Rural Nevada a nice respite from glaring lights of Las Vegas

BEATTY

The long-haul truckers and cross-country vacationers downshifted Saturday morning on U.S. 95 as they approached this patch of green in the Amargosa Desert 100 miles north of Las Vegas.

If they had planned to blow through town during the Beatty Days parade, they had another think coming.

Eighteen-wheelers idled their diesels as the Beatty High Hornets marching band busted out a snappy rendering of Santana's "Oye Como Va" and the townfolk, tourists, and accidental gawkers lined Main Street for the parade. Travelers were politely detoured up Third Street and around the parade route that stretched only a block or two up the highway, and the wise ones accepted the delay as a sign to pull off and enjoy a delightful rural Nevada celebration.

Some day soon my daughter Amelia might decide she's too busy to accompany her old man on these excursions. But on this day Amelia and her pal Meredith were mightily impressed by the antique automobiles, whose passengers pelted the crowd with candy, the waves and smiles from Miss Beatty Days as she and her court passed by on a flat bed pulled by a quad cab.

Then there were the prolifically trigger-happy cowboy gunfighters and their dancehall sidekicks. The faux gunslingers engaged in more shootouts in 30 minutes than occurred in the history of the Old West. The crowd loved it and the kids covered their ears.

It won't last much longer, but Amelia is at an age when candy thrown from a passing vehicle is the sign of a parade's quality. We took our position in front of the Happy Burro, which boasts its history as an old brothel transported from Rhyolite. I decided not to read the Happy Burro's history to my kid.

The sidewalk was crowded in front of the adjacent Sourdough Saloon, and people lined the sidewalk across the way at the venerable Exchange Club as vehicles representing the Las Vegas Garden Railroad Society and the Montezuma Lodge No. 30 of Goldfield passed.

It was a morning when high-buffed classics with ooga horns and a jalopy with oblong wheels got big laughs from the crowd. A clown with an endless supply of candy was pretty cool, and some folks traveled half a day from distant mining towns like Gold Point and Silver Peak to take part in the festivities.

Bill Richardson was the only presidential candidate represented in the parade, and surely it's only a coincidence that Patsy Cline's "I Fall to Pieces" played as the New Mexico governor passed by.

The Beatty Volunteer Fire Department was out in force, cowboys and Indians rode by on horseback, and a Nye County ambulance was shined up. My personal favorite was the elderly fellow at the wheel of the ancient John Deere tractor with its fresh green paint and canary yellow wheels.

With the Lions Club barbecuing, a top-drawer chili cookoff, two bands playing, car shows, a swap meet, pretend shootouts, and even bed races, Beatty Days was a small-town success.

The sight made 27-year resident George Cross proud.

"You don't have the hustle and bustle of Las Vegas," he said. "Of course, you don't have the shopping malls of Vegas, either."

But you get the idea. Beatty is a place where locals know each other by first name. Where in Las Vegas can you find that?

It's a feeling appreciated by Charlie and Mary Van Acker. They're 14-year Las Vegas residents, but they subscribe to a pile of rural newspapers and rarely miss a celebration far from the city lights.

"We live in Las Vegas -- that's why we have to go out to the little towns," Charlie said.

"We go to all the small-town things," Mary added.

Rural Nevada remains a place relatively few people visit despite a concerted promotional effort by the State Tourism Office and groups such as Nevada Silver Trail.

Visitors to Beatty often end up singing the praises of Rhyolite, the nearby ghost town that once sported 10,000 residents and three railroad lines. But this weekend Beatty is very much the place to be.

I think the locals are onto something with their plan to draw a crowd.

If the highway traffic won't stop voluntarily, throw up a roadblock and let the good times roll.

John L. Smith's column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. E-mail him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call (702) 383-0295.