Returning to the Ghosts of Hookers, Miners, and Gunslingers Past

Jack Kerouac, author of the famous beat-era novel, “On the Road,” wrote “Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”  For some people, wanderlust grabs them, sinks its sharp teeth in, and gnaws at them daily, and if they aren’t able to feed the that biting desire, they spend their days feeling like they should be somewhere—anywhere—as long as it’s elsewhere. 

I’ve spent my entire life overwhelmed by the urge to wander, but as I grew up and my life required me to be more “responsible,” my wandering slowed greatly.  Having a child makes it difficult to throw your “battered suitcases” in the car and hit the road indefinitely, especially once your child is in school. 

Short adventures, when I can experience them, have helped me balance my wanderlust and my responsibility, and I was recently able to hit the road for a few days.

My journey took me east on U.S. Highway 50, southeast on State Route 89, and south on US-395, to my destination of SR-270 and Bodie State Historic Park, east of the Sierra Nevada in Mono County.  The drive is very pleasant and scenic, with diverse environments from lush forests to dry, high deserts.

Bodie is a ghost town that State Parks maintains in arrested decay.  In its heyday, Bodie was a boom town that boasted a population of about 10,000 people from many cultures and backgrounds.

Exactly what draws me to Bodie is still a mystery.  Sometimes I wonder if I may have lived in the area in some long-ago life.  What I suspect attracts me to the town is the people—the area’s former inhabitants.  I’m in awe of the different and shared hardships and challenges the various groups had to overcome to survive: the Kutzadika'a Paiute who were the early indigenous people of the area, Mexicans who had lived in the area from the time California was still part of Mexico, recent immigrants from all over the world, and American pioneers.

I visited Bodie on June 18, 2010, almost one year to the day from my visit last year.   The park seemed quieter.  I'm not sure if the date being eight days earlier had any impact, or perhaps it was the cost.  Since last June, the cost to enter the park jumped from $5 to $7, which is only 2 bucks, but it's also a 40 percent increase.  The weather was mostly pleasant, but it was breezier and slightly overcast, which it wasn't last year.  I focused on a different part of the town, one which I didn't get a chance to look at in detail last year.  Since my trip last year, I 've read several books on Bodie, so I was able to understand more of the history of many of the buildings.  

Since my 2009 trip to Bodie, I also discovered that I work with one of the people who helped write Bodie's general plan.  He shared with me stories of Bodie's development as s state park, and some of the guidelines for maintaining the park in a state of arrested decay.  One of the things that I learned is that everything is supposed to be kept the way it was when the state acquired the property in the 60s.  This means no remodeling.  Re-roofing with authentic or period-looking materials to prevent water leaks and dry rot = yes.  Painting the houses and re-wallpapering them = no.

When I was in Bodie last year, I noticed a 1937 truck that looked freshly painted.  I thought it looked odd with the decaying appearance of everything around it.  I didn't care much for the "fresh" look of the truck, but I didn't know the rules, so I minded my own business.  This year, being more familiar not only with the town's history, but also the park's general plan, I was very upset when I noticed a piece of wood painted with bright red and white stripes to look like a barber sign.  That is not part of the general plan, and is what is considered a modern intrusion.  The sign, coupled with the truck, is slowly giving a garish appearance to the park--a look that I am not happy with.  

I also had one of my "firsts" during this trip.  I had my first experience with a "dust devil."  While I've never experienced a dust devil before, I'm confident that my experience was probably very mild compared to what dust devils are capable of.   First, it came without warning.  We had experienced mild and periodic breezes throughout the day, and two mild breezes came down the street before the devil arrived.  We were standing at the corner of Main and Green streets, facing northeast.  Moments after the two smaller gusts left, a wind appeared that was almost strong enough to knock me over, and I'm a big ol' girl.  The wind brought dirt, sand, and pebbles flying at us in a whirling direction that would quickly reverse and whirl in the opposite direction.  Two small children who were in a nearby group started screaming as they were being pelted with pebbles and sand.  The whole event felt like it lasted about 5 minutes, but it was probably more like 10-15 seconds.  Afterward the devil left, I reached into my pocket and felt about 1/4 inch of sand.  I checked all my pockets, and they all had sand in them.  I also had so much sand on my scalp that it felt like I had been doing headstands on the beach.  And, I later found a fair amount of sand in the travel bag I was carrying.  This little phenomenon of nature gave me just one more reason to appreciate the bravery (some might call it stupidity) and perseverance of the native people and early pioneers of the area.

