I was afraid to look but I think the rental car contract forbids driving on one lane dirt roads. When I was a teenager and dropped my hamburger in the dirt, a theologian (father of a friend of mine) said, "Dont worry, a little dirt never hurt anyone." Hmmmm...

Here is a bit of history for minds who appreciate this kind of information.

The  mimeographed brochure warned us about the 7.7 mile road up to the ghost town and mines (high clearance, good transmission, turn air conditioner off, know how to change tires).  At first, this road looked very easy. Of course we didn't see any BMWs, Cadillacs, Porsches, Lexuses, or Lincoln Town Cars- in fact we didn't see any other vehicles...mules...people..or aliens.

A few Joshua trees applauded our climb from 3,727 to 8,300 feet... Thankfully, the engine red light alert was absent despite the air conditioner turned to sub arctic.  Given the opportunity to use climate control we disregarded the recommendations to turn it off. Rental car abuse.

Owens Valley (or Owens dry lake if you prefer) behind us as we climb, scramble, crab shuffle, slither and otherwise ascend upwards. Pretty view behind us, no? Think a moment as Sherlock Holmes says, to you, "You know my methods, why can't we believe him?" Not a lot of room for error here and definitely not enough room for two cars… The SUV that climbs the highest sees the farthest, no?  This is a meandering road, no?--winding, bumping, twisting, steep, narrow, rocky… ersatz road!  If the autobahn is the pinnacle of German roadway engineering what would you call this? Die Lange Schlange (the long snake)?  I don't know what the RPMs were but 3 to 5 mph was fast enough for me.

We made it to the center of what remains of the mining town. The museum is on the right and the hotel is on the left behind the small building. As I took this picture I was wondering how I would look if I had to climb up the "road" with no water and no hat....lobster red or burned to a nut brown, shriveled skin and babbling about being followed by a mariachi band of skeletons dressed in charro outfits came to mind...More water please.

Yep,  this is the museum but once was the general store (I think...my memory checker is only warranted for 24 hours).  There are only a few caretakers in residence and the peak population of Cerro Gordo in the 1800s was....8,500 feet...okay, I forgot how many miners and..er...others lived here in the late 1800's and early 1900's.  I don't think families lived here ....

Occupational warning for miners?  Warning to inquisitive visitors? LA motorcycle gang rally site?

Johnson and Johnson air fresheners for a miner's helmet? I can almost see my hiking buddy Dan with his helmet cocked on his head and his pants tucked into his boots ready for a day of hacking and loading silver in the near dark at the bottom of the mine...,Me?  I'd be the bartender… You remember the one about the termite who asks, "where is the bar tender?"

This is almost as good as Granny's attic…

A life in the mines between two world wars.  That would make him 108. I'm guessing the end date is really 1873.

Across the street, down the hill from the hotel: church, bunkhouse and outhouses. The church is a relatively recent addition to a standing building. Now cluttered and dusty. Did you know that outhouses can last for 25 to 75 years? Too deep for me. It seemed appropriate to scratch the following in the dirt in front of the church: "Not believing in Hell won't  put the fire out."  With temperatures in the 90s and 100s it just seemed the right message to scratch.

They import water for the tree. None needed for the communications tower. I wonder how many calories it takes to load and push/pull this puppy up to the mine entrance? We figured three bags of Cheetos per trip. I’m thinking this is where the mules come in handy but I forgot to ask the question. Imagine the mine warning you with groans and rumbles….took one heck of a man to be a miner…and one heck of a mule to be a mule too for that matter. I’m wondering if they had mine canaries. Brave birds. They say the life of a mine canary was short but meaningful. I’m hoping they didn’t have mine canaries here. Cute little things...

This is the caretaker’s three legged dog, Patch. The affection the caretaker and dog had for each other was palpable. Wherever the caretaker went Patch followed. Love comes with three legs and a tail. Makes no difference if you are a replacement ref or the real thing, saint or sinner, miner or computer nerd, farmer or city slicker—always a warm heart follows a cold nose. BTW: a wagging tail can tell you a lot. I wish people wouldn’t get their dog’s tail bobbed. Difficult to accurately read the intentions of a dog with a bobbed tail.

The caretaker/guide was very knowledgeable about the town’s history and able to share many explanations about mine operations. A night with him, the ghosts, and a bottle of Jack Daniels would have been a night well spent sans hangover of course. I think this man was cut from a piece of silver from the mine. He was the real deal, dude. Looks the part too, no? The American Hotel offered a bath and the exhortation on the wall to be sparing with water underscored the labor intensive transport of water from artesian wells in the valley. We didn’t get to see the Chinese cemetery. A cave in caused by an improperly timbered tunnel buried a number of them live at 200 feet.

