Wide Open

One of the greatest appeals of the American West has always been that sense of unbridled freedom and room to roam. In the crowded world we live in today, it might be hard to picture that solitude and deep connection with nature, but for the modern-day pioneer, it is still within reach in a place called Nevada.

Imagine that you are the pilot of an open-cockpit biplane, flying from Reno to Elko with 300 pounds of mail. It is night in 1926 and you are relying on a recently installed innovation on the ground to keep on course over Nevada’s deserts and mountains. You have a strip map and compass and a railroad to follow in daylight. But at night these are useless. Instead of having the navigation equipment and air traffic control that keeps planes on course today, you follow a newly constructed route marked by orange concrete arrows embedded in the ground, each about 50 feet long and lit by beacons powered by acetylene gas or electricity.

I decided 2020 would be my year of travel with multiple, domestic and international trips. My first planned trip was the week of the shutdown but instead of having my plans derailed, I decided it was time to renew my interest in Nevada history. It was still the year of travel, but 2020 was not as I had planned. Instead, every week I visited ghost towns, mining camps, emigrant trails, and Pony Express stations. I met wonderful friends, became an off-road Jeeper, and learned about history and myself. My third-generation Nevada husband is amazed by the locations I discover, many unknown to him. I feel like a teenager without the curfew and have had an amazing time exploring our beautiful state.

East of the crest of Nevada’s Ruby Mountains lies the immense Ruby Valley, a pastoral expanse of quiet and prosperous ranch land. The dirt Ruby Valley Road follows the western edge of this high desert valley for 35 miles, before finally arriving at an oasis: A huge wetland of marshes, shallow lakes, and drainage ponds that encompasses the Ruby Lake National Wildlife Refuge, the most remote wildlife refuge in the continental U.S.   

Screaming. Roaring. Whistling. Squeaking. Singing. All can be used to describe the sounds of Sand Mountain’s sands. I travel to experience this puzzling, impressive, natural phenomenon, some 30 miles east of Fallon, along Highway 50, where the expansive mountain is located.

My friend Adam Stone and I finished the 13-mile, 2,500-foot climb to Virginia City just after 7 p.m. It was the biggest hill I had ever ridden, and my bike was loaded with camping gear, food, and supplies for a six-day trip. I had feared not making it up Geiger Grade at all, but now, heading for our campsite outside the former boomtown, I was cautiously optimistic I could ride all the way across Nevada.

Most of Nevada is part of the Great Basin Desert—a massive, dry expanse of parallel mountain ranges and deep valleys covered in sagebrush, where you can drive miles without seeing much in the way of humanity. While some look at the vast desert as mileage that needs to be covered before reaching a destination, author and University of Nevada, Reno English Professor Michael Branch looks at what others consider nothingness as a place of complicated beauty that is waiting to be explored on foot. Branch has penned three books that chronicle the joys—and hilarious challenges—of his life living on the edge of the dry Nevada wilderness.