Driving south through Nevada, the road insists on its own rhythm. Long stretches of sagebrush and sand, punctuated by the occasional gas station or faded billboard, remind you that distance here is measured less in miles than in patience. I made that trip south last Friday and back on Saturday night for Fallon’s 3A state semifinal football game against Virgin Valley in Mesquite. Driving alone through Nevada gives you plenty of time to think. The miles stretch out like sentences in a long editorial, each one carrying you forward but leaving room for digression. I took Highway 6 out of Tonopah, then 375 and 93 through Rachel and Alamo before onto Interstate 15, a stretch I’d heard and read a lot about, but never been on.
I found myself counting not just the mile markers but the milestones of the past year. The Fernley Reporter’s 52 issues, the city’s preparations for its upcoming 25th annual celebration leading up to the Fourth of July, and of course, the game I was there to see.
And then, of course, it rained. A little bit on the way there, then a lot on the way home. There’s a particular irony in watching drops streak across the windshield while driving through terrain that is supposed to be a place of dust and mirage, not puddles and wipers. Yet there I was, navigating slick pavement under a gray sky, reminded that even the most predictable landscapes can surprise you.
You pass through towns that don’t make headlines but hold histories and folklore. I’d already passed the Little A’Le’Inn in Rachel before I realized what it was, even though I was looking for it. Being rural Nevada, when I saw the little white building off the right side of the road, I thought it was a brothel until I got a quick glimpse of the sign as I went by.
Stopping at the Sinclair station in Alamo on the way home, in the middle of a downpour, I got a glimpse of life in such an isolated place. A group of teenagers dressed for a rodeo was hanging out inside, while a young couple with a baby was buying a gallon of ice cream. I pictured a quiet night at home with a movie or two as a respite from a hard-working week.
I spent the night Friday at a friend’s home in Overton before heading to Mesquite for the game on Saturday. Having been in the broadcast booth the past three seasons, it felt strange to be on the sideline with a camera and notebook. I hadn’t forgotten how difficult it is to keep track of what’s happening on the field when you’re only seeing a slice of it through the camera lens, but I felt a lot rustier than I expected.
I also kept wondering throughout the game, how would Fernley do against Virgin Valley if it had been able to pull out the previous week’s game against Fallon. I’m not sure they would have won, but they’d have had a chance.
That’s the lesson the road kept offering. In Nevada, the landscape doesn’t promise victories, only miles. The desert is supposed to be predictable in its dryness, but the rain reminds you that you just have to keep driving.
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