From Before the Sun Rose to Long After the Sun Set Part One

From Before the Sun Rose to Long After the Sun Set Part One

               

                I drove for miles and miles through Nevada. As I crossed the Dry Lake Valley between Pah Rock Summit and the Caliente Summit I interrupted a small pack of coyotes hanging out in the travel lane. More precisely I drove through their breakfast of rabbit road kill. Those coyotes were about the only other company I had on the road at that early time of the morning. While cruising highway 93 across the Dry Lake Valley in the early morning as the sky began to change from a black void to a bluish purple expanse, I put down my window and felt the crispness of the high desert morning. I was on the road towards a few of Nevada’s lesser known gems, like the Border Inn, Ely, Tonopah, and all the many highlights between Tonopah and Las Vegas.

                It always makes me a little sad to pass through my old stomping grounds, remembering how much I liked working there. It seems like I have a memory for almost every stretch of highway out there. Both good and bad memories, some stretching back 12 years and some only five years, but all come back to me when I drive through here. About the time I hit Caliente Summit the sun started showing itself in the eastern sky. As I passed the Caliente BLM field office I couldn't help but think about all the numerous times I would sit across the street and nail car after car for speeding. Not to mention all the trucks I stopped for an inspection in that general area. Caliente seems like such a nice little town until you live there for awhile. It’s nice, I shouldn’t say it’s not, but I would not want to live there again.  Passing our old house, #9 Company Row in Caliente always makes me think of cold winter nights with the smell of wood smoke hanging in the air as I walk through the snow around the side of the house to my wood pile. There is nothing like the satisfaction of having a fully stocked wood pile, my breath coming out in a fog as I pick just the right piece of pine. It's got to be full of pitch and smell like the mountains when I find that perfect piece; I know it will keep my family warm and burn long into the night. I picture the flames dancing as the wood crackles and spits to life. Nothing compares to warming yourself in front of a crackling fire you started and supplied the wood.  I'm passing through Caliente and into the Meadow Valley, home to Panaca and memories going back much farther than 12 years.

                Coming out of the canyon going northbound on US 93 I pass an old white house that looks like it’s almost built into the rock cliff behind it. The aspect of this house that always caught my attention was the windows. The windows had shelves with rows and rows of old bottles, a few of every shape and color. I can never pass that old house without wishing I could get a closer look at all those old bottles in the window. In all my years driving by that house, I never saw a live human there, a car would be parked there every now and again but I never saw a person.  As the light of day continued to change from a dark purple to a lighter blue with just a hint of orange low on the horizon, I followed the road north. I turned right on SR 319 to go fuel up at the Panaca DOT. I wish I had a dollar for every time I fueled up there through the years. Driving back thru Panaca I remembered the night I was on patrol when I clocked a car traveling west at almost double the posted speed limit. I activated my emergency lights and siren and initiated a traffic stop in front of the elementary school. Just to add a little more background, it was the month of December when this traffic stop took place. So I go walking up on a driver’s side approach, and as I get to the driver’s window I look and who do I see …Santa Clause.  I'm talking an old man with a robust white beard and glasses, now at this point, I wasn't sure it was Santa. When I told him why I had stopped him he proceeded to ask me "you wouldn't write Santa Clause a ticket would you"? I said "no I wouldn't write Santa a ticket" I retrieved his license and registration and returned to my patrol car. After writing the ticket and walking back up to the car, who do I find? The old man was now wearing a red and white full-on Santa suit, including the hat. So now I'm standing there looking down at a Santa Clause that could easily pass for the real thing. Around ten years later now, I kind of wish I would have given him a warning just for the effort he put into not wanting to get a ticket. But at the time I was new and all about catching lawbreakers and bringing them to justice (typing that sarcastically), so he got a ticket. He asked "what would your kids think if they knew you wrote Santa a ticket," I said, "I won’t tell them." And yes my kids did get Christmas presents from Santa that year, so I didn't ruin Christmas. Good memories, back onto the good ole US 93 and onward to the north. At this rate it will take me ten pages full of memories just to get up to the Border Inn, I'm not even passing Pioche yet. My first traffic stops and first call out all happened in between Panaca and Pioche.

