Nevada’s Cowboy Corridor spans roughly 400 miles on Interstate 80 from Reno to West Wendover, at the eastern edge of the state. The most obvious through line connecting the destinations lining the Cowboy Corridor is the fast-moving I-80. However, what struck me as the traits connecting cities and towns that would otherwise seem disparate in their size and setting, are the rugged authenticity, overwhelming kindness, and genuine beauty awaiting anyone willing to look for it.
As a quick background on me, my name is Sam Brockway, and I am a freelance travel photographer based out of Boise, Idaho. As is fortunately often the case, I was able to bring my girlfriend, Megan, along on this trip. Her lens is invaluable on a trip like this, as we both have an individual relationship with Nevada, both on and off I-80. A great deal of our time is spent in towns and cities throughout the West that fiercely hold onto their original identities as frontier towns, and possibly no assemblage of cities and towns represents that respect to their origins quite like those found along the Cowboy Corridor.
I will not bore you with my interpretation of the similarities and differences between Nevada and Idaho. However, I find myself drawn to the cultures that have grown out of the spaces still directly influenced by their genesis as frontier towns, where the community was all that people had to rely upon for at least a day’s ride in any direction. Each place, whether it still bears a minuscule year-round population or it has become a full-on city, takes pride in its individual identity, while sharing the true “I’ve got your back” sense of community and rugged individualism imperative for people to have survived in the frontier. That will be the lens that I will view the Cowboy Corridor through as I make my way across I-80.
Day 1: Reno to Unionville
Full disclosure, my expectations of discovering any authenticity in a cowboy store in the burgeoning city of Reno were tempered. When our planner had us stopping at the D Bar M Western Store to start out our day, I mentally budgeted 10 minutes to glance at the wares and move along. Then, I was greeted by Mackey at the front door, who, along with being absurdly kind and welcoming, did not hesitate when I asked if I could photograph him with his lasso outside of the building. As we entered the store, I immediately swooned at the immaculate leather goods and buckaroo-style hats (buckaroo is the name for the cowboys of the Great Basin). All of the other patrons were purchasing goods for their actual livestock. It was not quite the urban cowboy atmosphere that I expected.
Two summers ago, I bought Megan a cowboy hat while traveling. A real one. After a few rounds of house renovations, along with our dog’s gravity-defying hair, her hat had gotten so caked with debris that nobody would guess that it used to be black. Megan sheepishly asked Sara, behind the counter, for tips on how to clean her hat. Sara not only eagerly helped, but displayed precisely how to clean her hat, and she threw in a reshaping, to boot.
Upon return, Megan’s hat looked so crisp and, frankly, unworn, that she looked ready to head to the nearest arena hosting a Garth Brooks concert. She was able to brandish it just down the street to Louis’ Basque Corner from which it was nearly impossible to part with either the extraordinarily rich Chorizo Burger or the various groups that had become our new friends as they popped in to enjoy their Saturday.
It was time to get out of the big city and follow the Cowboy Corridor. Our first stop on the route was less of a stop, and more of a pilgrimage. A love pilgrimage. In keeping with a Chinese tradition dictating that couples who symbolically “lock their love” will remain in love so long as the locks are intact, couples travelling the Cowboy Corridor have long signaled their dedication by locking their love in Lover’s Lock Plaza outside of the Pershing County Courthouse in Lovelock. After 13 years together, Megan and I decided that we were ready for this major step. We ventured to find a lock late in the day, and battled gale-force winds at the plaza. In the end, our love was effectively sealed.
The last destination for the day was to get to where we were staying, at the Old Pioneer Garden Country Inn, in Unionville. We stopped along the way to get pizza at Gold Diggers Saloon and Grub House in Rye Patch. While we waited for our pizza, we met a very nice patron, Scott, who had a gold claim in my minuscule hometown, was at the same 1969 Led Zeppelin concert at the Green Lake Aqua Theater in Seattle as my dad, and lived two houses down from us when we lived in Seattle. We took our massive pizza with us to eat at the B&B when we got there.
By the time we arrived in Unionville, it was almost 9 p.m., and the drive in was impressively dark. David and Mitzi were ready for us when we got there. The grounds were difficult to imagine with nothing more than a few orange-glowing bulbs sparsely illuminating small sections of the property. David showed us to our cabin, which was beautifully rustic from the outside, and downright charming and welcoming on the inside.
It was comfortably warm despite the sideways-blowing snow, and the only sound in any direction came from the wind hitting the building and nearby farm equipment. After what felt like a big day, we settled in, played dice, ate pizza and turned in for the night
Day 2: Unionville to Winnemucca
The itinerary for day two required that we make it a very achievable 50 miles from Unionville to Winnemucca, yet somehow the sights to see still made for a long list. The list likely only felt long as a result of our collective disinterest in leaving the Old Pioneer Garden Country Inn once we saw it in the daylight. We were out of the cabin to take photos and shoot some video at sunrise, when we could really appreciate the humble craftsmanship of not just our cabin, but every building, fence, and gate on the property. We could also finally see the towering peaks from the Humboldt Range looming over everything in the morning light. We shared our breakfast with the only other guests on the property, a couple that is only able to celebrate their anniversary every four years due to their unfortunate and charming nuptial date residing on February 29th. David and Mitzi offered us fresh oatmeal, waffles, eggs, and ham, and everybody sat around the table and had delightful conversation for a few hours. It was immediately clear that we were going to have to return for a longer stay, in the future.
A close friend kindly offered to lend me a 1913 copy of “Roughing it,” which includes a detailed account of Samuel Clemens’ attempts at mining for gold in the area. Upon the realization that it is only cheap metals that glitter, Clemens mused, “However, like the rest of the world, I still go on underrating men of gold and glorifying men of mica. Commonplace human nature cannot rise above that.” Clemens’ cynicism may have improved from being a better miner, but that would have certainly robbed us of his true gift apparent when he began signing his books under the moniker of Mark Twain.
Our slow and begrudging departure from the Old Pioneer Garden meant a late start on the road. Still, we could not miss stopping at a sight we have seen countless times from the freeway, but never made the time to visit. Thunder Mountain Monument, in Imlay, is a towering series of sculptures that can easily be seen from a distance, made by Frank Van Zant, who would later come to be known as Chief Thunder. The lore of Thunder Mountain is varied and fascinating, and it was a treat to finally take the time to appreciate the eclectic structures.
We were worried that we might be running late for the Winnemucca Ranch Hand Rodeo, but as we pulled up, the endless sea of horse trailers in the parking lot provided some assurance. We caught calf roping and left after the trailer loading (where a team of 4 riders must find a specific numbered calf to coax and wrestle into a trailer). The events were fantastic to watch and left me ready to eat a large portion of steak. The setting for dinner was the Martin Hotel , whose steak sandwich was just what the doctor ordered, then I stayed for a Picon Punch to assist with some photo work. I wound up making fast friends with an Elko native, named Elliott, who proudly declared, “If I’m not in Elko, I want to be able to walk to a Basque restaurant in 4 minutes!” An ambition that I can truly support.
