft and them aboard our boat and drove them back across the lake to their very relieved friends on shore.

“I think I underestimated the river,” Gavin stated.

“Lots of folks do,” I replied, while Laureen draped a towel over Westin’s shivering shoulders. It may have been early May and the sun beaming from above but the water temperature is still in the mid-60s, which is pretty chilly when a person has been hanging onto the side of a flimsy raft for hours. 

We dropped the guys off and waved goodbye. Laureen laughed and asked if I had seen the t-shirt the girl had been wearing.

A white t-shirt with an arrow pointing to the left with the words, ‘I’m with stupid.’

“Probably should have made it plural,” I replied. Oh, the irony.

Actually, the two young men were just inexperienced. They were also very nice and appreciative. They wanted to know how they could repay us for saving them. Simple I advised, if they were ever out boating, return the favor and help someone else in need.

Good Karma is needed when on the water.

Nelson Landing, packed with sun worshipers

After doing our good deed for the day, we returned to Cottonwood Cove, tied off at a courtesy dock, and went to the store to see about a guest boat slip for the night.

And this is where we met a woman with an incredible sense of humor, by the name of Hope Full. “Yes, that’s my name.”

“Well, in that case, we are hopeful that a slip is available,” I replied.

“Never heard that one before,” Hope said, rolling her eyes just a bit. “Yes, Lisa called us this morning from Boulder Beach and reserved one for you.”

At this time, the manager came over and introduced himself. “I’m Mark Anthony, we exchanged emails about your trip here.”

Laureen turned her back to me. “Don’t say it.”

I smiled, “Is Cleopatra around?”

“Never heard that one before,” Mark said.

Mark is the manager at the resort and we did share some emails about Laureen’s and my plans for the weekend. He was awesome, as well as the entire team at Cottonwood Cove - helping us with anything we needed.

But this was not just a mini-vacation destination, there is a truly interesting history of this place.

Once long ago there, was a rather large island in the middle of the Colorado River named Cottonwood Island. This was before dams were built on the Colorado, forming Lake Mead, Lake Mohave, and Lake Havasu when steamboats navigated the wide river for nearly 500 miles. 

According to the-wandering.com, the island measured nearly ten miles long and three miles wide with a huge concentration of cottonwood trees. The river flowed around the island making access to it rather easy from either shore - Nevada or Arizona.

The Mohave people used the island for agriculture. Then mining began in the 1860s, and the cottonwood trees were felled to sell to the steamboats for fuel making their way to the local mining areas, bringing supplies and retrieving the ore for the smelters down south.

In 1867, the military placed a small outpost on the island to raise cattle, but in the same year, a flood wiped the camp out and drowned all the cattle. That experiment was not tried again, though miners would still graze their cattle from time to time on the island.

Eventually, with the construction of Davis Dam and the creation of Lake Mohave in 1951, the island disappeared for good under the blue waters. Nothing can be seen of this once popular and historic land mass.

We wandered a bit before our motel room was ready and saw families with and without boats enjoying the warm afternoon weather while taking dips in the cool waters along the two swimming areas near the marina.

The Cottonwood Cove Motel, plenty of room for guests

This resort within the Lake Mead National Recreation Area has something for everyone - though I still get confused with the name of the place, since we were on Lake Mohave. A large campground is available for those coming east from Searchlight, a cafe, general store, motel, houseboat rentals for long and short term, hiking trails galore and so much more.

Gorgeous beaches gazing over at the marinas

Cottonwood Cove was part of the Mission 66 project which was started by the National Park Service in 1955 as a way to enhance visitors' outdoor experience and originally followed Route 66 when more and more people hit the roads in their own jalopies. 

After checking into our room, we opted for an early dinner at the cafe, and as I sat looking out across the sandy beach, the softly blowing tall palm trees, the sparkling blue waters I knew what I was going to order.

“What are you having?” Laureen asked.

“No choice but to follow Jimmy Buffet’s advice,” I said. “A cheeseburger in paradise.”

And I did.

For more information: https://cottonwoodcoveresort.com/

Tragedy at Nelson Landing, Nevada

 “I remember coming here fishing as a young man in the early seventies,” the now older man said. “It was a wonderful location for families to camp, boat, and just have fun.”

Laureen, my lovely wife, and I had just met this fella along the shores of the Colorado River, not far south of the Hoover Dam.

South side of Hoover Dam

In all transparency, we were actually at Lake Mohave, but it is still all part of the Colorado River. In fact, gold ore used to be shipped along the river near the town of Nelson 350 miles to the Gulf of California. With the building of Hoover Dam, Davis Dam and others, the river was tamed and man-made lakes were created, but it is still all part of the Colorado River system.

