Most of our day was spent on Highway 50 - the self-styled loneliest road in America. "Let's hope so," Hannah commented, wanting a swift drive back to California. So we waved goodbye to Ely without much sadness and drove west and up into the mountains.
It was pretty lonely. You get short stretches of hairpin bends over ranges in the Sierra Nevadas before long, straight swathes of tarmac down into wide flat valleys and up the other side. I've given up trying to capture any of it with a camera, you'll just have to visit yourself.
We made a few stops, to see some Native American petroglyphs, a singing sand dune, and a pony express station. The sand dune wasn't in particularly good voice, probably annoyed by all the quad bikes riding up and down it.
The temperature rose as the land fell away, and soon enough we were back in California. It was obvious when this happened: the roads became potholed and the traffic ground to a halt. Time to become a park ranger (or maybe a Greyhound driver).
That's how we like it.
Looking west.
It doesn't have much competition.
Petroglyphs. Even 10,000 years ago they could have put in a little more effort...
This is more like it! Turns out the Native Americans around here were pretty socially progressive (even if their spelling isn't 100%).
The car we'll be renting for the next trip.
The singing sand dune, with stage fright.
Another job opportunity!
