I Drove a Stretch of America’s Loneliest Road and Learned It Isn’t So Lonely, After All

As a divorced introvert who is also a recent an empty-nester, the label "loner" fits me pretty well. It's not that I don't like to be with people - in fact, some of my favorite humans are people - it's just that I also don't really mind being alone for the most part. It also makes traveling quite a bit easier, if you ask me.

Do I get lonely? Sure, sometimes. There have definitely been times that I've seen or experienced something amazing and wished I was with someone who could share and relive the moment with me. On the other hand, I can also snap a photo or record a video with my smartphone and send it to my kids, saying, "Hey! Check this out!" And yeah, in the evening it's nice to kick back with a beverage and a travel companion and rehash the day's events and experiences. But bellying up to a friendly bar with my journal isn't too far off.

I recently found myself considering loneliness while traveling when I happened upon "America's Loneliest Road." Where is the Loneliest Road in America? Technically speaking, it's the Nevada stretch of U.S. Route 50, running from the Utah border to about Fallon, which is just outside Reno. But, if you ask me, the section of Route 50 from Delta, Utah, to the Nevada border is equally deserted - if not more so.

I got to this stretch of road because I initially had plans to meet up with my son in Salt Lake City, but he was unable to make it. Rather than canceling, though, I decided to go anyway and change the itinerary a bit, heading out into the desert to visit Great Basin National Park and explore eastern Nevada. When I planned my route, I didn't realize I'd be following the Loneliest Road in America, but after passing through Delta, UT and heading out onto the desert flats, the desolation became pretty apparent. Then, at the Nevada border, I saw the sign announcing the road's loneliness.

Interestingly, at the Nevada/Utah border, where the sign announces Route 50's loneliness, there's a gas station-motel-convenience store-restaurant-bar-casino-RV park combination with a small, graveled, children's play area with a few scraggly trees and outdoor equipment bleached by the desert sun that looked like it hadn't been used in months.

It was one of those Last-Gas-For-XX-Miles situations, so I stopped to top off my rental car and use the bathroom. The more I looked around, though, the more fascinated I became, so I figured I'd better spend a little time exploring the Border Inn Casino - the compound's official moniker - before I moseyed on down the road. I mean, shouldn't one at least have a drink when they come across a desert compound in the middle of nowhere, like a pre-fab oasis in the American Sahara? I found the black, vinyl-padded bar, where a man was drinking from a cup that was literally the size of his head. I greeted him and ordered a short margarita and a glass of water.

Eventually, curiosity got the best of me. "Whatcha got in there?" I asked. "Coffee," he said in a way that pretty clearly expressed his disinterest in expounding further. I nodded and looked around: Some sort of reality show with a man and a woman arguing was on a TV in the corner; the ding-a-linging of unattended gambling machines filled the otherwise empty room; through a cutout in the wall behind the bar, I could see a potential guest inquiring about a room at the convenience store counter, which served as the motel check-in desk, as well. When I turned back, my coffee-drinking companion was leaving, cup in hand. I looked quizzically at the bartender. "That's Theo," she said. "He ordered that cup off Amazon, brings it in here every day. I fill it up, and he watches TV for a few hours. Then he goes home." The most surprising part of the statement was the idea that anybody lived in the area. But, given the businesses of the compound, I guess somebody had to.

I continued on my way, deeper into Nevada, and as advertised, I saw few other cars. That doesn't mean I was alone, though. A small herd of half-a-dozen pronghorn dashed through the grassy valley at the base of a mountain. Ravens, vultures, and eagles rode thermals, and along one red-rocked pass, it began to rain, dropping the mid-August temperatures to a tolerable level and calming the harsh desert wind. I stopped and got out whenever I saw something that interested me - and there was much, which is why I suppose many consider this one of the best road trips in America (though not many drive it).

Seeing the pronghorn was a highlight of the day, and as I watched them, no other cars passed. Looking at the asphalt, however, I assured the highway that I was there to keep it company. "Lonely? Not today, my friend."