In July 1986, Life magazine described Nevada’s Highway 50 as the “Loneliest Road in America” and warned that drivers should have “survival skills” if they planned to travel that route. Although the magazine described a desolate landscape with few towns over the course of 300 miles, Nevadans knew better and decided to use the publicity as a marketing tool. After all, isn’t a classic road trip all about wide open spaces, a spirit of adventure, and at least a small element of danger?
The old Lincoln Highway
U.S. Route 50 is actually a transcontinental route, stretching 3,019 miles from West Sacramento, California, to Ocean City, Maryland. The road was created in 1926 as part of the original U. S. Highway system, and in parts traces the route of the even older Lincoln Highway—one of the first transcontinental automobile roads, dedicated in 1913. And although the western half of the road is characterized by mostly rural desert and mountain territory, it was only the Nevada section that was so extreme as to earn the “Loneliest Road” moniker.
Desperate passage
My wife Edie and I started our journey at the site of another struggle with desolation and survival, Donner Memorial State Park, near Truckee, California. It was there during the winter of 1846-47 that the Donner Party, a group of emigrants from the Midwest, were snowed in for the season and had to endure an epic struggle to survive. Of the 87 people who entered the mountains that winter, only 48 survived. But now, 177 years later, campers arrive on good roads, and camp in comfort near the site of cabins that once housed desperate refugees trying to find a better life in California. Today it is a place to enjoy recreation on beautiful Donner Lake (formerly known as Truckee Lake), and learn all about the natural and human history of this place.
Onward to Highway 50
Although we enjoyed our overnight stay at beautiful and historic Donner Lake, we were not yet on Highway 50, and as we crossed the Nevada border on Interstate 80 the next day, our sights were set firmly on Fallon, where we’d finally be on Highway 50 proper, and the real adventure would begin. At Fallon, Nevada, Highway 50 has already stretched for almost 200 miles from Sacramento, California, but the truly spectacular desolation has not yet begun. East of Fallon, though, the scenery and distance between towns changes dramatically. Suddenly, you are no longer in the more populated part of the state surrounding Lake Tahoe, Reno, and Carson City, and are instead entering the region of the state where the number of people per square mile is usually zero. Coming from the crowded Bay Area, Edie and I love the feeling that these wide-open, uncrowded, and untouched natural areas impart on us.
Basin and Range country
Much of the state of Nevada is characterized by “Basin and Range” topography, a vast landscape of dramatic changes in elevation, alternating between narrow mountain ranges and flat arid valleys, or basins. Heading east from Fallon, the long, straight road ahead beckoned. No stop signs, traffic lights, or traffic of any kind impeded our progress, as one long valley led to another, one mountain pass led to another, and so on. Now, if one had to do this drive every week, I imagine it could become monotonous, but for us, with the music playing and the miles going by, it had more of a feeling of being a retreat from the busy world we usually inhabit. Plus, there are all kinds of unique and interesting stops along this road, the first of which we had somehow missed when we traveled this way four years ago on our way to Utah. This particular stop features more shoes in one place than you’ll ever see outside of a major shoe store.
The Shoe Tree
This point of interest doesn’t appear on every map, and there’s not a sign marking its location, but there is a pull-off that drivers can look for near the old Middlegate Station, once a stop on the Pony Express. One of those classic, odd, Americana-type roadside stops, the shoe tree is a place where people have been coming to tie their old shoes together and throw them up into the tree for years. While the original shoe tree fell in 2011, the tradition has continued on another tree in the same small grove. The website Atlas Obscura recounts the story of the shoe tree:
“It happened like this: on a warm desert night, a newlywed couple camping beneath the large cottonwood got into an argument. The woman threatened to walk away. ‘If you do,’ growled the man, ‘you’ll have to walk barefoot.’ He then proceeded to throw her shoes up into the tree and drive off to a nearby bar, where the bartender, an upstanding citizen if ever there was one, convinced him to return to his wife. He drove back to the cottonwood tree—needless to say, his wife was still there—and the couple managed to reconcile and live happily ever after. They returned several years later with their first child to throw his shoes up into the tree under which they had fought and reunited. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Whether that story is 100% true or not is beside the point of a roadside oddity like this. The point is that it exists, that people still make pilgrimages here to throw their shoes up, and that it’s created stories and legends around itself. And that’s enough for a good roadside attraction.
Stokes Castle
111 miles after leaving Fallon, we arrived in our first town on Highway 50, the old mining town of Austin. Settled in 1862, Austin was once known as the “Mother of Mining Camps,” as silver was mined in the nearby hills and the population boomed to over 10,000. Today, the population is down to just 12, according to the World Population Review website. As silver and gold mining continued to dwindle over the years, the population steadily declined, leading to its current status as a “living ghost town”.
Driving up a short but steep dirt road just after arriving in town, we made our way up to an historic attraction we had missed on our first trip out this way in 2020, the Stokes Castle. As we pulled up to the three-story stone tower completed in 1897 by mining and railroad magnate Anson Phelps Stokes, I was so glad we were taking our time on this trip, and not missing places like this. Stokes built the castle as a summer house for his family, and modeled it after a tower he had seen in the Roman Campagna region of Italy. It was built from hand-hewn native granite, and had a fireplace and balcony on each floor, along with a rooftop deck. The Stokes family ended up using the castle for only a short time before Anson Stokes sold his mine, mining equipment, and castle in late 1898. It has been unoccupied since then, and today is owned by the Austin Historical Society. An enduring theme on this trip across Highway 50 is how much of an effect the rise and fall of gold, silver, and copper mining has had on the entire region.
Invasion of the crickets
There are things that you plan for on a trip, and things you don’t. An invasion of Mormon crickets is something I wasn’t expecting on this trip, but as we noticed our first few of these large, reddish-brown crickets up at Stokes Castle, we had no idea that it was just the beginning. I tend to do a lot of research before heading out on a trip, but I must admit, I had no idea that Nevada regularly experiences infestations of these insects that can cover up to 10 million acres across the northern areas of the state, and they’ve even caused multiple car accidents due to their presence on the roads.
Next up
When our adventures on America’s Loneliest Road continue, we’ll endure a cricket infestation, camp among petroglyphs carved by Native Americans up to 10,000 years ago, explore the old mining town of Eureka, ride the rails of the historic Nevada Northern Railway in Ely, and attempt to summit 13,167-foot Wheeler Peak, something we failed at last time (and we’re back for another try this time). All of that and more, as the journey on Highway 50 turns out to be not so lonely after all, at least if you count insects.
Contributing writer Steve Gorman has been a resident of Alameda since 2000, when he fell in love with the history and architecture of this unique town. Contact him via [email protected]. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Steve-Gorman.
