Today’s American Treasure – The Loneliest Road in America, Part 3

In Part 1 and Part 2 of this series, we traveled hundreds of miles over the route known as “The Loneliest Road in America” and experienced the vast, wide-open spaces and long distances between towns for which it’s famous. Highway 50 is one of the country’s great road trips, as it spans the continent from Maryland to California. Parts of it trace the route of the old Lincoln Highway. It is only the section through Nevada that Life magazine once called the “loneliest road in America,” and we are here to find out why.

Shoes, crickets and a cat

In truth, the road has not been so lonely after all. Sure, distances between towns and services are often 70 miles or more, but in between you’ll find lots of beauty, history, and unusual sights. In Part 1 we met a young couple making their first trip out to the remote “Shoe Tree,” where people come for decades to throw their shoes up into the branches. In Part 2 we experienced more Mormon crickets—actually, Katydids—than we’d ever seen in one place before, had a friendly shopkeeper give us a private tour of the historic underground tunnels of Eureka, “The friendliest town on the Loneliest Road,” and got to meet the famous railway cat, Dirt Junior, in Ely. So while the amount of cars and people per mile was a tiny fraction of what we normally experience in the Bay Area, the number of smiles per mile was much higher. The lesson of the Loneliest Road is that sometimes less is actually more.

Always be learning

One of the great things about traveling is how much you learn each day—it’s like college on the road. The history of our country, and our world, is so interesting and complex that one can never learn or understand it all. But that doesn’t mean we don’t try. Edie and I are the kind of travelers who stop to read every interpretive sign along a trail, and every exhibit in a museum. I even photograph a lot of the signs for later study. It can be kind of tiring to stop and focus like that, but in the end we find it enriching to learn and understand the places we’re in. I wonder if we’re annoying to other visitors, though, as we stand in front of the displays for so long.

The Carbonari

After saying goodbye to Dirt Junior and the Nevada Northern Railway, we packed up our van and headed south out of Ely to see the Ward Charcoal Ovens , located in a remote spot near the old, abandoned silver-mining town of Ward. After traveling down Highway 50 for about 15 miles, we turned off onto a dirt road for the next five miles to reach the site of these 19th century beehive-shaped stone ovens, once used to make charcoal for mining operations. Italian Carbonari , or charcoal burners, expertly built these six ovens in 1876, and the fine condition they’re in today is a testament to the skill of these specialized stonemasons. The high-quality charcoal made in these ovens, using locally harvested timber, fueled the smelters (furnaces) at Ward. These ovens operated from 1876 to 1879, and are known as the best preserved of their kind in Nevada, along with being listed in the National Register of Historic Places. There is a nearby campground, where we spent the night in this peaceful and historic place.

A mountain looms

As the sun set over the charcoal ovens at Ward, we could see a mountain peak looming over the scene, a reminder of the challenge we’d set for ourselves. Although we were still 50 miles by road from Great Basin National Park, Wheeler Peak, elevation 13,065 feet above sea level, was clearly visible in the distance. When we passed this way en route to Utah in October of 2020, we spent a couple of nights in Great Basin and tried to climb the peak. That climb ended in failure, as cold and windy conditions on the mountain, along with pain in my back, caused us to turn around and do another hike that day. Would we have better luck this time?

Great Basin National Park

Although it was prime summer camping season and we had no reservations, we were lucky enough to find a campsite in the park at the Upper Lehman Creek campground, sitting at an elevation of over 7,500 feet. Although Great Basin National Park features spectacularly beautiful mountains, lakes, forests, ancient Bristlecone Pines, and even an extensive cave system, it’s located in a very remote area of the country and is not nearly as busy and crowded as the national parks that are closer to more populated areas. It was also good that we were camping at elevation, as we had been for many of the nights leading up to this point. That would help with acclimatization as we prepared to enter the thin air on the slopes of Wheeler Peak the next day.

Rarefied atmosphere

Due to lower levels of barometric pressure in the atmosphere, the air at high elevations contains significantly less oxygen for us to breathe. This is why you might feel lightheaded, out of breath, or experience a headache when first arriving at a higher elevation locale. While we had been traveling, hiking and camping at moderate elevations for the past week (4000 to 7000 feet), we hadn’t been at truly high elevations (over 8,000 feet), and so while some acclimatization may have been occurring, I wasn’t sure if it was enough to make climbing a more than 13,000-foot peak a walk in the park.

When I say climbing a 13,000-foot peak, I don’t mean climbing the entire 13,000 feet. Typically, the parking lot and trailhead is already at a relatively high elevation, so you never climb the entire distance from sea level. In this case, the trailhead was at about 10,000 feet, which meant about a 3,000-foot climb in elevation, something that’s actually pretty challenging at any level. And when you’re starting as high as 10,000 feet, you’re also dealing with significantly thinning air right from the start, making it that much harder.

Taking a second bite of the apple

Of all the hikes off the Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive, the Wheeler Peak hike is the only one listed as “Strenuous”, with the additional warning of “Start early to avoid afternoon thunderstorms.” The roundtrip mileage is listed as 8.6, the elevation gain is 3,100 feet, and the time allotted for the hike should be anywhere between four to 10 hours.

We rose early on that Monday morning, drove up to the Wheeler Peak Summit trailhead, and were on the trail by 7:15 a.m. The entire region we’d been traveling in over the past week was in a heat wave, with temperatures topping 90 degrees daily. Hiking uphill in that kind of weather can be brutal, but the beauty of hiking at high elevation is that cooler temperatures are all but guaranteed. Of course, considering how cold it was on the mountain when we tried this hike in October 2020, I was happy it would be at least a little warmer. As it turned out, temperatures would be just perfect, with a light to brisk breeze the whole way, and I was able to wear the same long-sleeved hiking shirt the entire time, and never needed to add or shed a layer. That’s almost unheard of on a long hike like this.

