Stuck at an Abandoned Brothel

Anticipating your adventures is one of the best parts of traveling. Pre-trip planning – picking the perfect hotel, finding activities, making your packing list – not only makes for a more enjoyable trip, but it's a way to start the excitement before you even board your flight or hop in your car. Plans often fall apart...but that's not always a bad thing. Thanks to good old Facebook, yesterday we were reminded of one of our earliest trips together and how it went wrong.

The year was 2010 and we were on summer break after our first year of teaching. Since we were both home in Washington and had to make our way back to Louisiana we decided to take the long way round. Sputnik, Jade, and G Dog (Jade's puppy) jumped into the Little Yellow Submarine (Jade's car) for a rambling drive through Oregon, California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas.

Sputnik chill in' in Pacman.

As we drive we're usually pretty cautious of how much gas is left. At a quarter tank it's time to think about feeding Pacman (another name for Jade's car). When we pulled out of Yosemite we still had three quarters, which should have been more than enough to get us to the next gas station as we headed to the Grand Canyon. Should have been.

If you've ever been to Yosemite you know that the roads in and out are pretty winding and unpopulated. Since our route took us through the park, we left a different way than we came. As 21st century girls we naturally had no road map or written directions. Instead we used the Google Maps on an iPhone. This means when Jade missed the turn for Highway 120, Google just rerouted us. No problem, right? Wrong!

At that point in time there was still about half a tank of gas in the Little Yellow Sub. That means we had 200 miles to fill up.

This part of the country has a whole lot of nothing.

After 100 miles of nothingness we started to get nervous. At some point, we crossed the border into Nevada and Sputnik started to look ahead at the towns Google said were supposed to be there. Each named dot on the map turned out to be nothing more than a cluster of run-down homes or expansive farms. But alas, not a single place to feed Alfalfa (yet another name for the car). Naturally, as we were coming down to the wire, phone service cut out too. Without cell coverage, there would be no help from AAA. As the needle on the gas gauge twitched toward empty, we grew more and more concerned that the Sub would just roll to a stop in the middle of the road. We pondered our options. Should we stop at the next dwelling and ask for help? Wave down one of the seldom passing-by trucks? As we plowed ahead, we murmured encouraging words to little Alfalfa. Just a few more miles... 

And just as we were giving up hope we pulled out of the mini mountains onto a long, straight, flat stretch of highway. We traveled on for about 10 minutes hoping, hoping, hoping for gas, or at least cell service. And FINALLY we found bars just as we hit a junction with a large, empty, safe looking parking lot.

Once we found cell phone service, we decided we better stay put. We parked Pacman, made a call to AAA, and began to explore. Turns out, we'd pulled into the parking lot of the legendary Cottontail Ranch, a decades-old brothel reportedly frequented by such patrons as Howard Hughes. Behind the shuttered building, we could still make out the overgrown landing strip that once accommodated the private planes of the rich and famous. The Ranch no doubt also hosted some of the many truck drivers who pass by regularly. The brothel closed in 2004 after more than three decades in business and by the time of our visit, was a mere shadow of its former glory. 

The now-shuttered Cottontail Ranch in Nevada

We camped out in the parking lot to wait for our AAA guy to arrive with gas to get us to the nearest station. The temperature, fortunately, was milder than one might expect of a midsummer afternoon in the Nevada desert. We sang songs and explored the property while G Dog refused to sit in the shade and insisted on trying to eat rocks. While few people passed by we actually had to assure one friendly truck driver that help was already on its way. (Truck drivers, by the way, are some of the friendliest and most helpful people you'll meet on the road!) When our AAA service person arrived, he brought with him a generous seven gallons of gas, which filled Alfalfa more than halfway. Good thing we stopped, he told us. The next gas station was still 100 miles down the road!

Back on the road, skirting the edges of Death Valley, we naturally stopped to refill on gas (and tasty snacks) as soon as possible. Because we'd spent an unplanned three hours in the Nevada desert, we had to adjust our initial goal of reaching the Grand Canyon that day. So we made a wholly unexpected, but nonetheless welcome, stop in Las Vegas. It was the first visit for both of us to this glittery metropolis that seems more like a theme park than a city. Much like the Cottontail Ranch, it feels out of place, as if someone misread a map and plopped buildings where they didn't belong. But as with the Cottontail Ranch, folks have shown they're willing to pay big bucks to fly to the middle of the Nevada desert for the diversions of Las Vegas. 

G-Dog, enjoying some summer sun.

We pulled up to a trusty, well-situated La Quinta, only a few short blocks from the Strip. Without the budget for a proper Vegas vacation we simply drove back and forth along the strip (which is very congested, by the way) observing all the pretty lights and looking for dinner. On retiring to our hotel we agreed we would some day have to come back and do it right.

It's funny, this part of the trip was what should have been a disaster but ended up being one of our fondest memories of all time. It showed that even when things go wrong we can make it through and have a great time. And really, what's so bad about relaxing in the sun for 3 hours with your best friend and a beautiful dog? ~Sputnik & Jade