day 47: no win, nevada

We're here in Battle Mountain, Nevada, a town whose name sounds like a level from a video game. Once again, we're motel-bound, once again not exactly by choice. The one RV Park in town would have charged us $27 plus tax for a square of shadeless gravel with no access to restrooms. We got permission from the sherriff to pitch our tent in the town park, but she then warned us that the automatic sprinklers are on all over the park for most of the night (since that's the only way to force anything to grow here). If the sprinklers let off a mountain mist-like stream, this would be fine. If, however, they were more laserbeam-like *ticktickticktickticktick* sprinklers, the tent likely wouldn't keep the water out and we'd we kept awake by the ticking anyway. So, the Owl Motel it was. While I've definitely enjoyed our occasional motels, it's frustrating at this point feeling forced into one rather than choosing to splurge. I think I'm also afraid of the trip seeming less "legit." But we're still biking the miles, I assure you. That trip through the tunnel today was a half mile, tops.

But, I suppose there are worse unpredictable problems we could be having. Originally, we thought we'd be traversing Nevada via the smaller U.S. Route 50, also known as "the loneliest road in America," as it has just three towns spaced out over about 250 miles, along with over 20,000 feet of uphill. Once Aaron learned we could ride on the more-traveled Interstate 80, with towns every 50-ish miles, our plans changed. So again, the forced motels maybe aren't so bad. It's not that we can't afford it, it's that we'd rather not. But to be honest, I figured I would have spent more of my savings than I actually have by now.

Next. We think motels and/or Nevada are making us dumb. It's impossible not to watch terrible television in a motel room. What's on right now? "What Not To Wear." (Yes, y'all, Aaron is watching it.) Additionally, the video slot machines aren't doing anyone any good. I'm pretty sure it'd be impossible to strike up a conversation with a stranger over a drink here because everyone parks themselves in front of these moneysucking machines.

Apologies for all the kvetching. It's the itchy part of the trip, where we can practically taste the cabernet waiting in Sonoma, but we've got a few hundred miles of desert between us. Onward!

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