By the Sand Canyon Tomb in the Salt Flats

We Disappear Yes, we've received mountains of e-mail complaining that we've disappeared from the face of the earth, or at least Nevada. This was a logistical decision we were forced to make. Producing pages was consuming the bulk of our efforts. We decided to refocus on painting and writing. Daily updates, alas, went the way of the pocket slide rule. The Avoid Nevada premise had been compromised. An unavoidable detour had forced us into the state. It was time to regroup and come up with a new idea. We hit on the 50, the loneliest highway. We'd bisect the state as directly as possible. So, we passed through some beautiful lonely scenery on our way to Fallon. Stopped for a couple Jack in the Box tacos under a downpour of cottonwood pollen. The 50 is striking. After Fallon you hit some salt flats. All along the road people write their names in stones. At some point we passed what looked like a tiny gravesite off by itself in the middle of nowhere. Then the great Sand Canyon loomed before us. A huge sand dune rising up from the hills, it beckoned our approach. We passed the world's lonliest payphone, sidled down a dirt road, the verses of Lyle Lovett still echoing in our ears. There it stood, the immense mountain of dirt.. A woman calling from a motorhome advised us not to park too close, "we'll have the generator runnin' all night." She also warned us about the soft ground, but in minutes there we were, completely trapped in the sand, wheels spinning deeper into the earth. I felt like Br'er Rabbit with the Tar Baby. Things had taken a bad turn. We climbed to the top of Sand Mountain (quite a hike) and mediated as a cool wind from the west blew sand in our faces. The sky was ripe with stars. I played guitar while Lisa wrote. - Craig