Once again, I find myself on Interstate 80, en route to the promised land of California. The highway more or less follows the immigrant Trail, along which innumerable pioneering folk perished along the way. Others just gave up and decided to settle, founding ragtag communities that today are Trumpian strongholds. I’m thinking of whoever the disgruntled rancher is who posts billboards reminiscent of Burmashave ads; i.e., DEEP STATE…YOU’RE…FIRED!
Except to refill their gas tanks and/or empty their bladders, most motorists don’t stop. In particular, they don’t stop at the Immigrant Trail Information Center and Museum, perhaps because it’s almost always closed. Nor do they pull off the pavement at the west end of the east Carlin tunnel to admire a magnificent set of outcroppings that were bypassed years ago by said tunnel. Bicyclists can still take the old road, which is closed to automobiles and trucks.
A bit farther west, at Imlay, I always exit to stretch my legs at the Thunder Mountain Monument, Frank Van Zant’s tribute to the native Americans who for centuries scratched out a livelihood in the high desert.
I was one of three visitors to the site, and was happy to share what I know about its creation with a curious young couple. In fact, I gave them a copy of a book I’d written on the subject.
One other stop I always make is a rest stop at is,Moor, and I’m the only one who ever does so. To say there are “no services” at Moor is an understatement. There are rest rooms, no trash cans, picnic tables or chairs–that is, except for whatever unwanted household furniture is dropped off there. The latest installation is the best ever! I call it “reclining chair.”
