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

Fifteen Dollar Piston

That's Paul Riding My Old Ironhead With The Fifteen Dollar Piston Blasting over the mountain, I was giving her the gas, full throttle, right against the stop, passing all the cars. That's when I heard the bang. BANG . Sounded like a 12 gauge , and the Ironhead starts losing power. Cars that I passed, start to pass me. And I notice that she’s smoking some. Well, something ain’t right; I’m turning around, I'm heading for home… And by the time I get home…I’m limping, mostly running on one cylinder. FUCK! I think that was the word out of my mouth. And I’m laying down serious smoke . The trouble was the front jug. Front one is easy to take off, so I pull off the head, and loosen the cylinder, start to slide her up over the piston. And here, is where I actually showed a lick of sense: Before I pull the jug all the way over the piston, I put a clean rag around the connecting rod, under the piston, to prevent broken metal from falling off the piston, into the crankcas...

Whoda thunk: Lake Michigan

Steamboat to Wellsville

East on 40 out of Steamboat, over Rabbit Ears Pass, and route 14, an hour to Walden, CO, remote. Went over Cameron Pass (10,276'), and down along the river: Cache La Poudre, and the Fort Collins area; route 14 stretched out over the plains for a hundred miles to the next real town. We watched a threatening dark to the east, dead ahead, loom, darken, and splatter us with big drops, just as we pulled into Sterling. Refuge in a gas station, then a nearby Wal-Mart. When we got a motel room, there were warning signs at the desk about high nitrates in the water. Warning signs at the hotel desk. The girl there said it was from fertilizer seeping into the ground water. Another girl warned us about the uranium from the mines. They all had a nice glow. Chernobyl Glow. We watched the weather channel and it didn't look good: half-dollar sized hail was falling nearby. So we drank beer. Interstate 76 in Colorado runs smack into Interst...

Motorcycles Bartenders F-Bombs

Search This Blog