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Rider on a Black Horse

08 Tuesday Dec 2015

Posted by dangerranger in Gerlach

≈ Comments Off on Rider on a Black Horse

Tags

cowboy, Gerlach, horse

 

 blog black horse rider

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a horse in the town of Gerlach. Not more than half a dozen in the past 10 years and those were on the outskirts of town, along 34.

The Deep Hole Ranch was owned by Louis Gerlach

The Deep Hole Ranch was owned by Louis Gerlach

There used to be a lot more cattle ranching in the Black Rock basin surrounding the town of Gerlach, that was before the giant water-hungry farming operations came in and, over the last four decades, managed to drop the water table 50 feet.

 

A few years ago, I got to view one of the locals old 8mm home-movies of the Gerlach rodeos that used to take place during the early 1950s.

Gerlach in the 1950s

Gerlach in the 1950s

You can still find the remains of the rodeo corral on the south side of the railroad tracks, across from where the water tower is. Back then, there were two water towers and Main street was just a gravel road, which continued to be gravel all the way to Wadsworth. Main Street was finally paved in 1963.

During the era of big cattle ranches, there were lots of horses and lots of cowboys and even more bars in the town of Gerlach. In 1950, you could still find hitching posts in front of the bars and it was not unusual for a drunken cowboy to ride his horse into the bar and demand another drink, with exception of maybe the Longhorn Saloon, where Bruno worked as a bartender and didn’t put up with such foolishness. That was a few years before he bought the bar and changed the name to Brunos.

Nowadays, you might occasionally find a few cowboys who drop into Gerlach for a drink, but they arrive in pickup trucks, so you can imagine my amazement one late afternoon a couple weeks after the 2014 burn, when I’m walking down Main Street and I see this black horse tied to a utility pole down by the railroad tracks near the old train station. What’s more, a few paces from the horse, I could see a western saddle with a bedroll slung over the handrail by the station.

On rare occasions, someone might ride a horse thru Gerlach, but nobody ‘parks’ a horse in Gerlach anymore. My curiosity peaked, I walked down the embankment and strolled over towards this black horse. I know a little bit about horses, having grown up in Texas and now have fond memories as a teenager out at my grandfathers farm during the summer, where I would go out to the pasture, grab the mane of one of the horses, launch myself onto its back and then have it lurch forward at full gallop… no saddle, no reins, no shoes, no shirt. I remember the oneness that we were in that moment and the soft jolt of each hoof and the wind and the smell of horse.

As I closed the gap between me and this dark creature, it was apparent that this magnificent beast was one of the finest examples of horseflesh that I had ever seen. It was a young stud, about 8 years old with a long, silky mane, a small white dot on the forehead and eyes as black as coal. As I walked slowly towards him, his ears perked forward, and with a look of fearless curiosity, he took a step towards me, as much as his tether would allow.

It was then I noticed the small, open bag of oats that had been carefully placed out of his reach by his now absentee rider. I scooped up a small handful and thrust out my hand, palm up, under his nose and he nibbled away delightfully. I did a 360 looking around for the owner, realizing I had probably done the equivalent of leaning on a strangers pickup truck without first asking.

I really wanted to know the story behind this apparent anachronism, so I set out to find the cowboy who rode this black horse into town. In all the years of coming to Gerlach, the one thing I’ve learned is what everyone does when they first hit town: stop at Brunos. So I made a beeline over there.

I opened the door of Brunos, stepped inside the bar and scanned around for anything that seemed out of place. I looked over a line of patrons at the bar to my right and at the mostly empty tables to my left. Finally I noticed an odd and solitary figure sitting in a chair, alone at the very back wall. My brain immediately registered: Amish!

As I walked directly towards him, I noted the key Amish indicators; straw hat with a flat brim, wide suspenders and boots with laces. He seemed to be about 30 years in age. When the distance closed, I noted some irregularities; his jet-black hair spilling past his collar was a little too long for Amish, his red suspenders were attached to his pants, not with buttons, but the suspender loops were tied to the belt loops of his jeans with strips of rawhide. I stopped at a polite distance as he tilted his head back and our eyes met. His eyes were Asian!

I realized that I had stumbled across some kind of hybrid western buckaroo. Now there is quite a bit of difference between a southwestern cowboy and a buckaroo. A buckaroo is derived from the Spanish vaquero horsemen and are indigenous to the Great Basin and Central California region. Buckaroos are what you call real cowboys in Nevada.Last Buckaroo

I introduced myself and told him that I assumed that the black horse was his and that I wanted to know what his story was. He said that his name was Steve Ikeda. His father was Japanese and his mother was French. His great grandparents were interred at Manzanar during WWII and almost lost their family farm, but an American neighbor worked their farm growing fruit and vegetables to pay the mortgage until they got out after the war. Steve grew up near Sacramento and worked cows and horses for a living. The black horse was part of a small herd that ran wild on a neglected 75-acre ranch. The horse was given to him by the ranch owner, but he had to rope it and break it, which he did just a few months ago. Recently, he had been offered a job on a ranch near Winnemucca, so he was now riding his horse from Sacramento to Winnemucca, a distance of about 300 miles. He was making a brief stop in Gerlach and then riding on to Frog Pond, where he was going to spend the night. I’m thinking just wow, this guy is the real thing.