Just breathe

The trail started at 10,160 feet, and at that elevation the air already contains 29% less oxygen than at sea level. But we were feeling good as we got warmed up on the first couple of miles of trail, which was largely forested and rose at a gradual pace. After the first couple of miles, the trail finally left the forest and the sight of the massive, rocky ridge of Wheeler Peak came into view. This was the monster we were going to have to climb, and it looked impossibly large from this vantage point. After another forested patch and a series of switchbacks, we finally found ourselves on the steep flanks of the peak, at an elevation of 11,000 feet. At this point the oxygen content in the air is about 34% less than at sea level, and this was about as far as we made it the last time before heading back. But this time, with my back feeling good and the temperatures hovering around 60 degrees, conditions were perfect for making a run for the summit.

The slog

We’d made it to the 11,000-foot level, but the hardest part of the hike still lay ahead. From here on out, there was no shade, no protection from the wind except for a few stone windbreaks made by hikers, and the air was thinning with every step. Even those who weren’t feeling the elevation up until this point would start to feel it between 11,000 and 12,000 feet. The heart beats faster, the breath speeds up, and each step seems to take more time and effort. My strategy during times like these is to take lots of short micro-breaks, drink water regularly, enjoy the spectacular views, and take a few bites of an energy bar every hour or so. Edie is always ahead of me, so as long as I keep her in sight I have a sense of where the trail is going. Not only is she a faster hiker than me, but I also stop to take a lot of photos, which slows me down even more.

One step at a time

While the scenery was spectacular, there’s no getting around the fact that a hike like this is work . You have to put in the work to reap the rewards of the outstanding view at the top, and that well-deserved lunch break. At the 12,000-foot level the air contains about 36% less oxygen than at sea level, and I was really feeling it. But my legs felt strong, and even though I wasn’t moving fast, I was moving, step by step. On a hike like this, you kind of have to get into a zone, sort of a meditative zone of simply moving and breathing and not being aware of time. You might be tired, hot, cold, hungry or any number of things, but you just keep moving, knowing the reward will be worth the journey.

A peak experience

By noon, four hours and 45 minutes after we started the hike, we reached the summit of Wheeler Peak, elevation 13,065 feet, where the air contained 39% less oxygen than at sea level. I already had taken two aspirin to ward off an altitude-induced headache and was feeling pretty good. There were only two other hikers up there at that time, two young men decades our juniors. The strong breeze that had accompanied much of our hike had diminished, making for a comfortable environment to have our lunch and take in the dramatic views. From this vantage point one could see mountains and valleys for hundreds of miles in all directions, and even into the nearby state of Utah. It was particularly satisfying to reach this peak, after having tried and failed four years ago. I feel so lucky to have been given a second chance at this challenge, especially since nothing is guaranteed in life, and you never know how much time you have to do the things you want to do.

Please sign our guest book

After lunch, a rest, and taking lots of photos, we made our way over to the true summit, just 100 feet or so from our rest spot. There we found a rock-walled windbreak, along with a mailbox tucked into the stones. In the box we found the Wheeler Peak log book, which six other hikers had signed that day—one from Nevada, one from Colorado, and four from California. After signing in, and having our photo taken with the cardboard sign found in the mailbox, we noticed that some heavy clouds were starting to move in. Not wanting to get caught up in an afternoon thunderstorm, we began the long journey back down the mountain. We had spent an hour and a half on the summit, which was a nice, long break and a reward for the long climb up.

It’s all downhill from here

The trip down the mountain took only three hours, although the steepness of the trail and the rocky consistency of its upper reaches were so treacherous that I actually slipped twice, landing hard on my sides and arms. Luckily, I take a fall well, so no harm was done. Even with good hiking books and trekking poles, that kind of terrain can be tricky. At the 10,400-foot level, we took a short side trip to Stella Lake to enjoy the beauty of that pristine alpine lake and bask in the view of Wheeler Peak rising above it, almost feeling a sense of disbelief that we had just climbed that massive formation.

Finally, at 4:30 p.m., more than nine hours after we started the hike, we made it back to the trailhead and parking lot. We had put in more than nine miles and climbed 3,100 vertical feet—85 floors according to my app. It was time to head back to camp, take showers, and prepare dinner. Overall, I was pleasantly surprised with how this hike went, considering that the last time we climbed a more than 13,000-foot peak, Mt. Dana in Yosemite in 2019, I remember being much more winded on the upper reaches of the trail. The only difference I can think of is that we had spent more time acclimatizing at higher elevations prior to this hike.

Where to next?

Having achieved such a long-standing goal, what could possibly top it? At this point, our friends Kris and Dennis would be heading further north into Canada, while we still had the rest of the week to get back home to the Bay Area. One option would be to backtrack on Highway 50, checking out some sights we hadn’t yet seen, as we made our way towards the California border on the same road we came in on. Another option would be to head south on the Great Basin Highway, Route 93, and see some new terrain along a more southern loop home. That option would involve a longer drive, and much hotter temperatures. Even during this heat wave, we’d only experienced up to the mid-90s so far. The forecast on the southern route called for temperatures reaching 100 degrees, so going that way gave us pause.

Intriguing roads ahead

Looking at the map and seeing roads dubbed the “Great Basin Highway,” the “Extraterrestrial Highway,” and the “Free-Range Art Highway” certainly inspired us to head off into the unknown and continue the adventure, despite the heat. After all, whether it’s climbing a mountain or heading into a heat wave, you just have to remember that the reward is worth the journey, or in the case of a road trip, the journey is the reward.

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 steve@alamedapost.com . His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Steve-Gorman .

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