BLM Dispatch #25 - State Route 447, Nevada
The sun dropped over the Carson River, a dark ribbon winding through the basin. Sagebrush and greasewood, silver-green in the last light, spread low across the floodplain. Along the banks a band of weathered cottonwoods stood in loose formation, their green still strong against the fading blue sky. I walked the outside edge of those trees where the BLM land began, tracing the cottonwood line for two miles before letting the river go, returning to the highway, and heading north toward Silver Springs.
I passed through Fernley, Nevada just past seven pm, sky darkening behind a Pilot gas station sign protruding from the earth, green and red bulbs signaling unleaded and diesel prices. Three twenty-five a gallon for unleaded. I stopped and filled up.
Then straight north through Wadsworth toward Empire, crossing over the Truckee River just before it runs into Pyramid Lake along the way.
Gerlach was bustling for a Monday night, or possibly every night, this being my first time passing through. I walked the town from end to end. Half a mile. Bearded patrons stood outside the bars with drinks in hand, their laughter rising and folding into the smoke from their cigarettes, the whole scene carrying the kind of relief that comes when a town finally exhales after weeks of Burning Man’s noise, dust, and strangers.
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