Day 58 -- Mesquite to Tonapah, Nevada -- 260 Miles

Well, today's drive from Mesquite to Tonapah, Nevada through the vast vacancy that is Nevada's Great Basin high desert was beautiful, inspiring, and geologically fascinating. It could have been much more if we had seen the "Extras."

What "Extras" you ask. Well, the Extraterrestrials who are known to hang out on the Silver State's "Extraterrestrial Highway." We set off across Nevada Route 375, the E.H., just after lunchtime today and thereafter we kept a sharp eye out for any suspicious activity, on the road, or around any of the forlorn outposts of possible alternate realities that we passed.

The Extraterrestrial Highway can be reached by driving north from the town of Moapa that lies between Las Vegas and Mesquite, Nevada. From Moapa you'll drive Route 93 until you get to a wide spot in the road that is identified on maps as "Ash Springs." If you're in need of snacks or liquid refreshment, there is a snack shop at Ash Springs. You might want to consider loading up on snacks there. In case of abduction, you'll at least have something to eat during the interstellar journey.

From the Ash Springs junction you will head southwest on Route 318, which marks the beginning of the E.H., and will transition to Route 375 about a half mile later. The full length of the E.H. is about 100 miles and ends when it intersects Nevada Route 6 that runs between Ely and Tonapah.

As far as our experience goes on the Extraterrestrial Highway, we're sad to report that aside from the top two depictions of aliens that we photographed at the aforementioned Route 93 snack shop, we saw no actual aliens today. We did see two dead cows lying in the desert beside the E.H., and this may in fact be evidence of alien activity, but we saw no space ships rocketing by overhead, nor did we see any abnormally short, green hitchhikers.

At one point we caught sight of a couple of cafes that we might have explored to see if any aliens were employed as wait staff or dishwashers, but we were determined to get off the Extraterrestrial Highway before sundown least we end up like the two cows. Who wants to be experimented upon while you're on vacation?

And so we drove and drove and drove and basically saw nothing unusual. But as our interest in alien creatures began to wane, our interest in the surrounding desert correspondingly expanded. In fact, at one point I began to look more closely at the Joshua tree cacti we were passing in ever greater numbers. Initially I was just thrilled to see how healthy and robust the Joshuas appeared.

And then I noticed something else: first, it appeared to me that a great number of the trees appeared to be youngsters, often being only three feet tall and having no branching arms yet; second, the older versions of the trees had what looked to me like weird clusters on their branch ends. Every chance I got I stared at the clusters, wondering what they were.

After a time it occurred to me that the "weird clusters" had to be the resultant seedpods from the Joshua having flowered in the Spring. Unsure whether this was true or false, I consulted Wikipedia and learned that following: "Joshua trees are fast growers for the desert; new seedlings may grow at an average rate of 3.0 inches per year in their first 10 years, then only about 1.5 inches per year thereafter."

"The trunk consists of thousands of small fibers and lacks annual growth rings, making determining the tree's age difficult. The tree has a top-heavy branch system, but also what has been described as a "deep and extensive" root system, with roots reaching down to 36 feet."

"If it survives the rigors of the desert, it can live for hundreds of years; some specimens survive a thousand years. The tallest trees reach about 49 feet. New plants can grow from seed, but in some populations, new stems grow from underground rhizomes that spread out around the parent tree."

"The evergreen leaves are dark green, linear, bayonet-shaped, 6 to 15 inches long, broad at the base, tapering to a sharp point; they are borne in a dense spiral arrangement at the apex of the stems. The leaf margins are white and serrated. Flowers grow in panicles."

"Flowers typically appear from February to late April, in panicles 11 to 20 inches tall and 11 to 15 inches broad, the individual flowers erect, 1.5 to 2.75 inches tall, with six creamy white to green tepals. The tepals are lanceolate and are fused to the middle. The fused pistils are 1 inch tall and the stigma cavity is surrounded by lobes. The semifleshy fruit that is produced is green-brown, elliptical, and contains many flat seeds. Joshua trees usually do not branch until after they bloom (though branching may also occur if the growing tip is destroyed by the yucca-boring weevil), and they do not bloom every year. Like most desert plants, their blooming depends on rainfall at the proper time. They also need a winter freeze before they bloom.

"Once they bloom, the flowers are pollinated by the yucca moth, which spreads pollen while laying eggs inside the flower. The larvae feed on the seeds, but enough seeds remain to reproduce. The Joshua tree is also able to actively abort ovaries in which too many eggs have been laid."

Now that I know about the seed pods, I'm ever so glad that I stopped and hiked into the desert to liberate a couple from a parent plant. I'm going to try getting a few seeds to sprout at home in northern Nevada.

The other thing that we kept an eye out for every time we stopped today to stretch our legs was rocks for Concetta's rock garden. Unfortunately, almost all of the territory through which we traveled, including the Extraterrestrial Highway, was one giant lava field. In every direction as far as the eye could see lay mesas, buttes, and batholiths of bleak volcanic rock. Some folks might like black rocks in their rock garden, but not us. That didn't stop us from continuing to look, but we simply never found anything worth bringing home. The rock pictured was about the only interesting one I saw. I didn't take it, however.

If you're lover of the desert environment as we are, you know that the best thing about traveling there is the multiplicity of colors of the native flora you encounter. Today, every color from soft pinks and reds, to blue-greens, to brilliant yellows lined both sides of the highway. Since it's fall now, the most brilliantly displays are those of the rabbit brush plants in their almost fluorescent yellow hue.

So, that's about it for our trip from Mesquite to Tonapah, Nevada today. We had hoped to find a nice parking spot at one of the casinos that advertised RV spaces, but what we found was a little less than thrilling. They did furnish electric, but the water was disconnected. We didn't even bother to hook up the sewer line since have no water to flush the tank makes a sewer connection less than effective.

Tomorrow we intend to leave Tonapah and head north to Fallon, Nevada on Route 95. From there it's a fairly short run to Carson City. Our fabulous trip ends tomorrow, but when you get out there on the two-lanes and begin to explore this grand and wonderful land of ours, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

Day 57 -- Kingman, Arizona to Mesquite, Nevada -- 226 Miles

On the first part of the journey I was looking at all the life. There were plants and birds and rocks and things There was sand and hills and rings. The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz And the sky with no clouds. The heat was hot and the ground was dry But the air was full of sound. I've been through the desert on a horse (RV) with no name, It felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name, 'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.

After two days in the desert sun, My skin began to turn red. After three days in the desert fun, I was looking at a river bed. And the story it told of a river that flowed, Made me sad to think it was dead. You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name, It felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name, 'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.

