Skip to main content

All I Know About Winnemucca

 Everybody knows the Johnny Cash song about Winnemucca, but I rode into town looking for gas, hot off Interstate 80. I'd just filled up and was drinking bottled water with Rose at an outdoor table overlooking the campers and cars clogging around the pumps. Young miss big swinging hips sways on past, and puts something in through the open window of her old crappy car, then sits down at our table with a bottle of iced tea. Nice cleavage. Sweaty. Rose gets up and walks away.  "Is it gonna rain?" I ask.  There were clouds, there were. And she proceeds to tell me how she hopes not, because she's moving to Carson City, and she's lived all her life in Winnemucca.  And she's not gonna drive in Carson City, (she'll make her boyfriend do it), because of the traffic.  The Boyfriend has family there, but "we're not gonna live together," oh no.  And her daddy has a lot of junk cars on the property, and that embarrasses her, and she's gonna get a new job but probably still somewhere in Nevada.  And she's never been to the ocean, but last week her and her boyfriend went to Lake Tahoe, the first time she's ever been to the beach, but she didn't have a bathing suit, and didn't go in the water. And a lot of the local folks think she has a Tennessee accent (she didn't), and on her class trip, she went to Washington, D.C., and the tour guide mispronounced the name of her town.  And it makes her proud that Johnny Cash mentions Winnemucca in a song. And she's getting her GED and is going to be a nurse.  And the swells of her cleavage heaved moist in the desert heat. Winnemucca.

The town was named for Chief Winnemucca of the local Northern Paiute tribe. Winnemucca, translated, means "the giver." The chief's daughter, Sarah Winnemucca, was an advocate for education and fair treatment of the Paiute and Shoshone tribes in the area. Their family all learned to speak English, and Sarah worked as an interpreter, scout and messenger for the United States Army during the Bannock War of 1878. In 1883, Sarah Winnemucca published the first autobiography written by a Native American woman,



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Nevada Backroads Ruined My Belt

  rear sprocket pac man damage miles and miles of gravel Drank too many of those 32 ounce beers last night.  Got back on the Loneliest Road and went east through Ely, where we found Utah route 21, which seemed even lonelier.  It's narrower, hotter, and has a lot less traffic. Lonelier.  Almost scary.  Gravelly. A good place to pick up a stone and break a drive belt. When we crossed into Utah, we set the clock forward to Mountain Time, and got on I 15 southbound to Hurricane, UT, where the temp. was a searing 98 degrees.  This was quite a change from the 48 degrees when we left Eureka, NV.  We couldn't find a restaurant near the hotel that served beer (Mormons!), so we opted for Subway sandwiches and a six pack in the room.  Took the Road Glide through a nearby car wash and removed just some of the over 4500 miles of bugs and grime. Pack Man Cracks: that’s the official designation in the Harley Davidson Service Manual, and I discovered it after returning from a cross country bla

519 to Buttzville

519 is a road, mostly smooth, curvy, two lane blacktop. At the New York state line, I followed her down. It’s cow country, sheep; 20 mile per hour turns that sneak right up, a narrow tunnel, and there’s Vernon, and Hope. All the way to Buttzville; so named because, at one time, it was the butt watching capital of America. Butts reigned supreme. Not so much anymore. But there was a nicely packed butt in skin tight camo, right in Hot Dog Johnny’s. So I ate lunch: two dogs, mustard, pickles, and kraut with a big cup of buttermilk. That’s the special. And I gassed up and headed north on 519, all the way to the state line, with a song in my head, from Bob Seger: She's totally committed, to major independence But she's a lady through and through She gives them quite a battle, all that they can handle She'll bruise some, she'll hurt some too But oh, they love to watch her strut…Bob Seger

Route 32 Walt's Speedometer

  It was late afternoon in Albany, NY. I was riding the four speed Evo; Levi had his Sporty; both Mike and Walt were riding clean Shovels. The plan was this: we were gonna run south down route 32, make a few miles, then maybe stop at some juke joint or tavern, but closer to home. Once we got out of the city, the road opened up, and the throttle hands got looser. We were doing maybe 60 mph, in a tight pack of four, and we'd roll up behind some sedan doing 55, and most times, with plenty of room to pass, we'd give 'em a little gas, and just blast right on by. But each time we did that, we'd gain a little speed, and pretty soon we were kind of hammering down the highway, maybe 70 or 75. And I could see in my mirror, Walt was dropping back. He'll catch up, I'm thinkin', he's probably just not used to that kind of riding. So anyway, I'm watching Walt in the mirror, and he's back there maybe 50 yards…then I look again, he's still with us, but maybe