The Strangest Town Ever. Ever.

After our day or so in Portland, we had a date with Amanda’s family in the one, the hopefully only, Winnemucca, Nevada.  Why Winnemucca, Nevada?  Because her grandparents live there, duh.

Winnemucca, Nevada, is really far from everything.  It’s literally in the middle of the Nevada desert.  Because of this, it is many many miles from Portland, Oregon.  Also, related to this, we left our car in Portland, rented a car* and drove the eight hours to Winnemucca.

*We rented a car because we still wanted to see the Oregon coast (where I am writing this now) and not burn a bunch of miles (of which I have a limit, as the car I have is leased) driving to and from the middle of nowhere.

After a pretty exhausting eight hours (most of which I was driving 100 miles per hour in a straight line) in the rented Corolla S, we made it to our destination:

And all lit up at night:

Amanda’s grandparents had reserved us, as well as Amanda’s sister, Emily, and sister’s boyfriend, Bobby, a room at the finest Inn Winnemucca had to offer.  It’s also a restaurant and casino.  No biggie…

We dropped our stuff off, rinsed the road off of ourselves and headed down to the restaurant for some fine dining with the family.

I ordered, and subsequently was brought, chicken and mashed potatoes:

I did not know that there would be that much gravy involved, but as a lover of most things gravy, I didn’t complain.

Too bad the food was cool, and thus, the gravy was coagulated and crappy.  It all tasted like cool gravy and kind of sucked.  Also, somehow, beneath all of the semi-liquid and mostly fat gravy, the chicken was dry.  Strike one Winnemucca.

Since we were in a hotel/casino/restaurant/etc, Amanda decided to try her luck:

This game of skill consisted of a fake football player kicking a round marble sized white ball.  After it was kicked by the fake football player, the human interacting, in this case Amanda, would have to use a knob on the left side of the machine to move another fake football player left and right to “catch” the falling ball.  The game was made even more challenging because the ball did not have a direct flight to the receiving fake football player; instead, above the receiving fake football player, there were pegs that impeded the ball’s descent, and much like Plinko, on The Price is Right) the balls behavior was rendered unpredictable.

After a few tries, Amanda hit the jackpot:

A hard earned, and value-less rubber ball.

Of note: This was a '”play until you win” game.

One our way out, I tried to snap a few pictures of some locals, to give my future self an idea of what the folks in Winnemucca are like.  I actually got a pretty good sample.  An old woman glued to a slot machine:

And a fake cowboy (bonus: he’s Mexican!  I think!):

Emily, Amanda’s sister (left in the picture) tipped me off to the cowboy.  Thanks Emily.

After dinner, we headed over to Al and Eleanor's* house for some rousing Wii Bowling (yes, they own a Wii.  Their grandkids are all in New Jersey) and baseball watching.

*Fun Fact – Amanda’s grandmother goes by Eleanor.  Her given name is Christine.  She changed her own name to Eleanor.  Awesome.

Apparently, California is trying to persuade Nevada to let it throw it garbage in Nevada.  Here’s how the grandparents feel about it:

Frankly, that sign could use some swear words for emphasis.  Garbage is smelly.

The next morning, we all met up at, you guessed it, the best place in Winnemucca, Nevada, the Winnemucca Inn, for some sloppy breakfast.  Same table and everything:

The eggs seemed fake, but the sausage was very real.  The patties had an almost McDonalds’ sausage taste to them, which, trust me, is an exceptional thing.

After that, everyone, except for Amanda’s (and I guess my too.  Weird) grandparents headed out to explore what Winnemucca, Nevada had to offer.  but first, I got yelled at for riding my skateboard in the parking lot by the guy on the left:

I was laughing at him when this picture was taken.

After my miscreantsy (not a word), our tour of the town began.  We started by kind of driving around and staring out of the window.  We parked the car and started walking around.  Our travels too us to the Winnemucca, Nevada Chamber of Commerce.  We went inside and we greeted immediately by this:

Off to a good start.

Wandering around the building brought some more gems as well.  This is Winnemucca, Nevada's idea of a good Hall of Fame:

Yup.  The Buckaroo Hall of Fame.  I have no idea what a Buckaroo is, or what makes on have a Hall of Fame career, but good for the folks enshrined behind these two pieces of Plexiglas.

Since Winnemucca, Nevada, is basically a mining town, there also a short video and display of some mining information:

All were enthralled.

With all of this gold mining around, I bet you’re wondering just how many different mining companies are in the area.  Well, you’re in luck.  I was wondering pretty much the same thing, and came upon this nice fancy display:

Yup.  Belt buckles.  Of all of the mining companies.  Jesus.

