More Road Trip!

[Nazz]

Sunday Notes (7-19-09)

“Where pavement ends and the west begins”—Gerlach’s motto. Actually pavement runs another fifteen miles north before it gives way to dirt and gravel. The town sits on the southern tip of the Black Rock Desert, rimmed by abrupt mountains—a desolate, waterless fjord that opens to a waterless sea.

North of town is a street sign on the left, “Guru Rd,” and a rocky dirt path into sage and talus slopes. Take the road. Gerlach was home to a guru, a guy named Doobie, who had a vision, or several. So he finagled some land from the BLM and scraped out a crude road beside the paved one, whereupon he built his vision. Or several. It begins ominously—a flat stone engraved with “ground zero” jammed in the earth, rock circles radiating outward from “the event,” and another engraved stone at the periphery—“the alternative to negotiation.” Guru Road is littered with engraved and painted flat stones filled with idiosyncratic wisdom and Zen goofs—the medium of choice.

Doobie’s next piece is a stack of flat rocks draped with a sheet of hair made from beer can bottoms—“Elvis, singing with the angels.” And it gets more deadpan from there, like a small rock hung by rope from a propped up cottonwood limb—“If rock is moving, it’s windy. If white, it’s snowing. If wet, it’s raining.” Then more stacked rock—“Aphrodite, mother of all things,” with terraced rock tits, perfect circles, flesh-toned. And my favorite—“The Sagebrush Network”—a hexagonal hovel with string mesh skin, through which openings are cut on all six sides and plastic face frames of old TV sets installed to fit the openings—Sylvania, Zenith and such. A TV antenna juts from one side, one of those 1960s aluminum trees, and a flat rock inside reads, “To change channel, turn head.”

Back at Bruno’s place I hear Bruno going on about dumb lawyers and doctors who buy ranches and have no clue how to ranch. Then he gets into a long speech about a land deal gone bad. “Twenty-thousand is too much,” he repeats. I like this place. My “waitress” runs a cattle outfit near Smoke Creek and can’t imagine living anywhere else. For now I feel the same way.

Monday Notes (7-20-09)

Got beef jerky for the trail, no wimpy stuff. It’s a real slab, you know, uh, sinewy. Or my teeth are just getting older. Sage waves crash on burnt buttes, unglamorous, undistinguished, by the multitudes. Into some badlands. But I spot a chestnut mustang in a vale—he gives the badlands a little color and scale. Magnificent color. He appears healthy and muscular. Not the first solo mustang I’ve seen on the high desert. Feral horses are a little mind-bending. How could they survive so majestically here?

Climb out of magical get-lost badlands onto a rolling sparse sage bleak-scape. The map shows a “Devil’s Gate” ahead. How can I resist a road with a “Devil’s Gate?” It’s a hundred degrees in the valleys. Stay at the summit for a while. These un-photogenic reaches are a gift. Too hot, too dry, too bare, too boring. Soak it up. In Lost Creek Canyon I find a lovely, lush camp station, but I’m horizon-bound. Can you guess which canyon twist will be the last? Once into a canyon the road seems determined to never come out.

I make it up an old mining offshoot from Smoke Creek Road—perfect. I’ll shut off the truck. Alone, with panorama—until I hear voices through the truck idle and glance around in a panic. Seems I left the radio on and a signal flickered in. Out of nowhere. Out of Reno? Hit the off button; I’m entitled to be alone. Me and the erratic wind. A fearsome hot blast runs down the mountain. Reminds me of Twain’s notable Nevada descript, “pitiless Washoe wind.” The truck wobbles and sagebrush sheds wind easily. Nothing it hasn’t seen before.

The moon landing was forty years ago; hard to beat that road trip. Forty years lost in post- something wilderness. Did they fake it? How much of the earth landing is fake? Beyond lost and post- this or that, the moon is a fine desert, better than Mars—Mars has too much color in some of those probe shots. Moon is shades of uncompromising gray. Gray and black. No water and air. Ultimate desert. And a quarter-million miles of unpaved outback vacuum to get there. How far is a four-day drive? Or forty years? History is a fly swat to these hills, and these hills, a fly swat to time.

Tuesday Notes (7-21-09)

Best thing about desert heat—you have it all to yourself. No, it’s the evenings—warm and benign. When Milky Way shoots from the highest black silhouette, even better. And Big Dipper is always high when I roam. I don’t pay enough attention to the sky in my boxed life and boxed time, but I got loose. At Bruno’s gas pump I told Bill I hadn’t seen anyone out there. “It’s a hundred degrees; that has something to do with it.” I drove seven-hundred miles into a heat wave on my day off. I like the lay of the land. People can hide behind swamp coolers and cubicles, but it has little bearing on the road.

I dig Bruno’s bar, though time spent in any place reveals its warts—the subtler drama, various troubles. It is a bar, after all. Bruno’s new cook is named Rocco. Never actually met anyone named Rocco until now. He hails from Jersey by way of Reno, with a brain like a race car and wit of a don. He once had a job to clean up murder sites, and nothing fazes him. No kidding. We talked for an hour at the bar—tales of debauchery, mean streets and cuisine. Rocco did most of the talking. Nothing against Rocco. Rocco’s okay, a real powerhouse. He just messed with the pace a little.

[Arcadia]

the text can also work as great photos! nicely blended!!!!!!!

so ... italians also in the middle of the american desert???!!! it seems it´s true they are everywhere!!!!!!!

[Nazz]

Thanks Arcadia. Didn't think I'd jot so many notes on the trip-- just kept building. First night was "release" of inner stress due to ongoing unpleasant realities back home-- Road release! Then "the guru" tweaked my head a bit more. Was a pretty good road groove. Changed some of the names in this one (not Bruno's). Thanks!

[constantine]

reminds me of loren eiseley and kerouac rolled into one. good stuff, hombre.

[mtmynd]

((pssst... hey, mark! yo! listen... don't let this fuck up yer writing, okay? this little journal thingy is so fucking good that you had me right THERE with you... the way good writing always has been and will always be.... damn you. ))

[sooZen]

Mark, Cecil jerked my butterfly mind and made me set down and read this. It was not a waste of time. I am no critic but I know what I like and more and more I like what you write. You take me with you in your outside treks and I love the ride. Mt and I have watched you grow, expand into the expanses and you my friend have become so incredibly good at this telling tales stuff. I am looking forward to the book...

Wishing you love, peace and many more wanderings

[Nazz]

Wow! Soozen! Great to hear from you! Yeah, sometimes this board, and my inspiration, slow to a crawl, and other times it runs in great bursts. Sometimes I'll drive for 300 miles and not "see" much; other times the quirks and wonders seem to be everywhere! This trip, out on the back roads, I was better at jotting things down when they occurred. I drove ten new unpaved back roads into the quiet spots, the unseen land. So yes, I had to cover some ground, but I had a good sense of when to slow the pace too...

Cecil, always gratifying to know the sensations and images of wander are coming through in my words. Much appreciate the comeback amigo.

Dino, appreciate the high compliments. I'll have to check out Eiseley-- not too familiar. As for Kerouac, I could never measure up to such a talent, but my writing has some of the same elements here and there-- like how music blends into the ramble. And it's a different groove anyway. I never got through all of 'On the Road,'-- from what I read, struck me as more "urban" than my sun burnt empty lands trekkin'...

[SmileGRL]

good stuff mr. nazzie. it's easy on the "ear"

[Nazz]

Thanks Smile. (And happy birthday). It was a good groove. Rocco was a little scary, but other than that...

[SmileGRL]

thank you. it seems i'm having a whole birthday week...with cake everyday! haha