4/15/2023 0 Comments Strangeland 6.0![]() “No,” Anne quickly responded, “I mean, no ice, please” “Well, I won’t be sloppy about it,” the waitress snarled. We sat at a table, and Anne ordered the whiskey neat. (photo courtesy Bella’s via Facebook)Īnne was laughing quietly out of sight of our proprietress/tour guide and whispered, “You two fellers have a great time I’m going to the bar for a drink.” We politely thanked our hostess, avowing we would certainly contemplate the adventures to be sampled across the street, and followed her into the next room.Īnne had recently discovered (though I don’t know how ) the pleasures of single malt whiskey and saw a bottle of Glenlivet behind the bar. But mind you tip gen’rously, y’hear?” She shook her head, “Them girls work hard Lord I just don’ know how they do it.” Bella’s Hacienda Ranch in Wells, Nevada. Not that you’d be much interisted, young lady, but you gen’men will be treated real well she lines up them girls and you can take your pick. The lady who runs it is a friend of mine. “Well,” she answered, “the only thing besides the restirint and bar through that door behind ya is that building across the street. “He liked the entertainment and became close to one of the girls.”īob asked, “What do you do for entertainment around here?” “He stayed for two nights” the lady marveled. We entered the lobby and an elderly lady (OK, this was twenty years ago, she was likely only a couple of years older than I am now) greeted us and informed us there were indeed two rooms available but they both faced the street and would we be okay with the traffic noise? I asked, “How often do people stop in for the night?” and she allowed their last guest was from two weekends ago. Much of this district was destroyed on February 22, 2008, when a 6.0 quake struck the area. I grimly intoned, “There just might be room at the inn…” The Nevada Hotel and Murphy’s Bar on Front Street in Wells, Nevada. “Town” turned out to be the hotel (one car out in front: the desk clerk’s) an attached bar and, across the street, what looked to be an old dance hall. We were an hour behind schedule and Anne expressed concern that there would be no rooms left for us at the only hotel in town. Tank full, we motored toward our final destination of the day, the bustling metropolis of Wells. Having endured the slings and arrows of the mobile chamber of commerce, we wheezed into a gas station, crawled to the pump and turned the car off. ![]() “What do you mean,” Bob mocked, “that 40-foot cactus we just passed isn’t on there?!?” The mile markers finally revealed our location and Anne warned, “Drive conservatively to save gas, Bob we’ve got another 50 miles before we reach anything with a name.” So, we slowed down to 55, being passed by grandmas in jalopies and even some kids on scooters, all offering helpful encouragement like “Get this cheap foreign hunk-a-junk off the road!” “What are you, LOST?” “My ’58 Ford pickup will tear you apart!!” Sure enough, I had mistaken one gauge for another and the needle was on the lowest rung of the “E.” Now, I could defend myself by mentioning this rental was probably the 25th car I’d driven that year and each model’s dashboard set-up bears no resemblance to any other model but with the great scenery and the open roads (speed limit? 80 or faster!) I’ll honestly say I was paying NO attention to mundanities such as fuel level.Īnne was earnestly looking at the road map, striving to ascertain our exact location. “You idiot, you’ve been looking at the temperature gauge!!!” I was even able to set the car at a speed so the bumps in the road timed with Bob’s snores making for a syncopated symphonic sound. The weather was fine, the scenery unparalleled. That left Anne behind me in the back seat, as usual working on paperwork, detailing the next day’s events and navigating for me. I was piloting while Bob slept in the passenger seat, chair reclined back (Bob is a great driver, but I volunteered to do the first shift and whenever he’s not driving, he’s almost instantly asleep). We set off mid-morning, wheels checked and gas tank full. Our friend Tom Hazzard, founder of the Sun Valley Jazz Jamboree, suggested Wells, N evada, as a place to stop, averring it had a good hotel, restaurant and entertainment. Our time between gigs was generous, so we planned to stop over somewhere slightly past the midpoint. This was before the days of searching for routes on your phone or even using a GPS armed with our trusty Rand-McNally we set off on the 15-hour journey. In 2001, after completing the Mammoth Lakes Jazz Jubilee, Anne and I rented a Toyota sedan with clarinetist Bob Draga to drive to Helena, M ontana, for a private fundraising event at the Barrister, a beautiful B&B owned by our friend and former lawyer, Nick Jacques.
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