Heading north from Death Valley presented us with two options. We could stay in California and head along Hwy 395 which would deliver a wonderfully scenic drive, and we might even be able to duck into Yosemite (although the excess snow is not being cooperative). The second option would see us cross into Nevada for a less spectacular drive, but one that seems loaded with the wild, wacky, and weird stops that I love (and as much as she grumbles, even DH is getting out of the car for a closer look more often these days). DH is doing most of the driving but I still control the GPS so, in short order, we were off to Nevada. A couple of years ago I funded pole dancing lessons for DH and Christine L when they were in Vegas, and they were both awarded State of Nevada Stripper Licences after a successful gyrating, clothing-optional, pole-twirling graduation, so this part of the trip might be self-funding.

Given that I have funded DH's Pole Dancing lessons, you might reasonably conclude that we have a very open relationship and we do. I am very open to nominating any number location-appropriate adventures for us to explore, and DH, for reasons of safety, legality, and just plain common sense, is very open to telling me why those adventures will not be happening (although she has approved quite a few that perhaps should have been kiboshed). I can usually predict when I have crossed a line of some sort (helped by the scowl and one-eye squint), so imagine my surprise when my former law enforcement Princess agreed to a tour of the Area 51 Space Alien Brothel. Outside of the major Nevada centres like Vegas, trailer park casinos and brothels are a relatively common sight although they're not normally part of the tourist circuit. We had stopped for fuel and right in behind the attached Area 51 gift shop was a large motel-like building containing the Alien Cathouse with a big sign promoting 'free tours'. It was probably supposed to be more enticement than tour, but with DH pulling that stern looking face she used back in her policing days when she was trying to shut down places like this, Bambi (probably not her real name) figured out very quickly that we really were looky loo tourists and not customers. Shockingly, I wasn't allowed to take any photos so much of what we saw will have to remain top secret although I will say that anyone looking for girls acting out slightly bizarre space alien/Star Trek themes might want to make their way out here.

Area 51 does actually exist and it is a super secret military installation, and, as conspiracy types believe, there might even be a number of alien bodies and spaceships housed in the mountain bunkers, far from the prying eyes of the unwashed masses (our Roswell aliens were supposedly spirited here just hours after they crashed). There are secret cameras and sensors that surround Area 51 and even a mild trespass will draw out armed military personnel with serious sense-of-humour deficiencies. There really isn't anything to see so we had to be content with buying a T-Shirt and slow driving by the area where alien autopsies might be happening.

Rogue space aliens might certainly explain the former gold mining boom town, Goldfield. From the International Car Forest of the Last Church to the homes covered in traffic signs, and a historic marker certifying that absolutely nothing of significance happened in 1897, Goldfield is a cautionary tale of what happens when aging former gold prospectors spend too much time in the hot desert sun (although the enthusiastic use of junk had to be admired).

We stopped for a night in Tonopah and stayed in the most haunted hotel in Nevada but this time, even with her vivid imagination, DH wasn't able to conjure up anything that might pass for a wandering poltergeist. Unbeknownst to me, Tonopah was the centre of a silver mine bonanza- the mines around the town produced almost $750,000 in gold and silver in 1901, and for the next 40 years, the Tonopah mines were consistent producers.. The remnants of the old silver mines have been pulled together as part of a large mining museum, so we spent quite a bit of time wandering around the 'Danger Keep Out' signs. I used to work in underground mines (using much of the same equipment as they apparently used in the early 1900's- yikes) so it was a bit of a walk back in time for me, and for DH- at least it wasn't something silly like a clown themed motel.

Wait a sec. Did somebody say "clown themed motel"? Just on the outskirts of town (right next to the cemetery) was the world famous Tonopah Clown Motel and, yes, there are clowns everywhere. You might think that clown overload in a motel might be a bit creepy and scary, but DH says that after travelling with me for the last few years, living with clowns in close quarters isn't the issue it might otherwise be.