After nine days I let the horse (RV) run free, 'Cause the desert had turned to sea. There were plants and birds and rocks and things, there was sand and hills and rings. The ocean is a desert with it's life underground, And a perfect disguise above. Under the cities lies a heart made of ground, But the humans will give no love. You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name, It felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name, 'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.

Okay, you can tell by now that all we did today is drive. We didn't stop to take photos. We didn't tour any fabulous historic sites. We didn't even stop at a fantastic setting for lunch. All we did is drive mile after mile enjoying the mesmerizing and intoxicating desert southwest.

The desert was incredibly beautiful today, especially in the early morning as the slanted rays of the sun bathed millions of years of geologic layers exposed in the roadcuts that we passed through. Every time that happens, I long for the opportunity to stop and photograph that intriguing spectacle, but alas at 65 miles an hour, with 18-wheelers filling your mirrors, you stand no chance of even slowing down.

By 11:00 a.m. or so we had reached metropolitan Las Vegas with it's tens of thousands of speeding cars and brown hazy air. As you know, Concetta and I religiously avoid ALL big cities whenever humanly possible, but in this case we needed to get to Mesquite, Nevada. When you're coming north on Route 93, you have to go through Las Vegas to get to Interstate 15 along which Mesquite can be found just an hour to the northeast.

Thankfully, traffic was light today in Las Vegas and most of the speeding drivers alloweded our "horse with no name" to transition from lane to lane, and from freeway to freeway with a great deal of patience. We didn't know exactly where we were going, and sometimes had to change our minds as to which lane we needed to travel. But no one honked or flipped us off, and we glided through the heaviest mid-town traffic and back out to the Interstate 15 without any problems at all.

As it approached lunchtime, at least as I define it, I saw an opening in the freeway traffic as we approached a convenient freeway off-ramp. Down the ramp there was a huge hard-packed dirt field of about an acre that was occupied by a guy sitting in a dump truck, an 18-wheeler getting a tire changed, and a rig we described in the U.S. Navy as a "Gedunk Truck," but which today is called simply a "food truck."

"Looks like a perfect place for lunch," I announced as we pulled in beside the 18-wheeler. And so it was. Though the nearby freeway provided ample noise to keep us company, the site was basically level, and we had a very relaxed and comfortable lunch.

When we had nearly finished eating, Concetta said, "Why don't you go see if the food truck sells ice cream. That would give you a few minutes to walk as well."

Deciding that she had a good point, I descended the steps onto the rocky desert floor and walked toward the food truck. I always keep my eyes on the ground as I walk the desert as you never know what sort of useful detritus someone will drop, whether intentionally or unintentionally. This time I was rewarded with a heavy-duty steel, "L-shaped" bracket that I put in my pocket and later transferred to one of the RV lockers.

When I got to the food truck I found a middle-aged Mexican worke eating his lunch, probably the driver of the refuse truck that had pulled into the parking area just before I decided on ice cream. He smiled at me as I walked past him and I smiled and nodded a hello. When I got to the side of the truck I could see right away that I wasn't going to find ice cream, but I went ahead and asked anyway.

"No, senior," the food truck owner said, to my suggestion of ice cream. "Tamales, tacos, cold drinks. No cervezas, I'm sorry to say." He beamed with each and every word and I liked him instantly. After that he launched into a discussion of smoking marijuana (I think), but I told him that smoking would do him no good. This caused him to burst out laughing.

I wanted to try out more of my Spanish on the owner as the expression, que lastima floated through my brain when he said no ice cream. But in the end I just thanked him, clapped him on the arm with a smile, and made my way back to the "horse."

After that interlude it was only a few miles to our intended afternoon destination of the Desert Skies RV Resort. Once we got off the freeway and started toward the camp, we spied a super market and decided to top up our refrigerator stores for the upcoming push north tomorrow toward Carson City. All went well until we started to check out our groceries.

Since we almost always do self-checkout at Walmart, we confidently approached the Smith's Market self-checkout and began to scan all of our items. At Walmart as soon as you fill a big, the system allows you to remove that bag and put it in your cart. Such was NOT the case at Smiths. As soon as Concetta removed the first bag, the system went into apoplexy demanding that we replace the bag before it called security or something.

In her haste to avoid arrest, Concetta grabbed the bag of milk and lettuce and put it back in the bagging area. Immediately after, the bag tipped over and spilled the contents onto the floor followed, which caused various nearby customers to rush to help retrieve the rolling plastic milk bottles. At this point the attendant hustled over and put everything right and tried to explain Smith's arcane and basically stupid system with which we had to adapt.

As careful as we tried to be, in the end the attendant had to basically babysit us through the entire process that should have been as easy as, well, Walmart's. Finally, when we had rung up each and every item I told the machine that I wanted to pay and then I inserted my Visa credit card.

Once again the system did everything but shout "STOP, THIEF," at the top of it's electronic lungs and refused to let us pay. To our embarrassment the attendant had to come over to rescue us again. "What card are you using," she asked.

When I showed her the card with which we intended to pay for our eighty some odd dollars worth of groceries, the attendant said, "Oh, you can't use that here. We don't take those anymore."

I looked at the total on the machine. I thought about how much cash I had as well as what other cards I might have in the rig. For a moment everything went into suspended animation. "Do you have a debit card," the attendant said, bringing me back to the present.

"Yes," I said, relief flooding over me. But then I saw it was also a Visa card, and the vale of doom began to descend once again.

"That's okay," the attendant said. "We do take Visa debit cards. And thus ended one of the most painful shopping episodes that we've encountered on our two months on the road. To Smiths Grocery I say, "YOUR SYSTEM SUCKS! GO COPY WALMART IF YOU'RE NOT BRIGHT ENOUGH TO INVENT YOUR OWN!" Okay, I feel better now, but don't count on my EVER venturing inside another Smiths.

So we are in the Desert Skies RV Resort, humming the tune to The Horse with No Name, and enjoying our afternoon cocktail complete with pretzels and cheese. All the sites are so perfectly neat that they look like an artist's rendering of an RV park and not a real park.

Every individual campsite is completely covered with decorative rose-colored rock where you're expected to park your RV. They give you a giant concrete patio conveniently adjacent. And, by the looks of it, many of the Snowbird-style rigs in the park are still empty as their owners are waiting for cooler temps on the high desert before they return.

