July 15, 2016-Saturday Night in Elko, Nevada

While Wyman nearly quits

Jul 08, 2024

Photo from inside a small, dark square tunnel, looking out the end of the tunnel towards the desert. A road goes left-right at the end of the tunnel. There is a yellow road sign with arrows pointing left and right. Beyond, the short, yellow wild grasses of the Nevada desert, and naked mountains in the distance. Above, the sky is blue and streaked with clouds.

[The story begins here… I recommend viewing on a laptop or desktop or even a tablet to let the photos breathe a little more and help convey the vastness of the American West.]

"…to tell the whole truth, I went to bed thoroughly disgusted with my bargain. I felt as if I was a fool for attempting to cross the continent on a motor bicycle. I was tired of sand and sagebrush and railroad ties. My back ached, and I fell asleep feeling as if I did not care whether I ever reported to the Motorcycle Magazine in New York or not."

George A Wyman

In marked contrast to Wyman’s day, I pull into Battle Mountain at 4:30 PM after 47 uneventful miles on I-80. I’ve had space in my head to appreciate the extraterrestrial Nevada landscape and listen to music transmitted wirelessly to my phone (wireless radio broadcast wasn’t invented until 1906, three years after Wyman’s trip). I’m a little warm, a little thirsty, but my back feels fine. I could use a coffee though and a top-off charge before heading out again.

Photograph of downtown Battle Mountain. The main street is wide - two lanes and parking in each direction, and the building are low one- and two- story buildings. The Zero motorycle is parked across the street in front of the rectilinear, mid-century Owl Motel with a simply pale yellow concrete block facade interrupted by vertical areas of maroon panels trimmed by thin aluminum mullions. The mullions create a grid within which simple rectangular window site. An old neon sign "Owl Motel / Microfridges / Queen Size Beds / Air Conditioner / Phones" juts out from the facade. The name "Owl Motel" is set upon the facade, "Owl" in script, "Motel" in all caps. Besides the Owl Motel is a slightly taller building, the "Nevada Hotel", with vertical panels of pale yellow and green and a red marquee that reads "Casino" and "Family Restaurant." Beyond, are low one story retail stores. The street sits low in the photo, beneath a blue sky streaked with clouds. The overall vibe is quiet.

Battle Mountain has a tidy little downtown, with Front Street running right alongside the railroad. There’s even an old display honoring the importance of the railroad and mining in the town’s history. Other towns, like Winnemucca, have all but turned their back on their rail past and have re-oriented their economic development towards the highway; from 1971 to 2011 the "train station" in Winnemucca was little more than a bus shelter.

Photograph at the entrance to Clark Park RV park. A wide asphalt road leads into the park. The rest of the surface is gravel. In the background are a handful of white RV campers. A large red boulder sits at the entrance with a "For Rent" sign on it. Beside the boulder is a simple chainlink fence with white slats. A sign "Laundromat Now Open to the Public / Hours 4am - 10pm" is hung on the fence. Another sign, incomplete, hangs on the fence; it reads "RV SP..." Behind, on a metal pole, is a backlit signt "Clark Park / Public Laundromat" Just behind the fence is a small barn-like building with a Mansard roof. The place feels empty.

Nestled among the quiet streets of Battle Mountain is Clark RV Park. Unlike the RV park in Winnemucca, there’s nobody here, just a phone number on the locked office door. I call, describe what I need ("50 amps…it should just take a couple of hours…") and negotiate a price for a charge. The honor system out here is refreshing; payment is via an envelope slipped into a mail slot. I hook up both the JuiceCord and Quicharger then wait in the spotlessly clean and air-conditioned laundry room. I fish for coins in my pants and get a soda and snack from the 1980's era vending machines.

Two photos. Photo of a soda machine. The main panel is black with bright, horizontal, neon strips (in the colors of the rainbow) running across the panel. There are two large black areas in the shape of soda cans. The sodas available are displayed to the right, in a tall, clear tube - Mountain Dew, Dr. Pepper, Coca Cola, Diet Coke, Pepsi - with prices alongside each can. 4 step instructions appear on the right. Photo of a white washing machine. It is a top load machine and the door is open. The coin feed is on the right. To the right of the washing machine is a white utility sink with a long neck faucet spout. Behind, on the wall is a rectangular white dispenser of "Soap / Bleach / Softeners". TO the right is a change machine. Between the two is a sign, "Management reserves right to refuse service to anyone" in all caps, red letters.

