Day 19 - June 7 Desolation and Connection in Unexpected Places

The morning began with a disappointment. I was looking forward to taking a shower after I broke camp, and when I went to the showers, I couldn’t get either one to work. So instead I washed my face and brushed my teeth in a sink at least (instead of with a bottle of water), and decided I would look for a shower sometime during the day.

Great Salt Flats coming into view

My plans were to see the Great Salt Flats, so I headed north, with a slight easterly bent to swing back into Utah for a few miles. I did just that, and I found myself at the Bonneville Salt Flats International Speedway. I don’t know what I expected, but it was not just a sign explaining where the raceway was (and I still don’t know how a person could possibly find it in all that white) and an invitation to drive out onto the sea of salt. After looking at a few other people do it and thinking how this was an opportunity unlike any I’ve had before, I drove out onto the salt.

Amazed at how much it looks like shoreline at the ocean

What a strange, strange feeling. There are no paths, no markings, nothing but the traces of tire tracks running every which way. So I drove forward. I didn’t go as fast as I could; I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something could happen. I did get the car up to about 70, but then I backed it down a little. The salt wasn’t as consistently hard as I thought it would be, and there were places you could see a little brown mud in existing tire tracks.

I saw some trucks and a tent set up, and I drove toward those. I thought maybe that was the raceway. When I got there, I pulled up alongside the trucks, and a young attractive woman approached the car. She explained that they were shooting a film and I needed to stay out of certain lines of sight. She also said she’d seen one car get stuck and that the salt was a little thin in places.  Just what I wanted to hear.

I sat and watched for a little bit, but nothing seemed to be happening, so I thought I’d head back. That turned out to be a little more difficult than I thought it would be. I drove in what I thought was the right direction, and suddenly the car slowed and seemed to be losing power. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw my tracks were muddy. I’d hit some of that thin salt, and it was bogging the car down.

The salt is still in places, even after a wash

I didn’t want to stop because I was afraid I’d get completely stuck – even with AWD – so I kept driving, now no faster than about 40 m.p.h. I looked at the GPS to see where my route in had been, and I couldn’t even read it because the white was so bright. I had to pull it from its mounting and hold it close to my face to see the line. I was well off the line I came in on – I had drifted north without even knowing it. So I worked to get back to the way I had driven out, and before too long I could see a semi that had pulled up to the sign, and then a few cars, and then the sign. When I made it back onto the asphalt, my heart was racing and I was quite happy to feel that firmness under the tires. But man, what an experience. There’s not much more desolate than being out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but bright white as far as the eye can see.

Bella's Courtesy Shuttle to the ranch

After my heart rate returned to normal, I headed back into Nevada and then north toward Idaho. When I left the westbound interstate and started north, I passed two signs, each advertising the 24-hour availability of girls. I remembered that of course this was Nevada, so these were brothels. I turned the car around and headed down the short gravel road to the two competing houses of ill repute.

I decided this was an excellent time to do some research for my novel, so I approached Bella’s first. The man who answered the door said the owner had to give permission and she wasn’t there. I thanked him and drove across the lot to Donna’s Ranch.

August and Simone at Donna's Ranch

I was buzzed right in and greeted by a female bartender. I told her my business, and asked if any of the girls would be willing to talk to me. After giving her my business cards – both personal and WITCC – she disappeared into the back. In just a few seconds, a dark-haired woman about my age came out, apologized for being naked under her small robe, and sat down on the barstool next to me. This, I came to find out, was August. Then a blonde woman in her mid-30s appeared behind the bar and introduced herself as Simone. I met one other woman a little later, again about my age, named Natalie. All three were happy to answer any questions, and I began to ask them about their lives.

I’m not going to put a lot of what we talked about here – I’m going to write more on that in another venue with Simone and August’s help. They have quite the stories to tell, and I’m going to help them tell them. But for now, I’ll tell you about the experience. We sat and I listened to them tell some stories about their lives. I also learned a lot about how the brothel worked and who took what of the money they make. The state takes its 35% entertainment tax right off the bat, and then they have to pay for a weekly doctor visit and pay the house a cut. But they are independent contractors and set their own rates.

Simone gave me a tour of the house – the women live there while they’re working. It had a nice, airy kitchen with everything a person could want to throw together a great meal. There was a hot tub room and a big veranda out back. The local church women often bring food and flowers according to Simone. The best part about the tour was the history lesson. Simone is a history buff, and she was eager to show me much of the history there. The brothel has been in business since the late 1800s, and one of its biggest claims to fame is that Jack Dempsey frequented there often – they even have the “Jack Dempsey Room” with his picture on the front. He had a long-standing relationship with one of the women there, and only broke it off when his manager insisted it would hurt his reputation. But there were many other historical pictures and information throughout the house. It is clear they are proud of the long and colorful history there.

CB radio station - the girls are scheduled to talk to the truckers

When I said I had to leave so I could find a place to shower and camp, they generously offered for me to shower there – and I did. Simone let me use her private shower so I wouldn’t have to use the one the truck drivers used, and after my shower I sat and visited with them while I got ready.

I could have stayed much longer, but I was there for about two or three hours, and I needed to get to Idaho and find a tent site before it got much later. It would be difficult as it was since it was going to be late on a Friday night and many campgrounds are full for the weekend.

Simone, the history buff, posing by the early 20th c. piano

Before I left, August gave me a big goody bag of all the souvenirs they give out there, Simone gave me a book on the Outlaws of the West, and we exchanged hugs all around and contact information with the promise to keep in touch. It was a wonderful experience and I feel enriched after meeting these women and having them open up to me as they did.

It wasn’t too difficult to find a campground with space just outside of Boise, and the weather was about as nice as I’ve experienced on the trip. I left the tent flaps open all night and there was a nice breeze and stars and quiet – the perfect atmosphere to relax from quite an eventful day.