Today, after a REALLY relaxing morning, we spent a few afternoon hours driving around the remote north end of the lake. There are some remarkable tufa formations there, and even a hot spring. Sadly, tourist vandalism has the area closed, so it must be viewed only from afar. The distant peaks are called “the Pinnacles”.

Tufa is a class of limestone formation, typically caused by hot springs forcing calcium precipitation from alkaline waters. Pyramid Lake is just such a birthplace, and there are many varieties of tufa all around the lake. Due to the theft of the water for agricultural interests, the level of the lake has dropped 80 feet in the last hundred years or so, revealing many of these wonders for us to see. Pretty high price to be paid (along with the near-extinction of Lahontan trout), but so be it.

Against the natural wonders of the area, human structures are paltry. However, the old railroad bed running through the area did catch our eye, and we spent an hour tracing and following it as best we could. The bed is made from some non-indigenous red lava rock, obviously railed in from somewhere as a solid, easily compacted rail bed. The old rails and ties are absolutely nowhere to be found, not even a shriveled relic. It seems they were (at obvious great expense) all uprooted and carried away when the rail line was decommissioned. We don’t have any specific history to share, other than it was operated by Union Pacific at one point. Railroad buffs can, I’m sure, can add details.

Many of the old trestles still have remnants where the multiple desert drainages had to pass under the tracks.

Some other human remnants leave as much mystery as information, such as this enigmatic concrete structure down at the lake shore.

Here’s a real curiosity. No mystery, it’s an old building slab. But how in the world did it bend into a curve instead of breaking? It is solid reinforced concrete, and cracked in only a few places. It curves up at least three feet at one end of the 25-foot span.

Near the end of our excursion for the day, the mileage sign shows the magnitude of Nevada’s dirt roads. There is no pavement on this road until 447, 55 miles away. Sometimes it’s a nice graded gravel like you see here; and sometimes it’s a washboard rutted nightmare that seems to want your car fully disassembled within the next mile.

Back at camp, the rain was too imminent to invest in a “real” fire (with wood). We settled for our little “fake” fire, a propane gas-pit thing. It’s surprisingly cozy and warm, and of course it’s the only option in some no-burn areas, if we want a campfire. Fortunately, the overcast kept the air warm enough to go outside and sit next to a fire (no kidding, if it’s too cold we just stay inside!). Unfortunately, the rain gods saw me light the thing and rain immediately started coming down. Oh well – nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Night time in the desert.

I step out of the RV into Black. Deep, bottomless, ink/pitch black. Black cat in a coal mine black. My eyes just can’t get the hang of it. I blink to make sure they’re open. Still black. I take a few steps, knowing I’m going to bump into my parked truck, and I trip over the campfire stones on the way. I stop and wait. Finally, the sky shows a dim glow from the distant lights of Reno; the small LED inside Howie throws some lumens out onto the damp desert sand. The ground is dark black, and the sky is light black – but I can see again, sort of.

Many of us have been on cave tours, where they turn out the lights for a minute. That is truly the blackest of blacks. But here in the desert, that sort of black, on a moonless overcast night, is also surrounded by a vast space. In the cave, it’s somehow sane for the blackness to be encompassed by the walls of the cave. Out here, the blackness seems to go beyond the rational, to infinity.

Tonight, the intense dark is accompanied by intense silence as well. The weather has brought a sprinkling of rain, but no wind. We are far enough away from any town, highway, or even campground, that there is no human noise of any kind. When the light pattering of the tiny raindrops stops, the silence is unparalleled. Quiet and black – – almost a cessation of senses, unless I clear my throat, or talk to myself, or squeeze my fists.

Last night, the same silence was already upon us. As we drifted off to sleep, we both noticed the complete lack of sound. Later, I awoke to the soft crunching of footsteps around the coach. I was surprised, and just a bit anxious, hoping it was not going to be trouble. After some seconds, I noticed that the footsteps didn’t come nearer or go away, or get louder or softer. And after a few more seconds, I realized I was hearing only my own heartbeat, the rushing of blood pulses within the veins in my ears.