The part that intrigues me about this park is that not only do they allow you to be a long-term renter on your individual space, but they allow you to turn you space into a mini "home-away-from home." Take a look at a couple of the lower photos to see what some of these "campsites" look like after several years of continuous habitation. Little by little they grow and grow and grow until they occupy ever single square inch of their campsite.

The other thing that intrigued me was more in the way of interesting flora. The two tree photos are of the "Palo Verde" tree that I never see anywhere but on the southwestern desert. As you can see, it's truly a beautiful tree. The bark is especially wonderful!

So that's it for our day's adventures. Tomorrow we're having an early breakfast with Frank and Patti Adams. Frank is my ex-boss at Nevada's office of Public Safety, and Patti is Concetta's one-time co-worker at the Nevada State Legislature. They live full-time in Mesquite these days and enjoy all the desert has to offer.

When we leave camp tomorrow after our breakfast, we'll be headed northwest up highway 93 toward Tonopah, Nevada. A portion of the route we've chosen out of Mesquite is known as the "Extraterrestrial Highway." Neither of us has ever traveled that famous road, so we're hoping that it will be exciting. Stay tuned.

And when you go looking for extra-terrestrials on those always fascinating two-lane highways, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

Day 56 -- Grants, New Mexico to Kingman, Arizona -- 388 Miles

Today was another travel day where we racked up a lot of miles. To give us something to do while we motored through the seemingly endless tracts of the New Mexico and Arizona desert, we listened to a book on CD entitled "Wild, from lost to found on the Pacific Crest Trail." You have have seen -- and liked -- the movie of that name as we did, but the book bounces so often from absurd to heart-breaking to suspenseful to comical that you find yourself wishing the author would just talk about the hiking and leave the whiny personal stuff unsaid. That was our opinion, anyway. Still, kudos for Cheryl Strayed for attempting what was obviously an extremely challenging hike.

Just as yesterday, we didn't really stop to take in much of the sights since our intent was to rack up as many miles as possible. We want to get home in the next few days and turn some heat on in the house. It's promising to be close to 20 degrees by Thursday (this is Tuesday) in Carson City, and we're a little concerned about our plumbing. We asked our good friend in the neighborhood, Joe, to turn off all the outdoor irrigation, so thankfully we don't have to worry about.

We only had two stops today that weren't connected with fuel or potty breaks. One was at the Petrified Forest Visitor Center, and the other was to have lunch in a roadside park in Winslow Arizona. Just to anticipate your reaction, I'll tell you that no, we didn't see any girls in "flatbed Fords" slowing down to take a look at us. But the day was gorgeous and blue-skied, and there's nothing like throwing open the windows to the dry desert air and enjoying lunch as strains of 1970s Eagles' music wafts through your head.

The little park that we chose on the eastern approach to Winslow turned out to be dedicated to the 9-11 attack and had attractively displayed two large girders from the twin towers. I was certainly surprised at first to see that magnitude of patriotism be manifested so far west, but then again maybe it's not really surprising. I suspect many villages, towns, and cities in the country applied for their own Twin Towers memorial pieces as well. I say bravo to the degree of patriotism that brought this memorial park to life in Winslow in 2002.

Our morning stop at the Petrified Forest National Park was brief, but enjoyable. I knew we couldn't actually venture into the park proper because of the piece of petrified wood that I purchased weeks ago in the state of Michigan from a roadside vendor. Still, we could venture into the Visitor Center, watch the education movie about the park, and peruse the book store and gift shop without getting ourselves into trouble. So that's what we did. Impressively, there was ample parking for RVs and even a gas station if you needed one. The whole complex was modern and thoughtfully-designed and we had a great time. I even scored a "Petrified Forest" T-shirt for my collection.

Here's what I found on Wikipedia about the Petrified Forest: "Petrified Forest National Park is in Navajo and Apache counties in northeastern Arizona. Named for its large deposits of petrified wood, the fee (chargeable) area of the park covers about 230 square miles, encompassing semi-desert shrub steppe as well as highly eroded and colorful badlands. The park's headquarters is about 26 miles east of Holbrook along Interstate 40 (I-40), which parallels the BNSF Railway's Southern Transcon, the Puerco River, and historic U.S. Route 66, all crossing the park roughly east–west. The site, the northern part of which extends into the Painted Desert, was declared a national monument in 1906 and a national park in 1962. The park received 644,922 recreational visitors in 2018. Typical visitor activities include sightseeing, photography, hiking, and backpacking."

"Averaging about 5,400 feet (1,600 m) in elevation, the park has a dry windy climate with temperatures that vary from summer highs of about 100 °F (38 °C) to winter lows well below freezing. More than 400 species of plants, dominated by grasses such as bunchgrass, blue grama, and sacaton, are found in the park. Fauna include larger animals such as pronghorns, coyotes, and bobcats, many smaller animals, such as deer mice, snakes, lizards, seven kinds of amphibians, and more than 200 species of birds, some of which are permanent residents and many of which are migratory. About one third of the park is designated wilderness—50,260 acres (79 sq mi)."

"The Petrified Forest is known for its fossils, especially fallen trees that lived in the Late Triassic Epoch, about 225 million years ago. The sediments containing the fossil logs are part of the widespread and colorful Chinle Formation, from which the Painted Desert gets its name. Beginning about 60 million years ago, the Colorado Plateau, of which the park is part, was pushed upward by tectonic forces and exposed to increased erosion. All of the park's rock layers above the Chinle, except geologically recent ones found in parts of the park, have been removed by wind and water. In addition to petrified logs, fossils found in the park have included Late Triassic ferns, cycads, ginkgoes, and many other plants as well as fauna including giant reptiles called phytosaurs, large amphibians, and early dinosaurs. Paleontologists have been unearthing and studying the park's fossils since the early 20th century."

"The park's earliest human inhabitants arrived at least 8,000 years ago. By about 2,000 years ago, they were growing corn in the area and shortly thereafter building pit houses in what would become the park. Later inhabitants built above-ground dwellings called pueblos. Although a changing climate caused the last of the park's pueblos to be abandoned by about 1400 CE, more than 600 archeological sites, including petroglyphs, have been discovered in the park. In the 16th century, Spanish explorers visited the area, and by the mid-19th century a U.S. team had surveyed an east–west route through the area where the park is now located and noted the petrified wood. Later, roads and a railway followed similar routes and gave rise to tourism and, before the park was protected, to large-scale removal of fossils. Theft of petrified wood remains a problem in the 21st century."

There's lots more to learn about the Petrified Forest and I certainly think that it's worth a re-visit sometime when we're headed back to Arizona and the southwest. I'd like to stay locally and spend at least half a day appreciating the ancient geology.