I start looking for a place to stay. Carlin is closer but Elko seems bigger. It’s Saturday night. I choose the bigger but farther town, not because I’m a party animal but I miss the buzz of people out and about; there just hasn’t been all that much going on in Nevada. I find a place in Elko and book a room.

I leave Battle Mountain with a full charge in the late afternoon. Wyman left Battle Mountain the following morning with a what must have been a good night’s rest and renewed sense of purpose.

"In the morning it was different, and I was as determined as ever to finish the task, and was eager to be off."

George A Wyman

I-80 out of Battle Mountain is flat as a pancake, the sandy soil covered in the ubiquitous sage brush. The interstate aims straight towards an angular set of 6,000 foot peaks and then at the last minute skirts north around them. Then it climbs nearly straight over 6,114’ Emigrant Pass.

Photo of Intersate 80, heading east. The two eastbound lanes (and broad shoulder) are flat and empty. On either side of the highway is the desert and scrub brush. In the distance, large billboards line the side of the road. Further, beyond the vanishing point of the highway, is a wall of naked, treeless, rugged mountains. The sky is blue and streaked with clouds. The sun is high overhead.

These numbers mean little today when viewed from the comfort of a modern vehicle, but sudden changes in altitude were a challenge for trains and pioneers. Wyman’s route went south of the mountains, through a canyon carved by the Humboldt River and followed by the railroad. He had other battles.

"I left the Battle Mountain at 7 a.m., and found hard going. It had rained over night. The mud on the road blocked the wheels and I went to the railroad. That was just as bad, the roadbed being of dirt instead of gravel. After a walk of 10 miles, I managed to drive the motor along slowly. I swore on that stretch that I would not ride a bicycle through Nevada again for $5,000. The only way to travel there is in an airship, and then I believe it would somehow give out and strand the vessel. I made 36 miles in 5 hours and stopped for lunch at Palisade, a telegraph station in the canyon. I had little more than got started again when I got caught in a thunderstorm, and in less than a minute I was as wet as if I had fallen in the river. After the shower the mud was so sticky that I had to stop every 30 yards and s****e off the wheel in order to let it turn around. A lovely country; yes! I thought at times I would have to let the motor stay in the mud and hunt up a wagon to haul it and me to the next place giving an imitation of civilization. When I was almost ready to give up I struck a stretch of gravel roadbed, and got a rest for awhile. A little further on I had to walk through the mud again."

George A Wyman

This was one hard day after another. And we must not forget that he still had a piece of hardwood secured with tarred twine for a handlebar. But after 12 hours of "riding" he arrived in Carlin.

"I finally got to Carlin at 7 pm, having made 58 miles after the hardest day of work I had yet had. I turned a fire hose on the motorcycle at Carlin in order to soften the mud so that I could wipe it off."

George A Wyman

It took Wyman 12 hours to go 58 miles. That’s 4.8 miles per hour, hardly better than the average foot speed of a fugitive over uneven terrain (4 mph) and hardly better than a light jog. Some people do that every day for work. Some people get up early on Saturday morning and cover that distance on a bicycle. Some people (the craziest kind) run that.

Photograph looking westward along Interstate 80 in Nevada. The road inclines downward to a valley before turning slightly and climbing towards a distant set of rugged mountains. It is late afternoon and the light is low, a strong sun in a blue sky streaked with clouds. The landscape is dark, in silhouette and the sunlight reflects off the asphalt of the highway. The highway guardrail glistens in the strong light.

While Wyman stayed in Carlin for the night ("…the place is a liberal dispenser of ‘Old Scratch’ That's what the whiskey is called out there. When the natives drink plenty of ‘Old Scratch’ the elevation of the town rises to un-surveyable heights.") I continue onward. The road climbs while the sun descends towards the jagged horizon in my mirror. This is what photographers call the golden hour, when the shadows are long and the late afternoon light casts everything in a warm golden glow. The interstate punches through a mountain tunnel and I roll into Elko on the last rays of the day.