With all of this excitement, one’s back may get a little tight.  Not to worry though, there’s plenty of room at the Winnemucca, Nevada Chamber of Commerce to stretch it out a bit:

Mr. Stotzer (Amanda’s dad) doesn’t really care where he is; if he has to stretch, he will stretch.  It’s kind of charming.

After we had had our fill of the lovely Chamber of Commerce, and had sufficiently limbered up, it was time to test out those skateboards we bought in Portland.  Even though us skateboarding miscreants get yelled at in parking lots all over town, the town decided to build a teeny skate park:

Amanda and I grabbed our boards, gave the video camera to Bobby and tried not to break any bones (since we’re unemployed and thus, uninsured).  Amanda did a pretty good job not killing herself and made it down a tabletop ramp without incident (but with many tense seconds).  I skated around a bit and decided to try something I had never done before: dropping in.

Now.  I used to skateboard a bit in college.  I was not good at it at all, but I used to be fairly comfortable throwing myself down a few steps or whatever.  I strictly stuck to ‘street’ skating, so no ramps or anything like that; just sidewalks, public squares, etc.  Looking over your feet to drop into a bowl is terrifying.  Completely terrifying.  I tried thrice.  Here is the final attempt:

I didn’t die, or hurt myself at all, so I feel like I won (even though a little bit of my youth and fearlessness has apparently vanished).

Skateboarding finished, we piled back into Mr. Stotzer’s rented Ford Fusion and headed for Spare Time; an incredibly cleverly named bowling alley:

Gorgeous.

Two games.  Two bets. 

The first bet?  The loser of the individual score over ten frames has to use a Neti Pot.  If you are unfamiliar with what a Neti Pot is, please go to YouTube immediately and search for it.  It will be worth your time, and disgust.  Emily lost.  She has to use a Neti Pot sometime soon.  I am excited.

In between games, we ordered some sweet bowling alley lunch:

This hot dog was fantastic.

The second game brought a team bet (Amanda and I versus Emily and Bobby).  It was a team bet that Amanda and I were weary of, because Bobby is a really good bowler.  He does the crazy hook thing that good bowlers do, instead of rolling it straight down the lane like us tards.  See?

Capital form.

The bet was this: the losing team has to jump in the outdoor hotel pool together.  We made the bet because even though it was nice and warm during the day, it got down to about 50 or so in the evening (and colder overnight), as it is the desert after all.  neither team wanted to jump into a frigid pool.

The second game was hotly contested, with Amanda stringing together what might have been her best bowling performance ever.  She crushed me and beat Bobby by a few pins.  I beat Emily soundly and Amanda and I rejoiced knowing we would stay dry that evening.

We drove back to Amanda’s grandparent’s house and tried to get in touch with the local Bingo hall (which triples as a hotel and casino, duh).  Sadly, they didn’t offer any more awesome Bingo games for the day.  We missed out for sure.

Instead of Bingo, we kind of hung out at the grandparent’s house until dinner.  Which was here:

This place is apparently ‘Basque’ style dining, which I had never heard of until this trip.  Apparently, it’s a Spanish family style cuisine.  Big portions with all kinds of sides.  We ordered all kinds of food, and we brought some bread (good) and cabbage soup (OK):

The bread was freshly baked, so it was very good.  The cabbage soup, despite the soggy cabbage, was OK, since it was basically a beef broth soup.  Oh, and a salad that was complete Barf City.  The dressing was mostly vinegar.  Blech.

Dinner:

 

Clockwise from the top of the plate: Pork, chicken, french fries, baked beans, rice with sausage, meatballs.

The pork was dry.  The chicken was OK, but not good.  The french fries were delicious (as apparently Winnemucca, Nevada has native potatoes).  The baked beans were really gross.  The rice was OK (if you avoided the rice and stuck to sausage). The meatballs were foul.

I learned that i do not, in the least, like the taste of Basque cuisine.  The flavor, sadly for you, is indescribable for me.  I have no idea what ingredient they use in their sauces, but everything tastes a bit off.  The sauce on the chicken, the meatballs, the beans and the rice was really off-putting and made me want to throw the plate back into the kitchen to show my displeasure.  i didn’t, but I think it would have been an appropriate gesture.

No matter.  It was time to demand payment from Emily and Bobby.  Videographic proof of payment:

Stupid heated pool.  Farts.

After the supremely disappointing results, we parted ways with the older adults and headed out for the real reason that Winnemucca, Nevada exists: gambling.

