Donkey Ahead

The Loneliest Road in America is U.S. Route 50 in Nevada, according to a Life Magazine article published in July 1986. The name originates from large desolate areas traversed by the route, with few or no signs of civilization. The highway crosses several large desert valleys separated by numerous mountain ranges towering over the valley floors. I have been along a section of the route in Delta, Utah, and I can verify that the landscape is isolated and barren.

Today, I wasn’t on Route 50 in Nevada, but on a similar road just 80 miles north of it on Route 140. It is a land of tumbleweeds and sand, without a tree for miles and massive wind tunnels. The straight road narrows to a dot disappearing over the horizon.

In the fall of 2007, we travelled this same road. The wind was so strong that it was a constant struggle with the steering wheel to keep the car on the two-lane road. We attempted to get out of the car, but it resulted in gritty sand in my mouth. The only photos we could get of the massive dust devils were through the windshield of the car. On that day, we kept our eyes turned toward the sky because Steve Fossett’s plane had disappeared over the Nevada desert. We had only passed six cars going in the opposite direction on a 120-mile stretch of highway, so we hoped that we would be reporting that he had landed safely. Sadly, they found the wreckage over one year later and the wind likely contributed to the crash.

The wind today was not as forceful as that fateful day. However, it took an owl, which flew from from the side of the road, in an unexpected direction almost hitting the front of our car. On the edges of the road were yellow warning signs that were a black shape of a transfigured animal—a cross between an antelope, deer and horse. I guess they were trying to cover all of the bases with one sign. Then we saw one of those unusual animals.

We topped a hill and three huge, wild donkeys were standing on the side of the road poised to run in front of us. I have seen wild horses roaming the deserts, but not wild donkeys. After that scare, we stopped at the only rest stop on the 200-mile section of deserted road.

Today’s gift was to warn the only other couple, who was also at the rest stop, of the danger that was less than 10 miles down the road. When I said, “Donkey ahead,” they said, “Thank you.”

In Giving,

Robin