Nathan posted on July 13, 2010 14:03
Yesterday we woke up because the sun was already heating up the inside of our tent. At 6:30 in the morning. NH curled down in a little ball to attempt going back to sleep in the shade, but to no avail. We just got up.
It was warm enough that we didn’t want anything hot for breakfast, so we were quickly ready and set off. We finished driving around Great Basin National Park and turned north. The maps for the TAT around that area show a detour that can be taken because the trail for a few miles is too narrow. We didn’t notice the detour until we were long past it. And really, the trail wasn’t impassible. We turned to go up a mountain, and then the trail turned into more of a single track—but a very wide one. It was just narrow enough that we scraped branches continually along both sides of the vehicles. NH and I don’t drive with the air conditioning on because the Jeep tends to run a little hot (I guess that’s typical of Jeeps), and driving on such challenging terrain, and in such extremely hot weather, it comes too close to overheating for us to push it further by running the AC. So we roll with our windows open instead.
Naturally with the trees so close, we had a decision to make—roll up the windows and keep the pine needles out of the vehicle, or leave the windows down and have some hope of the temperature inside being bearable. I vacillated between the two, so that not only did I get miserably hot, but I also filled my side of the Jeep with needles, small branches, and general fauna. NH was quite decisive, and his side resembles a forest floor, as well.
After we came down the mountain, it was time for lunch. We stopped and ate, and then continued down a side road toward some town that starts with a “p,” I don’t remember what. This road was challenging as well, but what I remember most about it was the bull. Naturally, we have been coming through lots of open range and cattle ranches. We have passed many the cow, driven several out of the road, and almost hit a couple of calves. Yesterday afternoon, we passed one calf who was chewing mischievously on its mother’s tail and, seeing us, was either so shocked as to leave it gaping, or was attacked with pangs of guilt, because it dropped the tail and started behaving itself.
We began to drive up a hill, and in the road met another cow. Only it was a bull. And it didn’t want to admit defeat. It stood in the trail and challenged us. We inched closer. I rolled up my window, just in case. The bull eyed us ominously. We inched closer. It put its head down. We pulled forward ever so slightly. Finally, the bull realized that we were definitely the larger beast and so turned tail and ran out of the trail, presumably to go nurse its pride and hope none of the herd saw its defeat.
After we reached—I’m going to say Preston, that sounds about right—Carl had to head home. Work could not do without him. We decided to press on in hopes of reaching Eureka, 120 miles away. If the 120 miles were anything like the last 100 miles we had come through, we wouldn’t make it before dark. We didn’t mind camping somewhere off the trail again, but NH needed internet to do homework, and we were all dusty enough to want showers, so we were hoping to reach the town.
Most of the 120 miles were relatively smooth dirt roads, and NH drove them as though they were paved racetrack. Looking behind us, we saw that Caleb was driving similarly, because he and Jennifer were keeping up very well. We careened around hills and down into flat desert until we were less than ten miles from Eureka. Then the trail told us to leave the road before it went through the wash, and to drive out onto the grassy flat. The instructions were adamant about not going into the wash. I assumed this was because the wash was impassible—we have driven through so many barely-passable washes that it was easy to believe this one would be too difficult.
When we reached the wash, the road went smoothly down into it and gradually rose up the other side. Still, we are driving the trail, so we set off across the grass. The trail at that section follows a cow path for four miles, though part-way through it turns into a two-track.
We entered Eureka around 6:30 this evening and got one of the only rooms left in the Best Western Inn. Eureka is a beautiful tiny mining town, determined not to become a ghost town. The downtown—and there is nothing more to this town than the downtown—is beautifully restored or in the process of getting there. Jennifer and I reluctantly passed on the walking tour through dozens of historical sites, and we went to bed at a decent hour.
Today will be our last full day on the trail; I don’t know what kind of terrain there will be. It will be hot again, I’m sure.
Written by E Henson