The Pony Express Out My Back Door

The rider passes under the streetlight, her mount trotting purposefully. It’s the last street light for fifteen miles. Beyond it lies rough dirt road. Yet she’s dedicated to preserving history. The history of the Pony Express.

History at my back door

The Pony Express Reride happens literally on the other side of the back wall of my yard, where my dog plays and I enjoy cocktails in the evening. Little more than a modern decorative concrete barrier separates my property from Fort Churchill Road. That road is the former path of the historic mail route that led the way in changing how information was transferred in the United States.

In my quest to become immersed in my adopted home state of Nevada this fact still blows my mind. To think of the Pony Express riders galloping headlong Fort Churchill Road in pursuit of their purpose over 150 years ago. This is the road that I come and go from daily now in my car and on my motorcycles. It seems incongruous, my easy comings and goings compared to the effort it once took to send documents across the country.

But I love that this history lies just a few yards outside my back door. I embrace the nostalgia of what the Pony Express represents and the progress we’ve made to the modern world we live in. A foot in both worlds, if you will.

Mistakes

This is not my first encounter with the Pony Express Reride.

Last year I was in the home stretch of driving across the country with George, soaking up Nevada’s Highway 50 at dusk, just east of Austin. We had just stopped off at Spencer Hot Springs for a soak before a last push home. We came across a rider on the highway surrounded by horse trailers and other components of an entourage. Having been on the road all day, coming upon this odd scene didn’t trigger the appropriate connection in my fatigued road-tripping brain.

When I got home and told my dear man about it—wondering what was happening out on desolate Highway 50, he laughed. “Sweetie, that was the Pony Express Reride. They’re due to pass by here tomorrow morning.”

Cue facepalm. And that was only the first of my foibles. By the time they passed along my back wall the following morning, I was so wiped out from the trip, I couldn’t muster the gumption to get up to see them.

Penance

So this year was about righting those wrongs. We watched the riders’ positions on an interactive map as they approached. Since our back wall prevents us from seeing the road, we packed up the truck with chairs, beverages, and cigars and set out to await the rider’s arrival at the pavement’s end a block away on Fort Churchill Road.

It may be silly to be so excited to see this event. But I love it. I love Nevada. Making the effort to take part in it means a lot to me. There were no bands or fireworks or fanfare. No cheering crowds. Just folks doing something cool because they love it. I dig that.

 

Cheers, intrepid riders! See you next year.