A Wild West Journey with Julia Bulette (Nonfiction)-Part 2

In Virginia City, Washington Street is also the street that you apparently turn right on to get to stagecoach rides and other tourist attractions, but it wasn't until I'd gotten down to D street or farther that I figured out I was in the right place. Troy had originally told me that I couldn't drive out to Julia's gravesite, but what I'd failed to consider was that the neighborhood up to the dump site and hiking trail was paved and driveable. However, there was a Ferrari convention in town and the place was teeming with tourists, so I didn't feel the desire to re-park my car somewhere else and to trek back up to B street. So I started hoofing it down Washington. I had a large water bottle with me that was just over half full, a mini-cooler lunchbag full of snacks and my hiking staff. I figure I'd at least do some scouting if nothing else. I alerted my friend Erica that I'd be going on a "weird hike" and to take note if I didn't show up at our rendezvous point later.

The Comstock trailhead near the dump site is pretty freaky. Apparently there is an abandoned pit mine nearby. Once you start on the trail there is debris that looks like garbage everywhere. Old, ripped-up tires. Skeletons of couches. It looks like a Tribal Rez or an abandoned Roma camp. An eerie feeling overtook me and I started walking carefully, with my eyes on the ground to monitor for snakes. The sun was beating down fiercely and I didn't have headgear with me. It turned out later that I'd brought a bandana in my suitcase but had completely forgotten about it. Each step I took seemed to confirm that I wasn't going to make it far with this little water and especially not by myself. I spotted a grove of trees and bushes ahead and resolved to stop there.

I finally made it to the grove, and took out two items of remembrance: an apple and a pomegranate. The grove turned out to be a small hill, mounted atop some thick roots. I rolled both pieces of fruit upwards. The pomegranate rolled back down at me.

"This is for the unremembered
This is for the never-recognized."

With those words, I took a step or two back. Suddenly a chill came over me, as if a rush of energy had come out of the grove at me. I felt trapped. Huffing and puffing with my staff, I made my way back up the trail hastily, almost feeling choked. Maybe this recognition wasn't a good idea. Still keeping eyes out for snakes, I made my way onto pavement again, thankful. I trekked back up the concrete road on Washington. About halfway up I overheard a woman in an ATV say "She only made it that far?" I felt embarrassed. Things in VC are a competition, it seems. How well you can do, how tough you can survive. I had failed, but I also knew that a hike alone with the sun beating down was stupid to undertake. I reassured myself that it had been for scouting purposes, at best. I learned later that that trail is nicknamed "Rattlesnake Canyon" by the locals. Lucky for the heat that no living beings besides birds seemed to be having any of it that day. I did spot a sizeable lizard or two. I finally emerged from Washington street onto C street soaked, staggering to actually sit down near the open-air entrance to a saloon featuring a live singer. The front of the house all turned eyes on me like I was some wild shaman, all while I was still huffing and puffing with my hiking stick to reach my car.

And so my findings-out in Julia's story stay unresolved. Previous to my fact-finding about her, I had actually ended up at a beautiful Masonic cemetery a few blocks past the residential area, thinking she might be in such a central place. I was also gravely (ha ha) misled to think that way, but it was a beautiful experience nonetheless.

So the lesson is, when going into the wilderness by yourself, you are probably underprepared and the reason you will not be needing your weapons is that you might be fighting things that aren't corporeal. Or you took the wrong weapons. Or you were just dumb.