As recent as 8,000 years ago, ancient Lake Lahontan covered more than 4,000 square miles of Nevada and California. Ancestors of the current Paiutes fished its waters, hunted along its marshes and reed-lined shores, and inhabited the surrounding hills. In ancient times, the road we were traversing would have been 500 feet beneath the surface. Today, the landscape is void of trees, and any measurable precipitation quickly evaporates. Along the Nightingales, intriguing geological formations abound, and the only remaining evidence of early inhabitants is an occasional arrowhead that might be kicked up underfoot. More contemporary artifacts are the numerous mines and stamp mills tucked away in hidden canyons. Our morning objective was to locate and explore the remains of the MGL-Nightingale, a turn-of-the-century tungsten mine that operated until the Depression.
Veering east into one of the larger rifts in the Nightingale range, the skeletal remains of the MGL came into site. A large concrete stamp-mill foundation stood sentinel at the entrance to the box canyon. Further inspection of the canyon revealed numerous mineshafts, old structures, dynamite lockers, and a set of narrow-gauge ore-cart tracks running out of the mountain. Although the valley has long been silent, closing our eyes, we envisioned life in a mining camp. We could hear the ghostly hiss of the steam engine, a rhythmical clatter of the stamp mill, and bearded teamsters sitting high on an ore wagon, hollering out obscenities at an overburdened oxen team, dogs, chickens, and humans scattering from its path. The Nightingale didn't play out and has also long been silenced. Satisfied with our historical nuggets and remembering that we had several hundred miles of desert to explore, we moved on.
The last gas stop on this adventure was in the remote northern outpost of Gerlach. Residents of this isolated settlement like to say, "Gerlach is where the pavement ends and the West begins." A salty character named Bruno owns the only gas station, restaurant, hotel, and bar in town. Bruno is a likeable character, his kitchen serves up a pretty mean dish of ravioli, and he's a good source for local information and current conditions in the Black Rock Desert. Just north of town lays the Black Rock Playa (a dry lakebed), which spans a distance of 30 miles to the north and eventually fades into a mirage of heat waves.
The site of the international land-speed record of 700-plus mph, the playa is as flat and smooth as a pool table. As previously mentioned, there's no speed limit. We peeled onto the playa and charged, pedal to the metal, tire to tire, for the better part of 30 miles. Now, we're not talking a cheesy blue-plate special here; this was a verifiable triple-shot of adrenaline. Fifteen miles onto the expanse, we backed off the coals and rolled to a silent standstill. By late spring, the intense desert sun had desiccated the lakebed, deep fissures spread across the playa like the web of a spider, and our shadows appeared to be the tallest thing for miles. In the distance to the east lay the most prominent landmark in the region and the one by which the desert received its moniker: the Black Rock. We headed for its base and the intersection of the Applegate-Lassen trail. In roughly 30 minutes, we covered what would have taken a wagon train almost two grueling days to complete.