We had been out exploring places we had not yet visited when we had found ourselves along the shore of crystal clear waters.

“Then in an instant it was all gone,” he concluded, and then drove off through the sandy wash westward.

All that is left of the once popular Nelson Landing

A sobering moment as we learned we were standing on the ground where Nelson’s Landing had once stood. A river resort that had been loved and shared by countless folks for decades.

Nelson’s Landing had been located on the western edge of Lake Mohave in El Dorado Canyon, roughly five miles east of the ghost town of Nelson - which is where Laureen and I had actually been heading. But, unbeknownst to us - there was another story at the end of the pavement when we had decided to travel past the ghost town.

“Let’s see if we can get to the river on this road before touring Nelson,” Laureen had said, and being the dutiful husband and traveler agreed.

“All roads lead somewhere interesting,” I replied.

At that moment the idea of interest had been an understatement. Turned out to be a black ribbon of asphalt that had a tale of horror and tragedy at the end of it.

Nelson’s Landing had been a small beach settlement enjoyed by locals and visitors alike. Mobile homes, RVs, campsites, boat docks, restaurants, and other amenities made this place a must go river spot.

Original photo of what Nelson Landing looked like before the tragedy

Looking for a choice for water activities, there is Lake Mead, north of Hoover Dam or Lake Mohave, south of Hoover Dam. Take your pick. Either would be a good choice on a hot day. It was an easy destination for people living in nearby Boulder City or even Las Vegas, a mere 50 miles away. 

One such summer day was September 14th, 1974 where people were boating, laying on the sandy beach, camping, and enjoying lunch in one of the restaurants at the landing when the unexpected reared its ugly head.

Miles away to the west a storm cloud showed up and poured a monsoonal amount of rain onto the dry desert soil in only a few minutes.

The torrent splattered the desert floor, but with the sun scorched hardened earth the ground was like a piece of tile and that rain simply did what gravity intended - flow downhill undeterred.

Narrow canyon walls allowed torrents of water to flow

Soon a forty foot wave of water channeled from five separate smaller canyons rushed through El Dorado Canyon toward the resort. In a matter of minutes the resort was completely wiped out.

Among the rubble, only memories were left by those who had survived.

Nine people died on that fateful day.

Rescue workers looking for survivors at Nelson Landing

According to a July 9, 2019 online news article from 8@NewsNow.com (Las Vegas) - local resident, Tony Werly stated: “That’s fifty-two square miles that all merged into that one canyon. As the cloud was coming down the mountain, they (the people who had been enjoying the day at Nelson Landing) were trying to get their boat docks out of the water before they got rained on. They never knew what was coming down the canyon with it.”

Werly also stated a teacher he had once had, Jack Dailey, had been one of the victims of the flooding disaster.

“Dailey was actually a school teacher of mine when I was in high school and he was one of the guys that died.”

Dailey’s friend, John Gellifent, was also interviewed.

“Jack was out boating,” Gellifent said. “He was coming back when the wall of water hit.”

Turns out the teacher and friend of Gellifent’s had been out enjoying the river and upon returning to the beach in his boat he was overtaken by the destructive path of the flood and killed just offshore.

Nelson’s Landing was never rebuilt. There are now signs warning visitors that the chance of a severe flood is a real and present danger.

We looked out across the area where one minute visitors were having the time of their lives and the next, there was no time left.

“How horrible,” Laureen said. “To be here with your family enjoying a wonderful day and then that happens.”

I did not reply. My gaze took in the blue waters of the river in front of me and I could almost hear the terrified screams of those watching from wherever they were at the moment as a tsunami barreled down on them.

And then the frantic search and rescue through the rubble that had been a popular beach resort must have been heart wrenching.

It did not take a vivid imagination to feel what those poor folks felt as they looked westward up El Dorado Canyon and saw nothing but a huge debris filled wave of water racing toward them.

I felt chills run down my spine. To be standing at a gorgeous location, as this place is, and then to realize you are standing on hallowed ground.

People had perished here. Their only fault, just enjoying a hot summer day by cool waters.

It was not something we had expected to experience as we had happily been driving north along US Route 93 toward Boulder City, Nevada when we took a short jaunt toward the ghost town of Nelson.

A few years ago, my buddy Paul and I had powered up the Colorado River from Katherine Landing aboard my pontoon boat. It was a casual camping excursion, where we took in gorgeous inlets, water canyons, hidden coves, witnessed families of Bighorn sheep, and wild donkeys. The final destination of cruising by Willow Beach, on the Arizona shore to the Hoover Dam 12 miles to the northwest.