During my trip, I stayed in the nearby town of Lee Vining.  While I was there, I went into the town’s visitor center, which has a fabulous selection of books on the entire US-395 area.  They also had free Roadside Heritage CDs with audio stories of the Eastern Sierra.  I love stories, and when they’re free, they seem even better.  The CDs feature educational stories that include subjects such as the formation of the Sierra Nevada, volcanoes, minerals, flora and fauna, native people, and developments that came with the gold rush.

After I returned home, I learned that the Roadside Heritage stories are available online, and the Web site has even more stories than the CD.  I encourage you to listen to the wonderful stories about California’s Eastern Sierra.  They just might tempt you into visiting too.

 

Ghosts of Miners, Hookers, and Gunslingers Past

All my life I've had an interest in and felt a kinship with the old west: pioneers, miners, gunslingers, and ladies of ill repute. Actually, I love a lot of history, but the days of America's youth and western expansion fascinate me. I also have an obsession with the spirit of old buildings, so when I learned about the ghost town of Bodie, California, I immediately wanted to check it out.

On June 25 and 26, Lexxsi, Kane, Richard, and I went to Mono County to visit Bodie. We drove through the Tahoe area and down Highway 395 on the 25th, stayed the night in Lee Vining, and went to Bodie on the 26th. (My Grandmother's birthday. She would be 83 if she were still alive.) At first, we weren't sure about how our trip was going to turn out. As we drove down 395, it started raining. Hard. Very hard. Then, the moment we pulled into the lodge, the sky darkened and rumbled louder than I've ever heard. It had an eerie end-of-the-world feel to it. However, we were determined to see Bodie, and we planned on going no matter what Mother Nature had in mind.

I had heard that you can spend as little as a couple hours in the park or as much as a whole day, so I figured that we had plenty of time when we got there at 11:30. It was a lovely day, warm but not hot and with an occasional breeze.

Bodie is being preserved in a state of arrested decay. Park staff are not rebuilding any of the structures, and only doing what they can to slow the process of time. Buildings that are falling are given supports to help hold them up.

Old buildings have an energy about them that seems to hold all the events and emotions of all their inhabitants. Whenever I am inside an old building, I can't help but feel a sense of curiosity and connectedness to the people who lived or worked there. The husband's conflicted feelings over the birth of a new child that caused the death of his wife. The woman who learned that she lost a husband or son in the war or in the case of Bodie, a mining accident. The prostitutes who sold their bodies only because they lost their husbands and had children to support, and livable-wage jobs for women were probably more scarce than a rich vein of gold. The women who were raped or beaten and had no where to go, because they were thousands of miles from their families and had no means to support themselves.


I know these buildings also had their happy experiences, but it's the sadness and despair I feel most when I enter them. Of course, that's probably that part of me that has an affinity for the dark and melancholy. Occasionally, I will imagine the people who walked over the very spot in which I stand.

Bodie now only has a small percentage of the buildings that it had during its heyday. Many of the buildings still have furniture and other household items. While I'm sure that some of the rooms have been "staged" by park staff (especially inside hotels and saloons), I am amazed that so many items were left behind when the town was deserted. Did these people not need their possessions? Did they start fresh at their new destinations? Did they move in with family or someone else who already had a completely furnished home or business? Did they plan to return for their property? Were they in a hurry to leave?

I'm also intrigued by Bodie's cemetery. Not really the cemetery, but the area outside the cemetery. The Bodie cemetery is made up of three cemeteries: the Masonic area; the Miners Union area; and the Wards area. Despite Bodie's lawlessness, the people who made the decisions were strict about who they allowed to be buried within the cemetery's boundaries. Hookers, criminals, Chinese, and whomever else they deemed unsuitable for the cemetery were buried outside its boundaries. So it's the hillside of the cemetery that I'm fascinated with. Those are the people who lived the lives that give Bodie most of it's allure.

