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June 27: Virginia City This is a former mining town that's been converted to an Old West tourist town. Its main claim to fame, beyond its ephemeral mining boom, is being the place where Samuel Clemens decided to become Mark Twain. To this end, it has a Mark Twain museum, in addition to many other tourist sucks, such as mining museums, historic houses, and the famed—nay, imfamous—suicide table. That morning, with Laura, we'd driven up a winding road into the desert-side mountains south and east of Reno to visit Virginia City. While the scenery was stark and striking, the really fantastic part of the drive was the Suidice Table. Everyone knows about mystic not-quite attractions that advertise themselves to hapless roadies. South Dakota's Wall Drug. South Carolina's South of the Border. (South of the Border starts its billboard bombardment 296 miles—I am not making this up—out from the actual site; the site itself is, of course, a collage of cheap hotels painted orange and yellow, several Mexican-themed souvenier shops, a gas station or two, and, best, a giant orange and yellow sombrero. Guests are welcome to ascend its stairs, apparently, and stand in its brim, thereby securing a commanding view of...the rest of South of the Border's orange and yellow buildings.) After what seemed like many more Suicide Table signs than there actually were, we arrived and parked in an impossibly small spot. Naturally the first ting we did was visit the tourist saloon advertising the Suicide Table and stand in underwhelmed silence before it. Then we made jokes. (The name comes from the unfortunate fact that at least three men killed themselves after betting and losing it all at cards. But the signs and the name and the gusto with which both are presented make tragedy into comedy.) We walked around Virginia City for a while and found signs to a train ride. Like good tourists we boarded the two-car assembly altrenately pushed and pulled by a rusty blue eletric GE switcher (filling in for a steam engine that needed repairs) and took a twenty-minute ride to an even smaller town, Gold Hill, while the conductor narrated the history of the many mines we passed en route. Once at Gold Hill we got out of the sun by walking downhill from the train stop to a hotel/restaurant for lunch, during which we watched a trickle of cars roll past, and after which we caught the train back to Virginia City. Once we'd returned to Reno and dropped Laura off at her work we retired to the house so I could watch the bonus selections from the Monty Python and the Hold Grail DVD. And after that was over, a car ran into the house. No, really. A CAR ran into the HOUSE. The neighbors across the street had left their white old-model Cougar sedan in park with the engine running and (guess what) it slipped out of park, into reverse, and, in the kind of freak accident that turns non-believers into dedicated church-goers, rolled happily across the street, through the space between a telephone pole and a parked car, with all but six inches to spare, and klonked solidly against the chimney part of the wall of the house. After the initial shock ("was that an earthquake?" "a hit-and-run on a house?"), though, only a couple bricks were found to be dislodged. After recovering from the hit on the house, mini golf was in order, and much fun ensued. The course came complete with a giant pink elephant and cheesy names for the holes, and it was nighttime so it wasn't hot anymore, and all was right with the world. Except that I could not put the silly little ball in the silly little hole on the volcano-shaped green. But still, nothing's better than mini golf. It's cheaper than drinking, just as relaxing, and if you don't laugh until your sides hurt at least once, there's something wrong with you. (And by the way, the game ended in a tie; my face was saved.) For a nightcap, we grabbed dinner at a Schlotsky's, which involved us almost standing as pedestrians in the drive-through line, being helped by a perky-nice employee, and eating at a table outside in the suddenly chilly night air. After, more or less because we could, we drove out a (little) bit away from Reno-Sparks and to see the stars in the desert away from the city lights.
Have You Heard About... the Suicide Table? I really think I've seen a little something about it, somewhere. Maybe a sign. Possibly heard a rumour about a suicide table in Virginia City, and I think I might want to visit. It's a suicide table. What else do you want?
Virginia City and Environs A view of the city and some of its mines' tailings from about a half mile away. Note the V on the mountainside; cities in Nevada use letters to identify themselves to passing by-planes.
I See Dead People A deceptively large graveyard, overlooked by a trailer park, lives outside Virginia City. A walk through it revealed many dead people, both recent and over one hundred years old, and an unidentified rodent, possibly a ground squirrel.
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