The blue waters of Lake Mohave

The previous day, we had witnessed dozens of people laughing while they jumped from some pretty high natural cliffs alongside the Colorado River on the Nevada Shore.

All through the warm months, people flock to Nelson’s Landing to jump off the cliffs into Lake Mohave. Some spots along the steep walls are 50 feet high and caution as well as a little dose of common sense are needed here.

I wondered if those summer loving folks realized that less than half a century ago, folks had literally fought for their lives on that sunny September day, and some had fought in vain.

“I boated past this spot without realizing the tragedy which had taken place,” I said to Laureen. “When Paul and I made our way to the Hoover Dam and saw people jumping into the water. Never thought of where or how tragic this place was.”

Laureen nodded.

Though the temperature was in the high thirties when we visited in January, the sun was shining making the water sparkle and the sand crunch beneath our feet.

No sign of a past calamity was to be witnessed in this picturesque setting. Just quiet and beautiful.

According to the National Weather Service - ‘Flash floods can roll boulders, tear out trees, destroy buildings and bridges, and scour out new channels. Rapidly rising water can reach heights of 30 feet or more. Furthermore, flash flood-producing rains can also trigger catastrophic mudslides. You will not always have a warning that these deadly, sudden floods are coming. Most flood deaths are due to FLASH FLOODS.’

The strength of rushing waters can dislodge huge section of earth

The fun-loving people enjoying a hot September day in 1974 did not think twice about a dark cloud far away on the horizon - why should they? But, in a matter of a blink of an eye rain fell in huge amounts and turned that care-free event into a horrific and unforgettable catastrophe. 

The teacher, Jack Dailey, did not live to see a school named after him in Las Vegas - Dailey Elementary School. 

Though I often make light of being out in nature and possibly ignoring signs about this or that - driving out of El Dorado Canyon on that January morning reminded me that signs are there for a reason and must be taken seriously.

A Pass through Montgomery Pass

 

Montgomery Pass to Tonopah along US 6

As I made my way through a myriad pile of junk - old rusted slot machines, broken down chairs, tables, shattered glassware, I suddenly felt as though I was being watched.

“You don’t belong here,” a voice seemed to utter. “You should leave.”

Taking a gander about this wreck of a once vibrant welcoming center, I decided to take that unknown recommendation to heart.

Once bustling visitor center and hotel at Montgomery Pass

Stepping up and over a windowsill without panes of glass, I knew there was something about this place, Montgomery Pass, that was inviting but at the same time unnerving.

I don’t believe in Casper flying about doing this and that, even though I do write about visiting supposed haunted places for columns each October. 

Thus, as I was passing this locale with dark overcast skies and threatening clouds, I was not looking for any paranormal mumbo-jumbo. I had just been passing by and discovered this empty soul of a small town.

Sitting at nearly 7,200 feet above sea level, it was chilly and uninviting, but at the same time, the place called out to be visited.

I was making my way toward the town of Bishop along US 395 via US 6 after leaving the town of Mina in Nevada along US 95. There were a lot of US highways on this route, one of the most patriotic road systems running through the area.

Montgomery Pass is near Montgomery Peak, which is one of the tallest peaks in California with its twin, Boundary Peak, not far away. Both peaks are over 13,000 feet above sea level. Those are some mighty tall peaks along the White Mountains, just east of the Sierra Nevadas.

Beautiful vistas behind the remnants of Montgomery Pass

According to the Nevada Travel Bureau, US 6 is the real Loneliest Road around. There are 297 miles of open roadway with only three towns with more than 100 people residing - Baker, in California, and Ely and Tonopah, Nevada. The truth is, you will not be seeing many vehicles along US 6.

I recall roughly two summers ago, traveling between Tonopah and somewhere when it suddenly dawned on me that I had not seen another vehicle for at least 30 minutes. A bit peckish, I stopped in the middle of the road, lit up the bbq and within an hour was enjoying a rack of lamb, sided with Za’atar roasted carrots and grilled asparagus, followed with a delicious glass of Fiji Water in a crystal goblet.

It is a lonely highway - as I was driving off after my scrumptious luncheon, I believe I heard the asphalt crying.

Montgomery Pass was a totally unexpected delight on this simple travel day. According to one of my favorite ancient Greek philosophers, Heraclitus: ‘If you do not expect the unexpected, you will not find it, for it is not to be reached by search or trail.’

Heraclitus thinking hard about something

And of course, this goes with my own belief which is to find sights you would not expect, you must choose the byways when traveling to see what may have not been seen.

