The Extraterrestrial
Hwy
Hwy 375 |
Warm Springs |
Took some photos and began our drive eastbound on the Extraterrestrial Highway. As with most secondary highways in the Nevada wilderness, Hwy 375 is a black ribbon that curves through passes and runs straight and true when able to do so. Nevada has more mountains than any other state so hills pop up every so often making the road builders cease making straight lines.
About 60 miles from the crossroad, we came up on Rachel.
This is where the Alien Café sits all by itself. Rachel boasts 48 people of
whom Sharon L. is one. She runs the café as bartender, cook, waitress and
dishwasher. She isn’t much of a cook but describes herself as a “foul loud
mouth” which she swore she always was.
Rachel |
Anyway, back to the Alien Café. Do Not, under any
circumstances, allow Sharon to make you an Alien Burger. Sharon is not a cook
and she is the first to admit it. She would rather be a waitress and just
schmooze with the customers. The grill is in a back room that serves as the
kitchen. I caught a glimpse of her preparing the buns. Maybe she was reading a
recipe or she was referring to her unending supply of tales about her life.
The very well done hamburger paddy soon arrived with
Sharon’s 10-second guarantee. If you returned it within that amount of time,
she’d take it back; otherwise “You are on your own.” She said she figured that
Ptomaine Poisoning takes anywhere from a half hour to forty-five minutes to
kick in. By that time, the traveler would be down the road to Elko or Alamo so
who would know where it came from. Going the other way, west, you would run off
the road and they would never find you until next years Desert Cleanup.
Snide comments aside, try the Alien Burger (if Sharon’s not
cooking) and enjoy the “Floor Show” that is advertised by posters on the walls.
Oh yes, each and every customer that buys an Alien Burger gets a 2 and ½ second
floor show presented by herself, the “Foul Loud Mouth” as she ungulates behind
the counter. There are people that live their entire lives without seeing such
an act. Wish I were one.
I must add that Sharon was born 6 years after I was. Life
has not been kind to Sharon L. The more she got wound up telling her stories
the more she emphasized with expletives, which I will delete here. Her family
owned a ranch in Fremont. Her dad worked at Bethlehem Steel, they raised
horses, rented land to sharecroppers. Daddy died, Mom relocated herself and
kids to Nebraska. Tornados. Hurricanes down in Florida. Riding out the Big One
in San Francisco in 1989. Nowhere was safe except Nevada. Marries a local
ranchers son, has kids, sends them to school in Alamo. Gives hugs and kisses
when I walked back in the store to ask her name for this remembrance.
We sat in the parking lot for an hour as I jotted down what
just happened and enjoyed the quiet of the desert. Actually I wanted to be near
a phone in case I needed to call for help. (pre-cell phone time)
Rachel and Little Aleinn Cafe |
Going past the “Cedar Trees Rd.” turnoff struck a bell. This
is the road to Area 51. But Cedar trees in the desert? Cedar trees thrive on
water. Hmmm, sounds like military intelligence had a hand in the name. Why name
a road to a clandestine installation that doesn’t exist, and for trees that
don’t do all that well in an area where sagebrush struggles to survive?
Funny how none of my photos were on my camera when I downloaded them later. I've pulled the attached photos from the internet.
And here is a photo of the Tufa's at Lake Mono.
Funny how none of my photos were on my camera when I downloaded them later. I've pulled the attached photos from the internet.
And here is a photo of the Tufa's at Lake Mono.
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