         I was running ahead of schedule on my way up to the wide load, so I decided to drive the high road into Pioche.  I just had an interesting idea; I could write a pretty long detailed blog about all my memories from every town in Lincoln County. Every time I go through Pioche I think about something not works related, on SR321 after going north thru Pioche after you go by the old motel on the right I would love to build a cabin. I want it made on the left side of the highway up towards the mountain, the view out to the east and north is fantastic! I loved driving up there and seeing the storm clouds rolling in, or watching the lightning storms. It is just such a scenic spot to look out into the valley and mountains.  My cabin would have to have a big covered front porch for me to sit on. In my chair wrapped in a warm blanket with a hot chai, with the smell of cedar and pine all around is how I would spend my mornings, and my evenings. So I'm passing Pioche now and continuing north, time to watch out for animals much larger than coyotes, I've seen two deer on the high road already, but now I'm entering elk country.

        Traveling north on US 93 is always an adventure, I've been hit by deer twice on this road. Both times the freaking deer jumped into my passenger side door and the second time I was looking the other way and…bam, bang, boom! What just happened and wham, there goes the airbags. I didn't feel too bad when I had to put a bullet in its head because he was still alive but all broken up. Two hits in probably a hundred near misses aren't too bad I guess. I have thanked my lucky stars on more than one occasion that elk's eyes glow yellow at night because that saved me on many nights especially up between Dutch John and Geyser Ranch. One night, in particular, I was coming home late from a wide load or maybe it was training, but it was like I was cruising and thank goodness I was straddling the centerline because as I was practically in the middle of them, all I see is yellow eyes turn and look at me. I froze for a split second and then just floored it through the middle, as I drove away I could only shake my head and try not to think about how close I just came to wiping out a small herd of elk which probably would have killed me. And because one near-death close call isn't enough, another late night around two or three in the morning as I recall. While in route to an injury accident that at first was given to me as being in Lincoln County. The real wreck was in White Pine County, fire and medical were already on the scene from Pioche, so I was trying to hurry but still feel like I could stop in a hurry if needed. As I entered White Pine, I suddenly saw the exact thing I didn't want to see, those eyes, the yellow eyes. I was too close for slamming on the brakes, so I swerved to the left, crap…more yellow eyes! Swerving back to the right I see more eyes and immediately jerk the wheel back, and thankfully there was only a few elk in this bunch. On the plus side I saw the ambulance from where I had just missed creaming my patrol car again, so had there been an accident I hope the ambulance would have been quick to get to me.

        Another shift I won't forget up there in White Pine County between Geyser and Lake Valley Summit was a typical afternoon. I was just cruising with the window down enjoying the beautiful weather when I noticed four or five cars pulled off on the side of the road. And 99.9 percent of the time that means an accident has occurred, this time, was no different. As I came to a stop, I noted a passenger car on its right side, after exiting my vehicle I saw an elderly lady sitting on the embankment receiving help. As I walked around the car to where I could see into the vehicle, there were a few people who had stopped just standing there not looking very optimistic. As I looked into the car, I saw a young lady who was obviously deceased, after checking for a pulse just to confirm, my mind then turned to the old woman sitting on the other side of the vehicle. I remember standing there, my mind turning very quickly as I try to decide how to handle this. The smell of a wrecked car is a scent I  hate, the mixture of fluids and dust combined with whatever was in the car is a scent I dislike. Taking into account the fact that medical is some ways away and I am unsure of how long I can deflect any questions I just go with compassionate honesty and hope for the best. I knelt down by this lady who's name I have either forgot or never knew, but I still remember her face. I asked her if she was okay, she said yes, I asked who was in the car with her, and she said her daughter. At that point what else could I say, I said I'm sorry, but your daughter didn't make it. A few caring lady's who stopped to provide assistance began to console her as the realization and then grief began to set in. Unfortunately, I have had the unfortunate task of telling loved ones their friends or family are dead, and on more than a few occasions it was their fault. This memory was clearly a bad one!

                I'm now driving towards US 6 and passing in the shadow of the coolest mountain in Nevada; Wheeler Peak is just to the east of me a mere 13,063 feet up in the air. The second largest mountain in Nevada, only because there is an apparently less appealing looking mountain on the west side just barely inside Nevada's border (it doesn't count in my opinion). I have had the pleasure of hiking to Wheelers Peak; it is an amazing feeling to step foot on its peak. Being able to breathe the freshest air and look out for what I would say is almost a hundred miles in every direction is what I call a soul refresher. Those type of feelings are ones I wish I could hold onto forever, put it in a bottle and keep it on my shelf to pull down whenever I need it. Anytime I am within in sight of this mountain I always go to that moment of triumph as I walked onto the peak (great memories).

