Nevada: Sometimes You Want to Go Where You Can Drive and Drive and Drive

Day 1: Reno to Carson City

I'm willing to give almost any place a second chance. Nevada, for instance. I'd visited my best friend Dagny in Reno before, but the one road trip we'd taken was to the Black Rock Desert--a place so dull, flat, and brown, I couldn't help but agree with the sign outside: WELCOME TO NOWHERE. It didn't exactly inspire further exploration. But Dagny swore her state gets a face-lift every spring, when the sagebrush blooms and the desert turns a bright shade of green. That was enough to pique my interest, and we set off to cover 815 miles in four days.

A cowboy in Virginia City (Dave Lauridsen) [enlarge photo] MAY 2006 ISSUE • Table of Contents • Maui: Friendly, Quirky, and Full of Soul • Secret Hotels of Bali • 25 Reasons We Love Oaxaca • Family Travel: Guide to Summer Vacations • Road Trip: Nevada • 40 Best Vacations

Leaving Reno, I already start to see what she's talking about: A thick carpet of grasses covers the hills. We head south down Highway 395, and soon find blossoming cherry trees. Dagny and I planned on making Carson City our first stop, but the drive takes only 40 minutes, so we push on. There are two picturesque, history-filled towns on either side of Carson City: Genoa and Virginia City. Genoa's claim to fame is that it's the birthplace of Nevada, but the real reason we go is Genoa Bar, "Nevada's oldest thirst parlor."

When we roll in, it's respectably late enough to have a drink. The saloon looks like part of a Western movie set that never got torn down. (In fact, it is: John Wayne and Clint Eastwood both shot films here.) Inside, pool balls click and Lynyrd Skynyrd howls on the jukebox. The oil lamps that hang from the ceiling seem like they haven't been dusted since the bar was built in 1853. The bar's brochure tries to put a positive spin on things: "We grow our own cobwebs here." Former patrons include Mark Twain, who traveled through Nevada during its silver rush in the 1860s, as well as Teddy Roosevelt and Johnny Cash. Over a Genoa Bar pale ale, Dagny and I survey some deer heads on the wall, strewn with Mardi Gras beads and a lone bra. It's not quite the direction we want our night to head, so we finish our pints and loop our way back to Carson City for dinner.

When we walk into Adele's, a cheesy lounge act is doing its thing in the bar--a bad sign. Neither the music nor the Victorian decor is to my taste, but a series of satisfying hors d'oeuvres certainly is. Our triple-cream cheese comes with grilled ciabatta doused in olive oil. It's a simple but delicious pairing, as is the house-cured salmon with dill-flavored crème fraîche.

Nevada can dress itself up nicely, but it's still a bastion of brothels. The owner of NV50 Ultralounge, on the edge of Carson City, also runs a couple of houses of worse repute. This is his upscale lounge, and though it's largely devoid of sleaze, there's still the occasional pole on-site for would-be "dancers." We merengue with Mexican men in full cowboy regalia, then grab a nightcap at the divey Old Globe Saloon. A barbershop quartet is performing in the front. A few serenades later, we're ready for bed.

Lodging

Food

Nightlife