So that's it for now. Tomorrow we're headed west and north toward Las Vegas and Mesquite where we hope to visit with some long-time friends and ex-coworkers of ours. And when you head out on the two-lanes, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting destinations as well.

Day 55 -- Clayton to Grants, New Mexico -- 374 Miles

As you can see by the miles traveled, we didn't end up stopping for much today. At lunch we squeaked out a few moments to visit the La Castenada Hotel in Las Vegas, New Mexico, but stopped for little else all day. We wanted to break away and see that famous hotel in Las Vegas because on our last trip in the area we learned that an investor had purchased the property with the intent of refurbishing it. Though we were skeptical at the time, today we were marvelously surprised to see that the refurbishment is well under way, and some of the rooms are already available for rent.

Looking back on our previous visit, I found the following write-up: "We arrived at Fred Harvey's old Castaneda Hotel which dates to 1898. I looked around on the web for more info and found the following: 'A northern Arizona hotelier, who restored La Posada in Winslow, has purchased the century-old railroad hotel in Las Vegas, N.M. Allan Affeldt said he bought the 25,000-square-foot La Castaneda earlier this month for $400,000.'

'The mission revival hotel was one of the first of the Harvey Houses, Fred Harvey's chain of hotels and restaurants that furthered tourism development in the Southwest. La Castaneda in 1899 hosted the first reunion of Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders from the Spanish-American War.'

'Affeldt thought that the town has been waiting for this for decades. After World War II, Fred Harvey closed most of their buildings and they were sold off or torn down. Las Vegas leaders had long feared La Castaneda would be torn down, but Affeldt stepped in just as he did at La Posada, a 1930 Harvey House that had an uncertain future two decades ago. With his wife, artist Tina Mion, Affeldt bought La Posada in 1997 and together they transformed it into a tourism and cultural attraction with an acclaimed fine-dining restaurant and a wealth of historical artifacts.'

Since the town of Las Vegas arrived just about lunchtime as we motored down Interstate 25 from our camp last night in northeast New Mexico, we decided it was a great opportunity to check out the La Castenada again. As it turned out, though I didn't know where the vintage hotel was situated in town, I accidentally picked the right route which led us right to the front door.

Since it was a tad early for lunch by the time we found the hotel, we did a mini tour of the grounds. When we circled around to the side of the building facing the railroad tracks, I was thrilled to see a mason laying red bricks in the courtyard area. Naturally, I had to go watch him as I've mixed perhaps dozens if not hundreds of wheelbarrow-loads of mortar for all the projects at our house, including brick, block, and rock, and just love to watch someone work their masonry magic.

It didn't take me long to discover that the mason was an expert at his craft and had laid hundreds of the courtyard bricks. When we got to talking to him -- his name was Rodney -- I liked him instantly. He knew his craft, he was well spoken, and he was willing to pause a moment in his work and talk to us. Back in Carson City, I had watched endlessly our favorite mason, Charley LeClair ply his craft on our Jacks Valley property between 1978 and 2010. During those three decades I had become quite a connoisseur of the masonry craft. I know what good work looks like and when I saw Rodney's work, I saw immediately he was the real deal.

I was so impressed with what I saw, I asked Rodney if he ever got to northern Nevada. If so, I'd be willing to hire him to do a small project for me. He told me that he sometimes works in our area, which was just what I wanted to hear. He didn't have a card, but I left him mine and I truly hope that someday he comes to visit me and brings his mason's tools.

The reason we're picking up the pace is that we're starting to get very close to experiencing freezing temperatures at night. In fact, the whole reason we dropped south from mid-Kansas to central New Mexico is to try and get home before we have to worry about our RV water lines freezing with the overnight temperatures.

We had hoped to stay in Albuquerque tonight, but when we arrived at the KOA there we discovered that they were experiencing an increased number of guests because of the hot air balloon weekend coming up. When I stood at the check-in counter and asked about spaces, the attendant just shook her head and said, "Sorry, we're full up."

So we motored on to Grants, New Mexico which still had a few spaces available. It was 78 miles further west, but it's a pretty nice camp, and if you're fan of train spotting, the rail line runs by just a block away to the north.

Traveling this route in New Mexico couldn't help but remind Concetta and me of our very first vacation together in 1977. We had known each other for only about ten months and were not married yet when I suggested that we take a vacation together. Naturally she wanted to know what kind of a vacation I had in mind. "A camping vacation," I said. "We'll take a tent and a camp stove and stuff and we'll travel around the Southwest. It will be fun."

I don't think Concetta was as sold on the idea as I was in the beginning, but that didn't stop me from gathering the equipment together and making sure the car was ready for the open road. At the time we owned three cars between us. I had a couple of two-seater sports cars, and Concetta had a rather neglected 1964 VW bug with a very tired engine.

Deciding that the sports cars would not be quite as handy for hauling all the camping equipment, we decided to take the VW. I had it serviced, and I bought a large aluminum roof rack for the top which went a long way toward holding most of the larger pieces of gear.

About the 1st of July, as I remember it, we were ready to go. Mom agreed to watch Concetta's son, Jason, who was about six at the time, and we both took two weeks off from work. This trip would turn out to be only the first of a great many adventures we'd have together. We had so much fun on that southwestern trip that only three months later we got married.

The trip didn't exactly get off to a blazing start. We'd only traveled east from Carson City about fifteen miles when the linkage for the accelerator pedal fell apart and I had to effect a repair right on the roadside.

When we reached the town of Flagstaff, Arizona, we got up in the morning and discovered that the car would turn over but wouldn't start. Not sure what to do, I loosened the nut holding the distributor in position. Then I told Concetta to try and start the engine while I twisted the distributor one way, then the other. Amazingly, at one point in this procedure the engine roared to life. I tightened up the distributor nut, and we were off.

Later that day, when we were traveling toward Albuquerque, New Mexico, the cotter pin holding the right front wheelnut on the axle broke and fell out, and the nut and the wheel came close to falling off. At first we just started smelling something burning. But when we stopped, we discovered that the wheel had gotten so hot that all the paint had blistered. I re-tightened the wheelnut, and we later bought some grease in Albuguerque to re-grease the bearing just in case. Thankfully, we had no further problems there.

The worst quirk the VW Bug had was it's tendency to blow one or two spark plugs right out of the head when you made the mistake of downshifting going down a hill. This happened to us when we were visiting White Sands, New Mexico. But this wasn't all the car had in store for us. While we were motoring around the White Sands area we started hearing a significant "knock" in the engine, which prompted us to seek a mechanic forthwith.