 I hit the junction of US 93 and US 6, take a right and head for the pass. US 6 goes over Sacramento Pass and then on into Utah. This area seems like a kind of lost area as far as human population goes, I remember going camping up north of here at a camping spot called Cleve Creek. Those are some of my earliest memories of camping with my grandpa Sonnenberg. I was lucky enough to take my kids camping there a few years ago; my Aunt Kaylyn went with us, and we all had a lot of fun. I'll share the extended version of this story at another time, but the short version goes like this. We had a couple ATV's and went for a ride up the canyon, we turned up a side canyon and wound up riding through a long row of shrubs. The shrubs had grown completely over, so it was like a long dark tunnel, at first, it was a little creepy, but then it got cool when I realized this trail was unique. Once we broke out of the tunnel, we found ourselves riding through very tall Ponderosa Pines until the trail began winding straight up the mountain. We got back into the trees and came upon an old mine, with old buildings, and tailings piles still there. The old building was standing majestically on the point where the trail curved around the mountain; we walked around the building, and we could see down the mountain into the canyon. The old buildings were rusty and worn with a story to tell. It is kind of amazing to sit and think about all the stories, all the weather and all the people who have or may have worked or set foot in those old buildings. So while we are (by we, I mean me, Karyn, Kaylyn, and the girls) standing looking out over the canyon, I hear what sounds like a crashing sound. It gets louder and louder, I look out across the canyon to the other side and see an impressive sight. A whole herd of Elk is crashing through the trees down the mountain into the canyon; these massive beasts are snapping branches, and it looks like they are uprooting small trees as they go. I'm still not sure what spooked them to get that reaction, but I feel blessed I was there to witness it. That whole camping trip was a blast, including when Kaylee was asleep in the tent and her glow stick broke and got all over her. So Kaylee wakes up Aunt Kaylyn and nearly freaked her out, it's dark, and Kaylee has glowing spots all over her face and clothes (she and Kaylyn's reaction were priceless).
           Back to the highway, as I approach a pickup on the side of the road I pull over and see a mom and dad with two kids, all dressed in camo. The hoods up on the pickup and they are practically waving me down before I pull to a stop. They are excited to see me because they had been there awhile, and due to no cell coverage they were the epitome of stranded; I got them help through dispatch. As I move on, the sun is up and the morning air is crisp. I put my window down and cruise on over the summit, and I wouldn't say no to a cabin up here either. With Wheeler to my right and Mt. Moriah to my left I ‘am in some pristine country, the recluse in me is drawn to areas like this. Within a few miles of the world renown Border Inn on the border of Utah and Nevada I have dropped into the Snake Valley. I finally pull into the Fabulous Border Inn, putting the car in park I step out and stretch my legs. Nothing like getting the kinks out after a long morning on the road, I take a deep breath and inhale the fresh air that’s all around me. Until Las Vegas figures out a way to try and steal that to that is. But that’s another issue, so I look over and see the long awaited wide load. It's a half of a dump truck bed, literally half a dump truck bed. This half a bed is huge, if it were the whole enchilada it wouldn't even fit on the roadway. I'm the first NHP personnel on scene, so I head over to introduce myself to the wide load crew. They all seem like a good bunch and just off first impressions alone this should be a good trip. I guess I jinxed myself caused when we left to get rolling down the road; the crew discovered that the trailer had a flat tire, but I’ll get to that in a minute. While waiting for the other state troopers to arrive, I went into the Border Inn. The inn's decor was in a very Nevada style, pool tables and slot machines, very retro. The part I liked the best was down the hallway to the restrooms is wall to wall pictures, at first I was thinking "wow there's been a lot of celebrities here" I'm not going to lie it surprised me. After closer inspection, though, the wall was full of pictures of what appeared to be sheepherders and cowboys, go figure. And situated right in the middle of the hallway across from the bathrooms was a pay phone, for you younger readers a phone booth is a landline phone with a cord and everything that you can put quarters in to call people, like I said "very retro." As I was walking across the dirt parking lot next to the small sparsely populated RV lot, I noticed three NHP patrol cars entering the parking lot. I only knew one of the guys, #158, and he was from Vegas. The other guy was Vegas too and then the last one was out of Laughlin. I must say it was a bit of a crew, and it was probably good that no sergeant was on this trip. Laughlin was wearing tennis shoes, Vegas #2 was sporting a patchy five o'clock shadow, it was like he was trying to shave while having a small seizure. And Vegas #1 reminds me of Chris Farley. So after the introductions and 20 minutes of BS, we figure out who's going where and got in our cars, hit the lights and pull out onto the road. The wide load has begun, Ely here we come.