This is northern Nevada country. The gubment dollar and vice have full control; bomb lockers and procurable women. Rebel pride is not appreciated in these here parts; This be the wolf land>>>> Filthy pack animals.

Hawthorne, Nevada… The U.S. Marines are the tip of the spear, and Hawthorne is where they go to get the boom, boom. There are enough munition lockers across the valley’s floor that rouge explosion would set off a chain reaction so great the earth would crack like an egg. Teddy Roosevelt is smiling down on our big stick. Because ‘merica, that’s why!

Yerington, Nevada… Entering the north country through Lyon County. Off in the near distance is the shorn lower mountains of the grand Sierras. I’ll make it in time! As long as my speed stays in check and I don’t get arrested for wearing scarlet and grey… this is wolf pack country! A quaint town with video rental stores and fairgrounds. No payday pawn shops, cell phone contracts, or Apple Stores. There is something to be said for a community choosing the simpler 1990’s. The hair is big, the music is Grunge, and the cars get 10 miles to the gallon. This community cares how it looks as well. The local bureaucrats set aside budget to post signs throughout the community reminding residents not to dump household trash behind homes.

PLEASE BURN

ALL REFUSE IN

THE DESERT

Thank you! City of Yerington

Gardnerville, Nevada… Ascent is near. “Be Alert, Be Aware, Be Alive” flashes overhead. Weather is magical, no need for snow chains on this trip. I’ll have mine on my person at all times to fend off bears, coons, and hordes of unattended campsite kids. Nearing the accent point the road is lined with half-moon tractor tires painted celestial white. A peaceful reminder of the rugged nature of this land; yet the welcoming side of the yocals. No need to base camp >>>> time is not on my side.

Lake Tahoe, Nevada/South Lake Tahoe, California… Nevada decadence with California conservation. Casinos on one side of the state line, traffic gridlock on the other. How cliché! Historic Camp Richardson still commands respect even though today it resembles an upper middle class vacation refugee camp. Car camping under 10,000 year old Jeffrey Pines would give John Muir heartburn. Smooth pavement for the legions of suburban people movers to carry in humanity. Scamps abound as far as the eye can see. It’s the Lord of the Flies with the reproductive and consumer might of Mormons. Ritalin pixie sticks at 4:00! 

The body is not formulated to handle near freezing nights in June. I am a thin blooded desert creature who thrives near the 35^th latitude. Give me heat, I am the Lizard King’s jester. Nevertheless, this night will be exhilarating to experience because it has been a long time since I took a step down the food chain. This is California! Where the 2^nd Amendment has no traction… Hopefully my camping companion is packing his state issued handgun. We are on our own with only torches and stones to protect the village. What is this, the freaking Dark Ages?

The wedding… A rustic wedding necessitates a balance of savagery and domestication. I must get the lay of the land. Etiquette will not be mocked! Onsite showers will assist in presentation. I am not sure if these showers are cattle coral, patriarchal, or parsed out to those showing sever signs of mange. Quarantine the filthy rats. That’s how the Black Death gets resurrected. Showers only accept tokens… how novel. The city promoters must’ve received word Sacramento is busing the city’s mentally unsound up the hill. Tokens are the only recognized currency for the amenities; parking meters, public transportation, and showers. Control the currency, control the population. The Federal Reserve will parachute in the Marines if word ever gets out!

Sobriety during a well lubricated wedding celebration requires nibble feet. Even though I am a willing hostage, once the booze hits the collectives’ veins I must show no exhaustion. The herd shows no mercy to the tired. These people will turn, and I must be ready for the long-haul! Caucasian dancing, raconteurs sharing stories of fun’s past, and stumbling platitudes of success… All while the DJ spins the soundtrack of white America’s nuptials. A civil union is only truly consummated with a Congo line. Castro despised the urban wealthy and their Conga lines, so spin it again DJ we’re stomping out the last vestiges of communism. Rage against this machine you filthy buggers!

Like all great nights, the end comes too soon. The energy of the moment propping up the remaining crowd of once great partiers who have enjoyed the rare gathering of friends and family. Happy zombies ushered off by their handlers. Hugs and kisses for the bride and groom. Unity is in the air. Lovers hand and hand shuffling off to chase the buzz with their own unity under the sheets. They must hurry, shortly the liquid poison and late hour will take one or both companion to a dreamless night of sleep. Tomorrow will be foggy for some. For this sober road warrior sleep comes easy in the cool calm of the night. Hopefully the lions, tigers, and bears spare my life so in the predawn hours I can be ready to catch the desert sun cresting over the grand Sierras as it lights my path home. Until next time, I must leave this sacred ground and lifelong friends for another 400 miles through Nevada strange.