When we finally found one, he just shrugged and told us he didn't really work on VWs. "But," he said, "there's a guy at the other end of town who does." Feeling pretty apprehensive since we didn't really have much money, we headed across town to the shop the mechanic had recommended. But incredibly, once we got to the other side of town, the engine had quieted down and we drove the car for another fifteen hundred miles, all the way back to Carson City, without further trouble.

We have a lot of memories from that trip: of camping in a cherry orchard in Salt Lake City; of eating the best Mexican food and sopapillas we'd ever had in Albuquerque, New Mexico; of climbing the spindly cliff house ladders at Mesa Verde, Colorado; and of seeing miles and miles of the wonderful southwest at 40 mph, which is the fastest the VW would go.

Well, that's it for now. Until next time the Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.

Day 54 -- Dodge City, Kansas to Clayton, New Mexico -- 211 Miles

Not much to report on the Blog tonight as we spent the better part of the day cruising the lightly-used Interstate 56 all the way from Dodge City, Kansas, to the sparsely-populated village of Clayton, New Mexico. I chose Clayton as it appeared to have three things we needed: a driving distance from Dodge City of around two hundred miles; a suitable, full-service camp once we had driven that distance; and a miles-saving diagonal route to central New Mexico where we hope we can avoid the worst of the freezing temperatures of the Rocky Mountains.

The owner, Jeff, tells me that they have dinosaur prints in the sagelands north of town if we're looking for something out of the ordinary to see while in the area. He says townsfolk and other interested New Mexico state politicos are trying to come up with a way to protect the prints from the elements, but so far have not hit upon a plan that guarantees funding.

Speaking of Jeff, he is an ex-Los Angeles County boy just like me and is thoroughly acquainted with northern Nevada as his grandparents lived just down the road from Concetta and me in the Nevada town of Gardnerville.

Since I've been wondering just who would move to an isolated town like Clayton where you're probably 200 miles from everywhere, I decided to see what Wikipedia has to say about the place: "Clayton is a town and county seat of Union County, New Mexico. As of the 2010 census, the city population was 2,980. Clayton is a crossroads for tourists heading from Texas to Colorado, Kansas to Oklahoma, and Texas to Taos, New Mexico." Presumably this means I guess that there are plenty of tourists passing through who drop just enough cash in local businesses to support the people not involved in ranching or farming.

Digging deeper into Clayton's past via Wikipedia, I learned that: "The Cimarron Cutoff of the Santa Fe Trail brought some of the first Americans through the Clayton region. The Santa Fe Trail was first established in 1821 after Spanish rule was evicted from Mexico, which opened up trade between Santa Fe and the United States."

"William Becknell, also known as the Father of the Santa Fe Trail, became the first person to utilize the Santa Fe Trail as a trade route between the state of Missouri and Santa Fe. He established the Cimarron Cutoff, also known as the Cimarron Route, as a faster route between countries as the Cimarron Route shortened the Trail by more than 100 miles. The Cimarron Cutoff went straight through the Clayton region where travelers used the Rabbit Ear Mountain as a guiding landmark."

"Eventually travelers along the trail began to appreciate the rich soil around Clayton and the rolling green hills which were perfect for raising livestock. Cattle ranchers and sheepherders established ranches in the area, though they tended to be large and far apart. That changed when the railroad came to the area and Stephen Dorsey, a nearby rancher, received the rights to the area where the railroad ran. He soon laid out a town site."

"Clayton is named for a son of U.S. Senator Stephen W. Dorsey, an Arkansas Republican, originally from Ohio, who served during Reconstruction. The town was established in 1887. The town was a livestock shipping center for herds from the Pecos River and the Texas Panhandle."

And indeed Concetta and I saw quite a few feed lots for livestock as we piled on mile after mile along the Route 56 corridor. Most of Route 56 is our favorite two-lane, though part of it has some pretty marginal pavement, mostly in Oklahoma.

The Kansas portion of Route 56 is also made up of thousands of acres of corn and milo. If you remember reading yesterday's Blog when we actually discovered the existence of milo, you know that it is a grain source that requires only about 2/3 the amount of water than more common crops require.

Ever since I learned about milo, I've been wanting to pull over and clip off a seed head to take home with me. Unfortunately, most of the time there just isn't a place to pull a 32-foot rig to the side of the road so I could go forage in the nearby field. But today I finally found a convenient pull-out and scored a seed head of my very own. I look forward to planting the seeds in my veggie garden just to see if it will grow in Nevada.

And now for a bit more from Wikipedia on our night's residence: "According to the United States Census Bureau, the town has a total area of 4.7 square miles, all land. Clayton has an elevation of approximately 5,050 feet above sea level. It is located about 130 miles northwest of Amarillo, Texas. Clayton is considered to be in the Plains region of New Mexico."

"This region stretches to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains down to the Guadalupe Mountains. Clayton is located in the northeast corner of New Mexico, 10 miles from the border of Texas and 11 miles from the border of the Oklahoma panhandle. Clayton is also located near two parks, Clayton Lake State Park, and Capulin Volcano National Monument. Not far away is Black Mesa State Park in Oklahoma. A carbon dioxide field called Bravo Dome can be found near Clayton and stretches nearly 1 million acres."

Here's an explanation of the "Bravo Dome from OSTI: "The Bravo Dome carbon dioxide gas field is located in Union and Harding Counties of northeast New Mexico. The Bravo Dome field covers approximately 800,000 acres, but areal boundaries of the field have not been fully defined. Production in 1989 was 113 bcf of gas from 272 wells. Cumulative production at the end of 1989 was 626 bcf. Estimated recoverable reserves are more than 10 tcf. The gas is 98-99% CO{sub 2}. Most CO{sub 2} produced from Bravo Dome is used for enhanced oil recovery in the Permian basin." I read elsewhere that the dome was discovered in 1917 and was allowed to bleed CO2 into the atmosphere for a year until shut off.

CO2 is interesting, but of more interest to me is the history of the Santa Fe Trail. At one time I was researching to discover if my two times great grandfather's brother, Stephen Daley had worked as a teamster during the Mexican war and perhaps met his end in August of 1847 while freighting goods to the troops in Mexico. I was unsuccessful in that endeavor, but I still find the history of the trail to be totally fascinating.

Thankfully, Wikipedia is here to give us more history of the trail: "The route skirted the northern edge and crossed the north-western corner of Comancheria, the territory of the Comanches, who demanded compensation for granting passage to the trail, and represented another market for American traders. Comanche raiding farther south in Mexico isolated New Mexico, making it more dependent on the American trade, and provided the Comanches with a steady supply of horses for sale. By the 1840s, trail traffic along the Arkansas Valley was so heavy that bison herds could not reach important seasonal grazing land, contributing to their collapse, which in turn hastened the decline of Comanche power in the region."

