By way of background for this latest trip I’m about to relate, allow me to quote the back cover blurb from a recently-published memoir:

“Ruth Gibson (née Burley) lived through almost all of the twentieth century. A prolific writer with much to say, she spent her later years typing out her memoir on an old Remington typewriter. Sadly, she died before she could have it published. … Ruth’s memoir describes her childhood in prewar, small-town America, coming of age during the Depression, her contributions to the American war effort during World War II, and finding and losing love. She offers timeless insights about perseverance, human relationships, and the importance of family. Told with heartfelt candor and gentle humor, it is a moving story about life in twentieth century America.”

Ruth Gibson was my paternal grandmother, and her memoir has finally been published, posthumously. If this kind of story intrigues you, copies are available on Amazon. (The Kindle version is practically free!)

I spent much of the past year editing Grandma’s memoir, and in the process became increasingly curious about her life. The first third of her memoir focuses on her childhood in Weiser, Idaho (pop: 5,600). Weiser was (and remains) a farming community along the Snake River, which marks Idaho’s boundary with Oregon.

Now, alert readers may recall that I’d visited the childhood home of my paternal grandfather (i.e. Grandma’s one-time husband) when I was in upstate New York a couple of months ago, on my storied US Route 2 trip. I never met him, since he’d left Grandma before Dad was even born. But it was good to see his old stomping grounds. Wouldn’t it make a nice bookend to also visit Grandma’s childhood home? Helpfully, my Uncle Edward provided me with a 1915 city directory that lists the address of Grandma’s house in Weiser, as well as the bank where her father worked. I also discovered that Weiser has a good historical museum, and a research library with many historic archives.

So I decided to make the short 559-mile drive from my home near Placerville to Weiser. On a motorcycle. In 100-degree heat. What could go wrong?

This morning found me crossing the Sierra on Interstate 80. As you may know, I-80 largely follows the old Lincoln Highway, which was the first transcontinental automobile route in the US. The Lincoln Highway opened in 1913, and its alignments changed repeatedly over the years. Today very little of the original Lincoln Highway remains. But I did manage to find this isolated segment this morning, in the shadow of I-80 west of Donner Pass.

Once over the Sierra, I dropped into the so-called “Great Basin” of Nevada. Now, I hate to be a naysayer, but the Great Basin really ain’t that great. It’s hot, dusty, and desolate. Mile after mile and mile I traveled, with very little in the way of roadside diversions to break up the monotony. Eventually I came to the town of Winnemucca (pop: 7,800), where I procured my Beer of the Day. (See details below.) Once suitably refreshed, I got back on the Triumph and headed north of US 95. I’d only completed about half the trip.

I didn’t quite make it to Weiser today. I’ve stopped for the night in Ontario, Oregon (pop: 12,000). Tomorrow I’ll make the 25-minute drive back over the border to Weiser, Idaho. Until then.

BREW OF THE DAY

In Winnemucca I found a promising establishment called Brew 95. When I entered it looked like a typical hipster coffee shop. Once I caught the attention of the barista who was carefully studying her iphone, I told her I was looking for an alcoholic brew, not a caffeinated one. Did I come to the wrong place? “We also have beer,” said she, not looking up. “But we’re out of it today.” I thanked her and left, still not certain whether she was pulling my leg or not.
Next I tried a place on the main drag with the propitious (if obvious) name of Cheers. Unlike Ted Danson’s place, this Cheers was dark and smoky. Six people sat at the long, worn bar. Their average age looked to be about 78 (it would have been higher, but for the young, tattooed gal of 47 that the other patrons were flirting with). For some reason this woman had three opened, family-size bags of chips in front of her: Fritos, Munchies, Tostitos. The placed smelled of stale smoke, and years of nicotine had taken its toll on the yellowed wallpaper. But all was not lost; I spied a couple of taps from Great Basin Brewing Co in Reno.

I opted for the Outlaw milk Stout. The color was a rich, dark brown that reminded me of espresso. And in fact it had a strong coffee flavor.

The mouthfeel was exceptionally smooth. Despite the color, this was not a heavy stout. It’s not boozy either, with just 5 percent ABV. The coffee taste was malty and sweet, with hints of vanilla extract and chocolate shavings. It’s lightly hopped, with very little bitterness. My only complaint is that there wasn’t enough foam on the head. But this beer went down very easy indeed. If I weren’t getting back on the road, I would have had a second one. Four and half stars.