Eastern Nevada’s lonely road

Nevada and Utah have plenty of contenders for the title of loneliest road, even if U.S. 50 across Nevada earned the name decades ago. 

I knew that awaited me as I took a last walk around the refuge with my friend, said goodbye, and dropped back into the outer edge of Las Vegas for 20-some miles. As soon I as turned north, the city dropped off again. U.S 95 and U.S. 93 connect Vegas to different parts of Nevada, but they compete for which route is more desolate. 

Headed northeast, my drive was all U.S. 93 which connects the state’s population center to a handful of hardscrabble towns and mining ghost towns in Nevada’s vast rural regions. With the impenetrable mountains of Desert National Wildlife Refuge to the west, my only company was satellite radio and fields of Joshua trees. 

Being in such a empty place, I cringed when Lindsay Buckingham’s Holiday Road came on the satellite radio, fearing the National Lampoon’s Vacation song might bode poorly for the many miles ahead without services. Along some drives, I have to hunt for the flourishes. Eventually they arrive. 

 After an hour of high desert, the land suddenly turned green, leading to a pair of reservoirs forming the core of the Pahranagat National Wildlife Refuge. Taman Spring, which runs behind the visitor center, was dry this morning, but lizards scattered through the underbrush with constant birdsong in the trees. 

Willow flycatchers come to Pahranagat to nest. Others pass through their longtime migration routes. Hope as I might, the golden eagle on the Pahranagat sign was the only one I saw. On the drier hills above the refuge headquarters, Joshua trees grew tall with many arms. I wanted to stay longer, but I arrived way to early for the visitor center to open, and could not hang around. 

 But the green did not last. The little towns faded and the dry vegetation moved back in. The Joshua trees gave way to juniper and other hardy western trees. Crossing passes became a matter of course. Time and mileage stopped mattered; I just moved in my rental car. 

Caliente passes for a big town in this part of Nevada, with restaurants, parks, and a stately train depot from the town’s busier days. Panaca barely registered as two miles north lies one of Nevada’s best-kept secrets, a state park where nature has carved stone temples, spires, and columns from canyon walls. 

 The clear pinnacle of this quiet road lies just off it in Cathedral Gorge State Park. Anyone could miss it, even though it almost hugged the road. Even on a Saturday, it didn’t feel crowded, although an impressive volume of children flowed from every SUV and minivan that parked around the rock formations. After a campground, a dirt road travels a mile or so into the gorge and its unforgettable rock constructs. 

While not a big state park, Cathedral Gorge could pass as a cousin to the hoodoos of Bryce Canyon and Cedar Breaks in Utah. The formations stem from sediments of a freshwater lake that covered the larger valley more than 5 million years ago. Few plants thrive in the gorge’s clay formations. 

That starkness makes them stand out, and the gorge walls feel as if an architect designed them more than natural elements. A stone water tower from the Works Progress Administration stands near the formations; it was capped and closed when the water proved too alkaline to drink. 

Cathedral Gorge deserves far more time than I gave its signature formations. I didn’t hike a trail but wandered around the easily accessible areas of intricate red rocks. 

 A day use area at the park’s north end takes visitors to an overlook atop the canyon where raptors stare for prey and other birds soar. U.S. 93 between Las Vegas and Ely spans many lonely communities. Pioche was the last of any size, set in a series of mountains and mostly blocked from view. 

 It took me many years to take a drive like this, but Nevada truly has a setup unlike any other state. One large massive market (Las Vegas) disconnected from its second-largest (Reno), a suburb-sized state capital, and nothing but tiny towns from its mining days sprinkled elsewhere. 

You have to cross Nye, Lincoln, and White Pine counties to feel how slight the influence of humans can become. I have no regrets for driving that pavement. 

Yet the loneliness on this road became palpable at times. Cathedral Gorge was a good salve. At least a cure was not far away.