"After the U.S. acquisition of the Southwest ending the Mexican war, the trail helped open the region to U.S. economic development and settlement, playing a vital role in the expansion of the U.S. into the lands it had acquired. The road route is commemorated today by the National Park Service as the Santa Fe National Historic Trail. A highway route that roughly follows the trail's path through the entire length of Kansas, the southeast corner of Colorado and northern New Mexico has been designated as the Santa Fe Trail National Scenic Byway"

So there you have it. We may be parked in a tiny plains village of no apparent significance, but in reality much history has taken place hereabouts. Though I might have found Santa Fe Trail ruts today as we rolled southwest toward Clayton, there was darn little else to photograph. I'd already shot enough milo fields yesterday, and the few corn fields we passed didn't look all that vigorous. Hence, these few photos must suffice.

Day 53 -- Emporia to Dodge City, Kansas -- 232 Miles

The surprise of the day as we drove was farm product known as S

Today we awoke, as we have so many days this fall, to the sound of rain pitter-pattering on the aluminum skin of the rig. Sometimes the rain came gently, and sometimes it fell heavily, making us certain that wet highways and the incessant flip-flop of windshield wipers would be accompanying us as we traveled west and south on Route 50 towards Dodge City, Kansas.

Based on the placement of camps along our intended route, we knew we had to drive a few more miles than usual today from where we spent the night in Emporia, Kansas, in order to get to Dodge City, and the "Gunsmoke RV Resort." The Gunsmoke appeared to be the last camp we could count on as we head for the northeast corner of New Mexico.

We have chosen to drift in a southwesterly direction from our camp two days ago in St. Joseph, Missouri, because it seemed to be getting progressively rainier and colder at St. Joseph's latitude. In fact, we had to dig out the heavy-duty comforter from the storage locker after I had to wear socks to bed the previous night.

Now here we are in Dodge City, and the weather is close to perfect. We lost the rain about mid morning, though we continued to be buffeted by a strong cross-breeze all day long. I don't think the wind was strong enough to lift the lea-side tires off the pavement, but sometimes I was afraid it might.

Sorghum or Milo? We started seeing a funny sort of plant with long pointy leaves and a huge seed cluster at the very top of the plant. The leaves tended to be dark green and the seed cluster was a sort of brick brown. Neither of us had ever seen this plant before. After passing hundreds of miles of either corn or soy beans, it was actually rather jarring to see this markedly different plant.

Here's the story on this plant from Wikipedia: "Sorghum is a genus of flowering plants in the grass family Poaceae. Seventeen of the 25 species are native to Australia, with the range of some extending to Africa, Asia, Mesoamerica, and certain islands in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. One species is grown for grain, while many others are used as fodder plants, either cultivated in warm climates worldwide or naturalized, in pasture lands. Sorghum is in the subfamily Panicoideae and the tribe Andropogoneae (the tribe of big bluestem and sugarcane)."

"One species, Sorghum bicolor, native to Africa with many cultivated forms now, is an important crop worldwide, used for food (as grain and in sorghum syrup or "sorghum molasses"), animal fodder, the production of alcoholic beverages, and biofuels. Most varieties are drought and heat-tolerant, and are especially important in arid regions, where the grain is one of the staples for poor and rural people. These varieties form important components of forage in many tropical regions. Sorghum bicolor is an important food crop in Africa, Central America, and South Asia, and is the fifth-most important cereal crop grown in the world."

"In the early stages of the plants' growth, some species of sorghum can contain levels of hydrogen cyanide, hordenine, and nitrates which are lethal to grazing animals. When stressed by drought or heat, plants can also contain toxic levels of cyanide and nitrates at later stages in growth."

"Global demand for sorghum increased dramatically between 2013 and 2015 when China began purchasing US sorghum crops to use as livestock feed as a substitute for domestically grown corn. China purchased around $1 billion worth of American sorghum per year until April 2018 when China imposed retaliatory duties on American sorghum as part of the trade war between the two countries."

So, as Concetta read to me today on the subject of Sorghum, this crop could take the place of more water-intensive plants. That could mean the difference between starvation and plenty in times of drought, even in the U.S. I was so fascinated with the new (to me) plant, that I just had to stop and take a few photos. Later I found myself wishing that I had "borrowed" a seed head to see if I could get sorghum to grow in Nevada.

Our lunchtime stop today was fun. We pulled off the two-lane and into the small town of Macksville, Kansas about noon, located the town park, then picked a level spot near the kid's playground. There are so many towns in the central part of the U.S. where the main street is largely boarded up and vacant, and such was the case with Macksville. Still, we could tell that the residents really, really cared about their park. All the benches and picnic tables (and there were many) had been recently painted a vibrant color of red. A small stream coursed its way diagonally through the park, and the residents had taken the time to construct two sturdy and picturesque stone bridges so that strolling couples could cross the tiny brook. And the playground equipment looked clean and well maintained. I decided to try the large slide just to make sure.

Our next adventure towards the end of the driving day was to Old Fort Dodge, which is just a six miles south of our highway 50 route from Emporia to Dodge City. We turned off Route 50 just a few miles short of Dodge City and headed down to Route 400, which runs from Wichita to Dodge City.

Before we had gone more than a mile on Route 400 we came across a historic marker and we decided to stop. Incredibly, the marker was placed to commemorate the journey of Francisco de Coronado who traveled through the southwest in 1541(Photo right).

According to Wikipedia: "Francisco Vázquez de Coronado y Luján (1510 – 22 September 1554) was a Spanish conquistador and explorer who led a large expedition from Mexico to present-day Kansas through parts of the southwestern United States between 1540 and 1542. Vázquez de Coronado had hoped to reach the Cities of Cíbola, often referred to now as the mythical Seven Cities of Gold, which is a term not invented until American gold-rush days in the 1800s. His expedition marked the first European sightings of the Grand Canyon and the Colorado River, among other landmarks. His name is often Anglicized as 'Vasquez de Coronado' or just 'Coronado'."

Back in the rig after getting acquainted with Coronado, we were soon pulling up in front of Fort Dodge. Not seeing any signs that forbid our entrance, we rolled right on in and down the street toward the parade grounds. Seeing no RV-friendly parking, we simply found a semi-vacant lot near the church and parked. From there we did our exploration on foot.

