What on god's green earth caused people to stop here and say: "Hmmm, this looks like a fine place to settle down!"? We are in Fernley Nevada, pop. unknown, but large enough to host a Wal-Mart. It is right across the street from the motel, and kitty-corner to the mandatory casino. Fernley (wasn't there a talk show spoof about "Fernley Tonight!"?) is 352 miles from Caspar as the motorcycle rolls. It is also substantially uphill. Fernley exists, as near as can be told from visual observation and a brief flirtation with Ashley at the front desk, to support mining endeavors (looks like they're mining rocks) and major distribution centers. If you order something online and they promise to deliver in three days, who knows? It might just come from Fernley NV!
This is NOT apparently what happened to the new GPS I ordered. My old trusty GPS is not working. I don't know what is wrong with it. So I ordered one just like it that was supposed to be delivered last week, and is in fact arriving (supposedly) this weekend, when--may I add- - I will likely be wandering all over this forsaken desert as lost as I usually get without a working gps. I have the old one with me, should it suddenly decide to spring to life. But I ain't bettin' on it. That's probably the only thing Fernleyites don't bet on either. As you can see from this photo of central Fernely, what they should be doing is betting their money on the next practicable way out of town:
Tomorrow we're off to Boise Idaho, a place I have never been and where I hope to connect with my son-in-law's parents (what relationship is that?) Then we jump into the heart of the trip, and head off for Jackson Hole, Casper WY and Deadwood, SD. Keep those cards and letters coming. I am, as always, your humble correspondent, writing tonight from the wilds of Nevada.
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