Photo looking eastward along Interstate 80 in Nevada towards a rocky mountain and the entrance to the Carlin Tunnel. The mountain has very little vegetation. The entrance to the tunnel consists of two arched entry points, one for eastbound traffic and the other for westbound traffic. The hill around the tunnel entrance has been scraped away It is late in the afternoon and the sun is low in the sky, casting a golden light upon the land. Hills on either side of the road cast long shadows towards the tunnel. An electric motorcycle is parked on the shoulder, casting a long shadow on the road. The shadow of the photographer can also be seen on the road. Two additional tunnels can be seen to the right. They are for trains, and a set of tracks can be seen on the right side of the photo, beyond the pale green scrub brush on the side of the highway.

Giant neon letters at least five feet tall flashing "STOCKMEN'S" from high up on the roof of the four story Stockmen's Hotel and Casino draw me like a moth to a flame. I take off my helmet and hear what sounds like a plague of cicadas but are actually hundreds of lightbulbs of the marquee switching on and off. Now this is a casino.

There's a little confusion with my reservation though. They have a room for me but we can't find a plug for the bike. A young man from the front desk and I walk around the parking lot, opening every access panel we can find in search of the promised plug. No, that's water. No, that panel is locked. Nope, nothing here. I'm about to ask if I can park the bike in the lobby when the hotel manager has three maintenance guys help me find a plug in the basement. Nominally a parking garage, it's stuffed with all manner of furniture and other things (no bodies, as far as I can tell) but we find an available outlet and I plug in for the night.

An electric motorcycle sits parked in a low-ceilinged storage area, an extension cord running from the motorcycle off to the right edge of the photo. Around the motorcycle are random objects - an orange forklift behind the motorcycle, a tall, sturdy crate with fragile icons on it to the left of the bike, old wood-veneer office furniture and an office chair besides that, and large cardboard boxes with the words, "furniture / UP" with corresponding arrows. One of the boxes is laying on it's side. One of the boxes has a motorcycle helmet on it. Beyond, are shipping palettes and various other mechanical objects.

I go up to my room to freshen up and then head out in search of food and the famous Elko nightlife. The evening air is cool and refreshing but there aren’t many restaurants around and the one that I do find is closing. Elko on Saturday night is pretty tame after all.

Evening photograph of a street corner in Elko, Nevada. On the corner is a long, low, older building, pale yellow with arched windows. At the top of the facade, in neon, is "SILVER DOLLAR CLUB" in red and blue neon. The letters "C" and "L" of the word "CLUB" are unlit, possibly broken. Below is the entrance to the club, with neon outlining the arched above the entrance and the arch above the main window. To the side, are additional windows with neon signs of alcohol brands. To the left are additional local shops with their display windows lit but they are otherwise closed. One of the stores has a blue awning with the word "FURNITURE" clearly visible. A single street lamp stands on the corner in front of the club. The sidewalk is dimly lit by the shop lights and street lamp. To the right of the club, cars are parked in the shadows. Two people can be seen walking in front of the club. Two woman can be seen walking across the street to the club. They are blurry.

Defeated, I head back to Stockman’s where I belly up to the restaurant counter and order something mildly unhealthy. I think it was meatloaf. At the desk they tell me that the hotel has been sold to a national chain and will be closing soon for renovations. It’s easy to see parts of the hotel that need some work (like the astroturf around the small pool in the central courtyard) but I hope that doesn’t mean that they’re going to kill the quirky character and charm of this place.

Today was a big day, the longest day of the trip so far. With two charges I managed nearly 200 miles. The RV charging strategy is working great, although I wish the RV parks were closer to town centers and eating options. I am nearly through Nevada. It’s fitting, I guess, to spend another night in a casino hotel. Wyman, on the other hand, had a terrible stretch. It took him two days to travel 150 miles and he suffered a flat, a broken handlebar, sand, mud, and nearly lost his revolver. On two consecutive days he thought about abandoning. And he's not even out of Nevada

Thank you for reading Following Wyman: An Electric Motorcycle Adventure. This post is public so feel free to share it.

Miguel Tejada-Flores

Jul 10

This is such a compelling story. Or rather, stories, plural - yours and that of George Wyman - and the way you've interwoven your words with his - coupled with the compelling way in which a reader (me!) finds themselves entering into the width and breadth of the landscapes, the intensity of the sun and the nocturnal visions, which your camera lens sees - it all adds up to a compelling reading experience. And it´s a real pleasure to come back to, and reread, for a second (or third) time.

Bravo, John!

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1 reply by John M Flores