I leave Beatty, Nevada around 7 AM, head for the ghost town of Rhyolite. Rhyolite is the first of the 2 stops that I’m hoping to make today before finally arriving back in Tucson. My 40 days on the road, while all wonderful, are starting to get a bit old. To paraphrase an old Dave Dudley song, “Forty Days on the Road and I’m Gonna Make It Home Tonight”.
Rhyolite has been a ghost town for most of the last century. It came into existence around the turn of the last century as the result of a big gold strike in the area. By 1904, there were over 10,000 people in town, several churches, at least 2 banks (I’ve posted pictures. Note the vault in one bank, the Cook Bank had 2 vaults and was located in a 4 story building.), and 45 saloons! As the gold strike was short lived, Rhyolite days were also numbered. The mine investors were all people from back east and the Panic of 1907 caused them to pull their money out and most of the mines closed. At the end of 1907, there were less than 1000 residents still residing in town. The last resident of Rhyolite died in 1924.
Most of Rhyolite is now government owned but, as you drive in, there is a small museum and “art area” just before you get to the actual ghost town. Here, there are several “sculptures”. The Last Supper sculpture as well as the figure with the bicycle, were created by Polish-born Belgian artist Albert Szukalski. Why here? I have no idea but I liked them and they‘re the real reason that I came to Rhyolite. There is also the very big Pink Lady and a tiled couch. Pink Lady is the work of Belgian artist, Dr. Hugo Heyrman. It seems that the Belgians really like Rhyolite.
From Rhyolite, I continue down U.S 95 towards Arizona, Oatman and home. I’d heard about Oatman ever since I arrived in Arizona in 2001. Everyone said that it was a quaint little Arizona town where burros roamed the streets. Oatman was one of hundreds towns in the west that sprang up in support of the mines. As the mines played out, so did the towns. Oatman is still here. Instead of extracting ore, Oatman now extracts tourist dollars from pockets and billfolds and the descendents of the burros that worked the mines are now working the tourists for a handout. Oatman is worth a visit if you’re ever in the area but keep a good grip on your money. I left some of my money there, I bought a t-shirt and a Rt. 66 Root Beer.
As I ride north out of Oatman, through the canyon, past the relics of Arizona’s mining history, I realize that my touristy stops are over and, except for the 5 hour ride home, the trip is over. Then I stumble across one of those cool little places that pop up out of nowhere. There, on this old section of Route 66, is an old Mobil Gas Station. According to the story I heard while buying an ice tea and a water, this place was nothing but the front wall for years, having been abandoned after I-40 killed off most of the businesses on Route 66 when it opened in 1959. Many years later, the people who made the movie “Universal Soldier” rebuilt it so they could use it, then blow it up as part of the movie. In 1992, a guy from Chicago bought it and had it rebuilt. Today, it’s just a tourist place but a great place to take a picture.
The rest of the ride home is uneventful, except for the last Dairy Queen I find in Wickenburg, Arizona and getting home after dark. My helmet has a darkly tinted face shield on it as I ride in the daytime and it helps with sun glare. Riding after dark with it makes it tough to see anything other than the white lines. If there was anything lying in the road, I’d hit it as I’m sure I’d never be able to see it.
IN CONCLUSION……..
After riding for 40 days and 10,255 miles, covering parts of 9 states, 3 Canadian provinces and 24 Dairy Queens, I was asked if I’d do it again. The likelihood that I’ll do a trip like this again is not very high but I wouldn’t rule it out completely. I discovered that somewhere around the 30 day mark may be my limit, after that the trip started to get a bit old.
Along the way, I’ve met some great people. I met Alden at the hostel in Glenwood Springs, Colorado, which now seems like it happened years ago. He was from San Marcus, Texas and was in Colorado taking a two week course to learn how to build bicycles. I also met a woman there who was from Bisbee, she was visiting a daughter who was recovering from surgery. Unfortunately, I never got her name.
Of course, there was Skip, Lani’s son, who lives in Fernwood, Idaho. In Pocatello, I stopped to see the mother of a friend from my years living in Alaska. I’d last stopped there in 1986 on my way back from Alaska and there was Anna, the waitress in Vanderhoof, British Columbia, who I’ve already written about.
In Ketchikan, the hostel was full of interesting and fun people. There was Glenn, the guy who was kayaking the inside passage and how could I forget Doylestown Dave. On the ferry, I met Doc. Doc had ridden his bike from Florida to Bellingham, Washington, where he put it on the ferry to Haines. From there, he planned to ride around Alaska for a while and then ride out on the Alcan Highway. The hostel in Skagway was full of interesting people, most of whom had a burning desire to hike the Chilkoot trail. Frank and Nancy, who own the Skagway Home Hostel, were just good people.
Years ago, CBS made a mini-series out of the Larry McMurtry novel, “Lonesome Dove“. In the book, the Robert Duval character, Augustus McCrae says, “There’s nothing better than riding a good horse through new country”. In my motorcycle riding, I’ve subscribed to that thought but have changed the line a little. The new line now reads “There’s nothing better than riding a good motorcycle through new country” and I’ve done that! Some parts of the trip were a bit better than others but none were bad. Even the days where I had to ride all day in the rain weren’t that bad.
So many good people, so many great places…..even Bingen, Washington….as long as I’m looking at it in hindsight.
So, would I do it again? Sure……but I’m not leaving tomorrow!
