Nevada Border, or . . . Border, Nevada?
The great road trip across America in 2022 found us in Border, Nevada along U.S. Highway 50. We had arrived from this morning in Moab, Utah. During the trip we had taken in Atlanta, Montgomery, the Gulf Shores, New Orleans, Santa Fe, Arches, and Canyonlands. Now we were poised to cross Nevada on the Loneliest Road in America.
After leaving Canyonlands, we had set out across Utah: spectacular—with a spectacular thunderstorm. As we approached Nevada however, things became flatter, blander, more of an industrial farming vibe.
You cross the Nevada border—at Border!—and you have 50 yards to stop and make a left turn into the gas station. Miss the turn, and you are out of Border and on the way towards Reno. I am exaggerating a bit. It is more than just a gas station. Attached to the gas station (or perhaps the gas station is attached?) is a small shop selling candy, postcards, and beer; a “casino” comprised of a dozen slot machines; a restaurant that is not always open; a run down motel (the “Border Inn”, maybe 20 rooms); and an RV Park (read: a dirt lot where you can park your RV). So, a “complex” managed by one manager with a cook and waitress for when the restaurant is open.
And the bench.
We checked in at the “desk” (a.k.a. the shop’s cash register) and drove the 20 yards to our room. It was OK: beat up, cramped, 60’s/70’s color choices, but clean. We had some time before the restaurant opened for dinner and needed ice: a little walk back to the shop/office to get it.
On the way I noticed one room with cardboard and foil inside of the window with a cat perched between this “insulation” and the glass. Seemed more like “long term resident” rather than “passing through.” And then the manager came by talking on his phone: some conversation about a plugged toilet. “Yes, we had a problem with the sewer, but it should be OK now. Let me know if you still have problems.”
Time for a little fun: “Hi, we’re in number 17. Our toilet seems to be backing up.” The guy’s face sort of dropped. “Ha, no, just kidding.” He was relieved and smiled; launched into explanation of all the (most recent) problems in his life.
Dinner was less than memorable. I have a vague recollection of prepared portions reheated as needed. I guess I was distracted by the waitress. Although she sort of knew what to do and was not being supervised (only person on duty), I kept getting the feeling that this was intellectually tough work. For example, when I asked some question about a menu item, she had to think about how to handle this; deciding she’d have to ask the cook.
Breakfast would also be a bit disappointing but the wait staff (both of them!) seemed more on top of things and had a perky had-my-coffee attitude.
Anyway, after dinner it was time for a smoke. Even if we were in Nevada (state motto: “Who Cares?”), smoking would be outside where we could enjoy the dirt parking lot and the evening’s warm, light breeze.
The Border Inn has exactly one place to sit down outside: a bench between the office and the gas pumps. One would expect signs reading “No smoking within 20 yards of gas pumps” but here it was more like “Smoking must be done while seated 5 yards from gas pumps.”
The view from the bench was astounding. In the foreground are the Phillips 66 gas pumps. Occasionally a car would pull in and get gas. A little story would unfold. Just beyond the pumps was Highway 50 with light traffic headed in both directions. Again, easy to imagine the stories and long journeys. Hey, we had our long journey story and U.S. 50 loomed ahead of us tomorrow. Still farther out: fences and fields, a long valley towards the northeast, then low mountains. At the far end of the valley, a thunderstorm was moving through.
And everything was in focus and each object was exactly placed in the stretch from the bench to the distant thunderheads. If you had been a member of the Group f/64, you would have scrambled to set up your camera and capture this for posterity.
This was the west in 2022: leftovers, hanging on, middle of nowhere, “got me a new tractor a few years back”, most folks just passing through, “More coffee?”.
History in Montgomery and New Orleans, geological history in Arches and Canyonlands, and—I still can’t quite understand why—the most vivid and penetrating memory of the trip was 15 minutes looking out from that bench.