Saturday, June 18, 2011

6/17/11 Gopherkinis

Simon pushed on to the next town and Chris and I stayed behind to rest our legs in another small and weird western town. Had lunch at the Toiyabe Cafe. Local ladies with white ribbons in their hair and cowboys with fresh hats and plaid shirts looked at us funny but it didn't deter us from enjoying a butterscotch birthday sundae. Everything here is ridiculously overpriced due to the fact that there are no alternatives for miles. I keep wondering if there is a local's rate that I can get on sandwiches, beer and motels. So far, no go. Moseyed about the town, looking through the silver and turquoise stores. These are tourist traps as well and I shant be conned into buying anything heavy or metal when I am shipping home shirts that weigh as much as a 9 paper clips. Found a nameless bar that our friend Rudy had told us about, with "BIKES, BABES, BEER" on the door. This is the joint. A dead-tired sixty something woman with a white pony tail and (too) tight camoflauge pants served us our beer and instructed us to play Norah Jones on the jukebox. We met a real old fashioned cowboy named John who told us stories for nearly three hours, the highlights of which I will now relay:

John explained that politicin' in this town was a funny thing. The last woman to run for Assemblyman was apparently the madame of a whore house. You can find her (nude) picture, painted in oil, across the street at the International Cafe. (Which is neither international, nor a cafe.) John said, "She was a shoo-in, but she brought her girls to town and she lost my vote". Colorful people, real salt of the earth folks. John went on to say that the next major export from Austin, Nevada will be something that he calls "gopherkinis". Apparently the gophers around these parts have run rampant and a local dude will shell out a dollar a pelt for 'em. There is one particular guy in town, whose name escapes me that has been known to do about 70 a day. Our cowboy,John, insists that these pelts could be fashioned into attractive and revealing little numbers for locals and tourists alike. Hey, I'd wear one. When he managed to bring some hour long story full circle, I said to him, "Wow, way to put a bow on it." He cocked his head like a confused beagle and said, "That's an expression for sophisticted people". Maybe he wasn't aware, but he had more euphemisms than asouthern grandma.

We have started to make pals with some motorcyclists. They treat is like we are crazy, but with some reverance due to the fact that we actually have to pedal to make these things go. Riders give us the two finger wave and we feel like we're part of the gang. One can sit on a bar stool and notice that the fellow next to you has the same bizzare hand tan from riding with gloves on all day and one must simply nod their head with respect. Today we are in Eureka. More bad motels and desolation. If my mother saw the place we are staying tonight, she would hold her head and cry. The fun we are finding right now is the backwards fat camp thing we have going. We go away for three months and come back skinny from eating 6,000 calories a day. That's good math.

Guns 'n Roses and High Life for mine and Ian Huffman's birthday

Happy Birthday Slivovitz shot courtesy of the local Serbians


  1. I guess I should thank you for sheltering me from pictures of the seedy hotels. Just don't get bedbugs.
    Glad you see your enthusiasm comes from me..."Isn't this fun?" Is this Disney World? I am so excited!"
    How is your mouth? Take Benedryl if it is swollen.
    Love Ma.

  2. Stay away from cowboy Slivovitz. It's gopher pee.
    Thanks for the Father's Day call. Stay safe, pedal hard, keep your head off the highway.



  3. Of course, if it's real slivo, that may be just the jet fuel needed to keep you flying.