A railroad was constructed over the pass between 1880 and 1883 using primarily Chinese laborers, who spent exhausting and dangerous time digging track lines, leveling off steep inclines, and blasting a 247-foot tunnel through a portion of Montgomery Pass.

In fact, the tunnel was the highest constructed, even outdoing the Southern Pacific Railroad tunnels near Donner Pass.

With the creation of an avenue from Nevada to California, mining also picked up in the early 20th Century with claims of various minerals being clawed out of the earth in the White Mountains and further east into Nevada near Tonopah.

One grizzled miner may have reported, “My claim is the biggest claim of any claim anyone else may be claiming.”

It is also rumored he spent quite a bit of time at the Liberty Club in Eli ruminating over glasses of rum.

The small enclave of Montgomery Pass began to grow during and after the construction of the railroad as a camp for the workers. Soon, not just goods and products crested the pass, but passenger trains also joined in allowing folks traveling from Reno to have a more direct route to the west into California.

Then in the 1930s, a decent road was established, allowing those adventurous folks in automobiles to travel across the high mountain pass and into the Owens Valley and beyond toward the Pacific Coast.

Railroad traffic slowed as mining dwindled and merchandise was easily transferred by commercial trucks, but that did not mean the end of the complex at Montgomery Pass.

Nope, since Nevada allowed legal games of chance and legal meetings with a certain kind of woman, the town became a mecca as a selective tourist stop.

Soon there was a hotel, bungalows, a large gas station, gaming rooms, bars, a restaurant, and supposedly a few bordellos - everything a traveler may need or want.

Abandoned motel at Montgomery Pass

According to the Reno Evening Gazette of June 24th, 1959, ‘although the gaming control board is looking sharply at a slot machine license application for the Mt. Montgomery Service Station bar and restaurant, owned by Nevada vice figure Joe Conforte, it probably won’t recommend a denial strictly on the ground there are shady ladies about. Actually, several Nevada bordellos operate slot machines and have done so for 20 years or more.’

A pastime of ours is to watch the warm and cozy family togetherness films in ‘The Godfather’ series on Thanksgiving.

So, in honor of Mario Puzo, I wonder if Joe Conforte offered the gaming control board an offer they could not refuse?

The somewhat bawdy history of the pass is quite interesting. In 1960, both Conforte and his bartender, Robert Paolo, were in court pleading not guilty to selling liquor at the pass without a permit. In the meantime, the liquor license issued to Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Campo was revoked, and not long after, Mrs. Campo decided to become a widow and murdered her husband, Joseph.

Dark deeds may have taken place at Montgomery Pass

Somewhere along the way, Conforte found himself in a lock-up in the Storey County jail and was offered $47,500 from a farmer out of Visalia, California for the property at the summit in 1960. The purchase was approved by the gaming control board given the provision that no prostitution or vice-guy Conforte would ever be near the property again.The farmer swore that would be the case, though in later years a bailiff may have mentioned that the farmer had his fingers crossed behind his back at the time.

In 1962, another sale for the property to the tune of $85,000, was denied by the Nevada Gaming Control Board on the grounds of the buyers utilizing questionable finances.

The businesses remained and thrived with tourists coming in from Nevada and California to enjoy the quietness and beauty of Montgomery Pass.

As I wandered the rather extensive grounds, I understood the draw.

Even deserted, there is a draw to Montgomery Pass

Rolling up out of the deserts of Nevada during the summer months must have been a wonderful reprieve from the often scorching heat. Bishop, only an hour's drive away, is often bustling and hustling with tourists year-round, so escaping up to the summit may have been a great place for a little solitude among the pines while dealing with a one-armed bandit.

In 1985, during an interview, a woman from Bishop mentioned why she loved visiting the summit. “I don’t like the big city casinos. I prefer this place because they get to know you, and always ask how you are. Plus the drive is marvelous and it’s a chance to get away from town for a while.”

The drive through the Montgomery Mountains is spectacular. Tall peaks covered in green trees and shrubs allow the driver to relax, hoping to see deer, elk, or a cryptid cross the road.

Tourists finally dried up for the businesses on the pass in the late 1990s, when gambling at numerous casinos operated by Native American tribes near Bishop and other areas along US 395 opened.

The gambling finally stopped in 2001. In 2010 many of the structures burned down, leaving Montgomery Pass just a reminder of a time when folks gambled on their future.

As I walked through the remnants of a burned-out building or two I could almost hear people laughing at a joke, screaming when they beat the house, and overall having a good time.

Empty chairs just waiting for the next unexpected traveler

Good times! The past and present when one ventures to the byways and finds the unexpected.

There you go, my man Heraclitus!

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.