We wandered around taking photos for about a half hour until we finally reached the Visitor Center. Unfortunately the office was closed and there was no one around to answer any questions. We knew that an "old soldiers' home functioned on the base, but we didn't really have much to go on in the way of history.

We got excited when we saw that one of the structures adjacent to the parade ground was called the "General Custer House," but we subsequently learned that General Custer may or may not have stayed in the house as the 7th Calvary traveled southwest toward the subsequent battle of the Washita in 1868.

Here's a few more details about Fort Dodge from Wikipedia: "The site of Fort Dodge in the U.S. state of Kansas was originally an old campground for wagons traveling along the Santa Fe Trail, just west of the western junction of the Wet and Dry Routes and near the middle or Cimarron Cutoff."

"On March 23, 1865, Major General Grenville M. Dodge, who commanded the 11th and 16th Kansas Cavalry Regiments, wrote to Colonel James Hobart Ford to propose establishing a new military post west of Fort Larned. On orders of Col. Ford, Captain Henry Pearce, with Company C, Eleventh Cavalry Regiment, and Company F, Second U.S. Volunteer Infantry, from Fort Larned, occupied and established Fort Dodge on April 10, 1865."

"Fort Dodge was named for General Grenville M. Dodge. General Dodge wrote in his autobiography: 'Fort Dodge was named after me, not as an honor, by a command that I was sent out there in the winter, after it was too late to furnish them lumber or anything for an encampment and they had to make dug-outs in the Bluffs for the purpose of wintering and the Colonel in command of the detachment wrote me that they were so mad at being sent there in the winter with so little accommodations that they had named the place Camp Dodge. This location was a celebrated crossing of the Southern Indians of the Arkansas Valley.'"

"'There was a practical ford of the Arkansas near here and the trails all centered here and it had been an important point during all the time I was in command of the plains. From Camp Dodge, when a permanent post was ordered there, they named it Fort Dodge and after the war when the fort was abandoned, a city had grown up there, which is now known as Dodge City.' It has, however, been claimed that the post was named for Col. Henry Dodge. Moses Henry Dodge (he dropped the 'Moses' when he came of age) led the Second Dragoon Expedition of 1835 in a circuit to and from Fort Leavenworth, west along the Platte River to Colorado and back east along the Arkansas River and the Santa Fe trail, passing through the future location of Dodge City and Fort Dodge. There is no evidence that he established a camp at the site."

"Fort Dodge was used to maintain order along the Santa Fe Trail between there and Fort Lyon, Colorado. The post was raided by Indians several times, with many horses being stolen and a number of soldiers killed in the raids. In a June 1865 raid, the US Army Inspector-General, D. B. Sacket, reported the Indians took every horse at Fort Dodge. Corporal Leander Herron received the Medal of Honor for heroism in action about 12 miles from Fort Dodge on September 2 and 3, 1868."

"The first buildings were constructed after the Civil War. These generally are believed to have been sod houses for the officers and dugouts for the enlisted men cut into the bank along the Arkansas River, along the south side of the post. However, Sean Creevey, a professor at Dodge City Community College, claimed that all the first housing consisted of "dugouts with canvas roofs dug into the bank of the Arkansas River." He denied any were built of sod or adobe."

"Later, the dugouts were replaced with wooden and stone buildings. In its heyday, up to four companies of troops occupied the post. Apparently in its later years only about a dozen men occupied it and their main duty was to provide escorts to protect mail passing through the area. In 1882 the post was closed. A single custodian was assigned to keep watch over the property. A number of buildings were torn down or moved away, but many of the stone buildings remained."

"Dodge City residents worked to have the old fort used for a retired soldiers' home, since most of the buildings were still functional. After much work toward that goal, a federal law was enacted in 1889 authorizing the use of the post as a soldiers' home by the State of Kansas. In early 1890 the Kansas Soldiers' Home was opened on the site. The Soldiers' Home has been maintained at Fort Dodge ever since. Numerous improvements have been made through the years and the public can tour part of the site."

Once we had walked back to the rig and navigated off the post, all without being challenged by anyone, we rolled west on Route 400 for just a few miles before reaching Dodge City and our westside campground. Since I had called ahead early this morning, our campsite was ready and waiting for us. And that is just about it for the day other than the bit of laundry we did.

Tomorrow we're headed further to the southwest and will cross the panhandle of Oklahoma before dipping into the very northeast corner of New Mexico at the town of Clayton. From Clayton we have to make a decision, mostly based on the weather and expected temperatures, whether to continue west through New Mexico, or whether to track slightly north and west through Colorado. Nothing definite yet.

And when you are searching the horizon for you next great camping experience, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting destinations.

Day 52 -- St. Joseph, Missouri to Emporia, Kansas -- 188 Miles

Our camp last night in St. Joseph was nice enough if a tad un-level. But the grounds were suffering from what the camps in Kentucky were wishing they had: lots and lots of rain. Hence the grass surrounding the rig was soggy and the gravel pads not big enough to hold the rig and accommodate foot traffic at the same time. Consequently setting up and breaking down the utilities was just a bit damp and messy.

Our main plan for this morning was to visit the "Pony Express National Museum" in St. Joseph, Missouri. Although we've camped in the town of St. Joseph before, on that long-ago visit we spent our time at a very fine museum just up the street called the Padee. At that time the Pony Express Museum was not open. But today we learned that the Pony Express facility has recently undergone expansion and remodeling that accidentally made it advantageous for us to have waited for our visit.

We were just blown away by the quality of the new museum which is housed in what was once the St. Joseph's Pikes Peak stables. The original structure was built completely of wood, but in 1888 a brick shell was constructed around the wooden building. This is the structure as it appears today (photo top left)

So what was the Pony Express? The Pony Express could be likened to a very, very long relay race where each contestant takes his turn, then passes the baton to the next contestant. Only in 1860 when the Pony Express came into being, it was the U.S. mail that was being passed along.

Throughout half of the 1840s, and most of the 1850s, folks in covered wagons had been heading west to find a better life, look for precious metals, or to find a piece of land of their own. This journey from any number of "jumping off points" on the Missouri River to California or Oregon usually took about four to five months. Naturally, four to five months was far too long for the transportation of mail.

So an idea was hatched by a conglomerate of private businessmen, with encouragement by a member of the California Senate, to have a single horseman carry packets of mail all the way across the nation. Each horseman would have a set route of about 75 miles. This route would require numerous changes of horses so stations tended to be about 10 miles apart. When the rider reached the end of his assigned route, he would pass the mochila (mail carrier pouch) to the rider waiting for his arrival.