I wished him well on his journey and walked out of the bar. The next morning, I noticed hoof prints in the yard next to the Gerlach Burning Man office. Apparently he rode into the yard, got water from the faucet and left for Frog Pond. I did some research a couple weeks later and discovered that the Ikeda family grew and prospered after the war. In 1970 they opened a fruit stand near Sacramento. In the 1980s they begin making pies from the fruit that grew in their orchards. Now I like to stop at Ikeda’s Country Market just off I-80 in Auburn, CA. Probably the best pies I’ve ever tasted.

And this was on the playa that year:

"Rustang Sally" by Mutoid Waste Company, BurningMan 2014

“Rustang Sally” by Mutoid Waste Company, BurningMan 2014

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The Black Rock Saloon

03 Monday Aug 2015

Posted by dangerranger in Gerlach

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

BlackRockSaloon, Gerlach

outside 3

The Black Rock Saloon is Burning Man’s private social club in Gerlach.

interior_0883

There’s lots of interesting decor inside the Saloon. Photographs of DPW staff members hang on the walls. Several of the original signs that once stood at the highway-to-playa entrance, are reminders of Burning Man themes from years past.

pool BRSaloon. 93

There is a reverence to some of the altar-like pieces scattered about.

boots_0885

“Fifteen years and six continents
Five lives and countless memories
The trail of duty and the path of peace
These boots have traveled them all
They began their journey in a distant desert
They now end their journey in this one-
The place so many of us call home”

And there is a certain style of humor that burners appreciate.

specials_0887

The original building was constructed in the 1940s and has served as a bar/restaurant for most of its life. When Burning Man first arrived in 1990, it was called Norm’s Cabaret.

Sometime around 2001, a porch was added to the front and the name was changed to Black Rock Saloon when it was acquired by Joan Grant, who also owned a ranch in the nearby Hualapai Valley.

In 2004, Burning Man acquired the Black Rock Saloon for use by it’s staff and volunteers.

There is a lot of history in this bar. During the 1940s & 50s, rodeos were held in a large corral south of Gerlach, and it was one of the 6 or 7 bars in town that was popular with the cowboys. There is a story, that on more than one occasion, a drunken cowboy would ride his horse thru the front doors and up to the bar and demand another round. In the 1990s, the local justice-of-the-peace, known as “Judge Phil” would stumble into the bar carrying his loaded AR-15. During the early 2000s, the Black Rock Saloon became a favorite hangout for burners passing thru town. After Burning Man acquired the bar, the post-event donations from participants insured a good supply of free drinks and food for the clean-up crew after working on-playa all day. It became a custom for DPW members to carve their playa radio names into the long bar during an evening of drinking. Over the last decade, this bar top has acquired a luxurious patina with hundreds of names carved into it.

bar long view_0875

Here are a few:

AfterFive
Alabama
Alipato
AuntieSocial
Austintatious
BallyHooBetty
Barbarella
Beany
Bewitched
BlackThorne
BloodyKnuckles
BobTuse
BolognaHole
Boo
Booyah
BuzzKill
CobraComandante
CowboyCarl
Coyote
CrazyTalk
CustomerService
DagoBay
DarkAngel DA
DeadPan
Detour
DirtyBacon
DrunkenNurse
DumpsterCoon
EasyGoin
FeralKidd
FlufferNips
Flynn
FreeBeer
Fuckin’Andy
Gameshow
Goatt
Hazmatt
HighCenter
Hormel
InSane
JeneRator bar curley 3
JetFuel
JustGeorge
Kamikaze
LoDog
LowRent
MakeOutQueen
MissHandler
MissMilitia
MissRoach
MrBlue
MrMetric
MrNightshade
NicoPeachez
OhMyGawd
PheonixFirestarter
Phixx
PillowTalk
Playground
PornStar
QuietEarp bar_0878
Reposado
RestStopBuddy
RhodaHell
RideThatPony
RugBurn
Sailor
SansaAsylum
SF-Slim
SgtSlaughter
Shooter
ShotGunn
Skitch
SleepDep
Smokes
Spoono
Stabby
TheHun
Thirteen
TrailerParkRomeo
TrainWreck
Truffels
VaVoom
WeldBoy
WheelGunner
WildeChilde
WingMan
WitchDoctor
WonderDog
Zombie

Along with these names are a few quotes that hint at historical events or express ideas that reflect the character of DPW.

Frankly, we don’t give a damn about your camp.

camp fyc_0879

Then there is the legendary “Who Shot Flash?”
who shot flash_0867
It was one dark night in 1998, that Flash Hopkins, an abrasive character and self-proclaimed mayor of Gerlach, walked out of the nearby Miners Club and into a hail of .38 slugs. Bleeding from two bullet wounds (one in the leg and the other to his posterior), he stumbled back into the bar and exclaimed; “Give me some whiskey, boys. I wanna die like a cowboy. I wanna die like Eli Wallach.” He survived, resigned his claim of mayor, left town and stayed away for several years. Annette Silas, a bartender at the Black Rock Saloon, was later arrested for the shooting. (Whatever you do, Don’t mess with the bartender.) This tale has been retold around burn barrels along with this admonishment: “Don’t go fishing in Lake Lahontan without a Annette.”

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