When I first met Amanda’s grandparents, the day before, I shook her grandfather’s hand, and, literally, three seconds later, he handed me a crisp one-hundred dollar bill.  I tried to refuse, but apparently this is customary for him.  The purpose of the bill was to gamble with it.  he is not, by any means, a degenerate gambler (he bets on sporting events five dollars per weekend), but he encourages it.

Since he had given all of us one-hundred dollar bills, we left the Winnemucca Inn and headed here to spend them:

Winners.  Aptly named.  Just kidding.  No it isn’t.

Winners Casino is not only a place where the vast majority of people do not win (like all casinos), but it is a place that is packed with complete and utter non-winners.  Winners in life that is.  Sad people hunched over blackjack tables smoking cigarettes and slowly handing chips to the dealers.  guys like this (who is smiling only because he just got there):

Do these folks look like they are having a ‘big time’?

They certainly don’t look that way to me.

Despite the almost certain depression that would come from it, we sat down at a blackjack table together, handed over our money and took some chips in return.

I had never played blackjack before.  I had no idea what I was doing, plus I am terrible at fast addition.  Seriously, I stink at it.  Add to that the fact that an ace is worth both one and eleven?  Forget it.\

I lost the fifty bucks I put in after yo-yoing up and down for an hour or so.  After that, we watched Bobby, who enjoys gambling, continue on.  I had put my name on a poker list earlier, so I was passing time until a seat opened up for me.

My name was finally called and I went over to sit down at a Hold ‘Em table with a crazy cast of locals and non-locals.  A man in a beret, who was apparently friends with the square shaped middle eastern man next to him, would not shut up.  He was playing that night because he had crashed his car and needed to pay for the repairs (unbelievable.  What a dunce).

In addition to the two fellows described above, there was also a beefy, seemingly corn-fed Nebraskan fellow in his early twenties, a few fellow in cowboy hats and one fellow with a cowboy hat and a handlebar moustache.  The cherry on that man’s personal style sundae? The handle bar moustache was dyed (with Just for Men I presume) jet black.  Also tinted jet black, presumably by accident? The skin under the moustache.

What a cast.

After a few tens of minutes, I lost my money (on a bad beat, obviously), got up and headed back to the blackjack table, where Bobby was slowly, but surely, hemorrhaging the money he had won earlier in the night.  If he had any money left, he would still be sitting just like this now:

Either that, or he would be admitted to the hospital, since beer is free when you’re at a table.

After everyone was out of the free money from Amanda’s grandfather (not true, I still had ten dollars I wasn’t going to blow), we walked back to the hotel listening to Bobby complain about dealers and turned in.

The next morning, we went back to Amanda’s grandparent’s house and cooked a huge breakfast for everyone.  Bacon, eggs, pancakes, toast, etc.  It was sterling.

I titled this post thinking that Winnemucca, Nevada is the strangest place I had ever been.  With a little more time to dwell on it, that may not be true.  It is certainly strange, but maybe strange isn’t the most apt word.  I think that the phrase “least classy'” is a more descriptive term. 

*Aside* - Classy is a word that is throw around a lot, and I think that it has mostly lost its meaning in society.  Italian people have murdered the word classy and morphed it into something that it shouldn’t be.  Fake white marble columns and gold leaf on your entertainment center is not classy, but that’s what Italians, who have bogarted the word, have deemed classy. Nice work greasy Italians.  You have ruined a word.  *Aside over*

I remarked to Amanda during our long drive out of town that I didn’t know if there was anywhere in town that could be considered a nice place to eat.  She said that there isn’t a nice place to eat there.

Generally speaking, women like to go out on dates.  Whether married or otherwise, women like to be taken out to a place that has nice things in it.  They like to get dressed up and go to a restaurant with nice linens or out to a nice setting for a walk or something.  Basically, they like to dress up like little girls like to do.  There is nowhere in Winnemucca, Nevada where you wouldn't feel out of place in a dress and heels.  There is nowhere there where you would feel comfortable in a well fitting suit.  The entire town is dressed down.  Well, not just dressed down, but more like dressed lower classed.

I am, and will continue to be confounded by Winnemucca, Nevada.  It is like a tiny, self contained little society.  A society that thrives from prospecting both in the surrounding desert (gold), and at the slot machines.  A society that allows indoor smoking (I was shocked when I walked into the hotel and smelled the smoke), and hands out free alcohol for gamblers.

While Amanda’s grandparent’s are excellent people, I cannot figure out why they would want to spend their remaining retirement years holed up, hundreds of miles from anything redeemable, in that place.  People are weird.