Gambling room in the hotel. No slot machines…..you have to time travel and go to Vegas for that. Interestingly, the cards didn’t have any pictures or numbers on them. After a few shots of rot gut imagine the shoot- outs in this small room……couldn’t find any blood on the floor under the dust….no bunnies either. You wouldn’t want to perform open heart surgery on this floor....

This is an alias, right? Billy Loo, Low Flow Bill, John Crappo, and W.C. Crappo may have been his a.k.a. He looks like his flapper flush valve is stuck. Not sure if you see a doctor or plumber for that. Regardless, remember this: John Crapper did not invent the toilet.  Mr. Crapo was never found or apprehended. The long arm of the law was never able to flush him out and bring him to justice!

The view down the room aside the bar and into the kitchen. Ah, the garish tapestries…. Imagine the scene: 40 miners, two “comfort girls,” three dogs and the scent of unwashed bodies competing with the sour smell of exhaled alcohol fumes and baked beans wafting on the contrails of staggering drunks….and, of course, the piano banging out “Down went McGiney,” Ask a Policeman,” “Little Annie Rooney,” and “The Washington Post March.” Ah, come sing me a song! I have a short spell to be here and a long time to be gone……Suddenly, “BANG!” The music stops and the pianist quick crawls under the keyboard. Two men carry out a body and the music continues….

I don’t think it is dark mahogany but a bar is a bar, right? A place where men engage in recreational swearing and serious drinking/sweating. I don’t think it qualified for registration as a gentleman’s club. Notice the half hidden picture of Annie Oakley? She was born in 1860 so I reckon her picture might be in sync with the times. “A girl can’t, what?” started that whole suffragette movement I think. Dating a girl who could shoot your eye out while blindfolded….better to guzzle low grade booze with the boys where slurring voices buzz with malcontent and the odor is….well, manly. Standing next to a Moe look alike in a stupor  (3 Stooges) on one side and a one-eyed frost bitten down-on-his-luck giggling Himalayan Sherpa mountain guide on the other side, and, of course, a room filled with serial killers and escaped convicts and mental patients makes one appreciate the booze and several guns tucked…everywhere. A panorama of horror. Are these Holograms of my imagination or real people?  For that matter, I wouldn’t want to look at myself in the mirror. I might be absent. Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in the key of G is beginning to make things go wavy…

Ah, kitchen relics from another era…although the rollin’ pin looks like the one my mom chased me around the house with muttering, “I brought you into this world and I can take you out!” Maybe I shouldn't have left any crumbs in the cookie jar.... Pulling off a perfect crime in my house under the watchful eyes of my mother was never possible!

I wonder how many mules it took to haul this beauty up the mountainside? In general they changed teams of mules every 7 to 13 miles or…they rested them. Still…..those must have been some tough mules. Makes you want to launch into "Sweet Betsy from pike," or “Someone’s in the kitchen with…” Whoops, time to go...

Okay, pay attention. On the right is one of four…er….bordellos. They infiltrated every part of the town. I think one of these buildings is the remains of the “Waterfall, Gilded House of Pleasure.” It was originally a two story structure. I wonder if they are reconstructing it? Yep, there’s more than silver in them thar hills!

This painting was hanging in the hotel.  It is not Sweet Betsy from Pike. I think it was not uncommon for girls to marry as early as 13 and some parts of the world younger. Okay, this isn’t a marriage motif. It left me feeling sad.

Dan held this picture for me. I time traveled. Now wait a moment! There is no physical law forbidding time travel. I read that somewhere. If you need any additional confirmation consider the words of the eminent Albert Einstein: “The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.” So there you have it. I’m back now. Ever think about how they strung up mules to nestle the wagons around tight corners? The Death Valley Museum has a picture of how it is done. Visit the museum when you explore Death Valley. BTW: are there 20 mules in this picture? With so many mules and a shortage of food I wonder if....

Liquored up, Bill was last seen hurdling down the mountain on his horse Grease Lightening and loyal dog Bucket. At the bottom of Widows Curve they found his saddle and seven complete Elvis costumes. Nothing else. Visitors from the Crab Nebula took the hit on this one…..again. Me? I think he left early for Las Vegas.