St. Joseph was the chosen terminus for the eastern end of the Pony route as the city served as the eastern terminus of both the incoming telegraph line, and the Central Overland California and Pike's Peak Express Company, which was owned by the backers of the Pony Express.

For more on the Pony Express, here's what Wikipedia has to say: "The idea of a fast mail route to the Pacific coast was prompted largely by California's newfound prominence and its rapidly growing population. After gold was discovered there in 1848, thousands of prospectors, investors and businessmen made their way to California, at that time a new territory of the U.S. By 1850, California entered the Union as a free state. By 1860, the population had grown to 380,000. The demand for a faster way to get the mail and other communications to and from this westernmost state became even greater as the American Civil War approached."

"In the late 1850s, William Russell, Alexander Majors, and William B. Waddell were the three founders of the Pony Express. They were already in the freighting and drayage business. At the peak of the operations, they employed 6,000 men, owned 75,000 oxen, thousands of wagons and warehouses, plus a sawmill, a meatpacking plant, a bank and an insurance company."

"Russell was a prominent businessman, well respected among his peers and the community. Waddell was co-owner of the firm Morehead, Waddell & Co. After Morehead was bought out and retired, Waddell merged his company with Russell's, changing the name to Waddell & Russell. In 1855 they took on a new partner, Alexander Majors, and founded the company of Russell, Majors & Waddell. They held government contracts for delivering army supplies to the western frontier, and Russell had a similar idea for contracts with the U.S. Government for fast mail delivery."

"By utilizing a short route and using mounted riders rather than traditional stagecoaches, they proposed to establish a fast mail service between St. Joseph, Missouri, and Sacramento, California, with letters delivered in 10 days, a duration many said was impossible. The initial price was set at $5 per 1⁄2 ounce, then $2.50, and by July 1861 to $1. The founders of the Pony Express hoped to win an exclusive government mail contract, but that did not come about."

"Russell, Majors, and Waddell organized and put together the Pony Express in two months in the winter of 1860. The undertaking assembled 120 riders, 184 stations, 400 horses, and several hundred personnel during January and February 1861."

"In 1860, there were about 186 Pony Express stations that were about 10 miles (16 km) apart along the Pony Express route. At each station stop the express rider would change to a fresh horse, taking only the mail pouch called a mochila (from the Spanish for pouch or backpack) with him."

"The employers stressed the importance of the pouch. They often said that, if it came to be, the horse and rider should perish before the mochila did. The mochila was thrown over the saddle and held in place by the weight of the rider sitting on it. Each corner had a cantina, or pocket. Bundles of mail were placed in these cantinas, which were padlocked for safety. The mochila could hold 20 pounds of mail along with the 20 pounds of material carried on the horse. Eventually, everything except one revolver and a water sack was removed, allowing for a total of 165 pounds on the horse's back. Riders, who could not weigh over 125 pounds, changed about every 75–100 miles, and rode day and night. In emergencies, a given rider might ride two stages back to back, over 20 hours on a quickly moving horse."

"It is unknown if riders tried crossing the Sierra Nevada in winter, but they certainly crossed central Nevada. By 1860 there was a telegraph station in Carson City, Nevada Territory. The riders received $100 a month as pay. A comparable wage for unskilled labor at the time was about $0.43–$1 per day."

"Alexander Majors, one of the founders of the Pony Express, had acquired more than 400 horses for the project. He selected horses from around the west, paying an average of $200. These averaged about 14.2 hands high and averaged 900 pounds each; thus, the name pony was appropriate, even if not strictly correct in all cases."

"The approximately 1,900-mile-long route roughly followed the Oregon and California Trails to Fort Bridger in Wyoming, and then the Mormon Trail (known as the Hastings Cutoff) to Salt Lake City, Utah. From there it followed the Central Nevada Route to Carson City, Nevada Territory before passing over the Sierra into Sacramento, California."

"The route started at St. Joseph, Missouri on the Missouri River, it then followed what is modern-day U.S. Highway 36 (US 36 the Pony Express Highway) to Marysville, Kansas, where it turned northwest following Little Blue River to Fort Kearny in Nebraska. Through Nebraska it followed the Great Platte River Road, cutting through Gothenburg, Nebraska, clipping the edge of Colorado at Julesburg, Colorado, and passing Courthouse Rock, Chimney Rock, and Scotts Bluff, before arriving at Fort Laramie in Wyoming."

"From there it followed the Sweetwater River, passing Independence Rock, Devil's Gate, and Split Rock, to Fort Caspar, through South Pass to Fort Bridger and then down to Salt Lake City. From Salt Lake City it generally followed the Central Nevada Route blazed by Captain James H. Simpson of the Corps of Topographical Engineers in 1859. This route roughly follows today's US 50 across Nevada and Utah. It crossed the Great Basin, the Utah-Nevada Desert, and the Sierra Nevada near Lake Tahoe before arriving in Sacramento. Mail was then sent via steamer down the Sacramento River to San Francisco. On a few instances when the steamer was missed, riders took the mail via horseback to Oakland, California."

"There were 184 stations along the long and arduous route used by the Pony Express. The stations and station keepers were essential to the successful, timely and smooth operation of the Pony Express mail system. The stations were often fashioned out of existing structures, several of them located in military forts, while others were built anew in remote areas where living conditions were very basic. The route was divided up into five divisions. To maintain the rigid schedule, 157 relay stations were located from 5 to 25 miles apart as the terrain would allow for. At each swing station, riders would exchange their tired mounts for fresh ones, while "home stations" provided room and board for the riders between runs. This technique allowed the mail to be whisked across the continent in record time. Each rider rode about 75 miles per day."

The part of the exhibit we found the most fascination today was a section where some two dozen pony riders were profiled with histories and artifacts supplied by their descendents. While I don't have that information at my fingertips as I sit here tonight, I can tell you that several of the riders had very exciting lives AFTER they survived being a Pony Express rider. The most interesting story I read detailed how one of the riders had a great, great grandson who became an astronaut in the space program.

Later today we did visit another museum, but didn't turn out to be very satisfied with it. Perhaps I'll tell you about that visit another time. Over the years we've found that the truly great museums seem to know just how detailed to make their exhibits. In other words, what to include and what to leave out. They key to good museum exhibits in our minds is leaving out more than you include.

Tomorrow we're headed west toward Dodge City. We've been there before, but perhaps we'll find something new to spark our interest. And when you hit the trail in search of fascinating places in this land of ours, The Happy Wanderers wish you happy travels and exciting adventures.