Even in the official cemetery, many of the grave markers have decayed, and all that remain are pieces of wood that seem haphazardly placed. Bodie boasted a population of around 10,000 during its prime, so the few visible grave markers can't possibly be an accurate count of all the people who died during Bodie's years (1859-1962). I read somewhere that at one point, a murder was committed every day in Bodie.

There's something indescribable about walking over the ground on the cemetery's hillside. The entire time I couldn't help but wonder how many people's skeletons were beneath the ground I walked on, and how close they were to my feet. It's very easy to feel a closeness to them. I also wondered what it was that disqualified them from a "proper" burial. Race? Criminality? Alcohol or substance abuse? Occupation? Money? Or perhaps simple rumor?

One of Bodie's most popular citizens, at least in our time, is Rosa May, a successful prostitute who also nursed sick and dying miners. Even with her good deeds, the town did not see her fit to be buried in the cemetery. One of the park rangers told us that while a head stone was created for Rosa May, it is not where her body is actually buried. Because of the recent interest in her, her true burial site is kept secret to protect her. Now that's a celebrity!

Bonanza Street, Maiden Lane, and Virgin Alley, which I'm pretty certain are three names for one street, was where you could find fun with one of the towns many good-time gals. Although I'm confident it wasn't the only place they could be found. Ironically, this also ran along the side of the jail, yet at the time, prostitution was legal.

Bodie summers can seem mild, usually reaching no more than the 90s, but even those are unpredictable. At one point while we were walking around the cemetery, without any notice, the sky went from sunny and clear to nearly dark and back to sunny and clear. A park ranger told me that the night before the temperature dropped to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Winters often drop to 20 below zero. How many people died simply of the harsh weather? The buildings are modest, simple wood with no insulation. The only thing to insulate the walls was wallpaper or fabric. In one home, I counted six layers of wallpaper/fabric, and I wasn't sure that I counted all of them, because they were blended together. You will find no trees in Bodie, so all the lumber had to be shipped in. Bodie was not a place for wimps.

We stayed until the park closed. I didn't see any ghosts of miners, hookers, or gunslingers. I did, however, leave with what may very well be a dangerous sunburn and a feeling of deep kinship with the spirit of Bodie. As soon as we hit the road, I was ready to go back.

A Road Trip Along Highway 395

I have always loved road trips. Before I had my son, I used to carry extra clothes, a blanket, pillow, and toiletries in the trunk of my '74 Chevy Nova. Sometimes I would leave to get a pack of cigs and not come home for a couple of days. I know, cheesy. But it's true.

Nearly everyday I struggle to resist the urge to revert to my spontaneous ways. Some days are more manageable than others.

I'd wanted to go to the ghost town of Bodie, California, for about a year and a half. This summer it finally happened. I work with a few people who used to live and work in the area around Bodie, and they suggested that we also check out the Tufa towers at Mono Lake while we were in the area. We drove 80 toward Lake Tahoe, and cut through 88/89 to Highway 395. It was a beautiful drive, and we had a lot of fun being silly in the car.

We decided to stop at one of the vista points overlooking Mono Lake. We spent a lot of time studying the stickers and graffiti on the guard rail, but we also became frustrated trying to figure out how to get to the highway below us. We later discovered that we found it by staying on the very highway we were stopped on.

Good times!

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Driving toward Sanity

Driving is therapeutic for me. There is a certain sense of intimacy that can be shared with the road. The road is a lover with whom you can share the most private thoughts.

Oh, how exquisite it is to drive with the wind whispering it’s secrets in my ear, and lovingly licking my skin, running it’s fingers through my hair. It’s touch, stimulates me and widens my eyes.

Nature has its own smells that subtly waft about me, entering me, and adding specific flavors to my sensual world—intoxicated by the arousal my senses experience.

Sounds from the stereo rhythmically pump and pound into me, reaching the deepest parts of my body—electrifying responses—stimulating me to a sense of heightened awareness and pleasure.