Highway 50 follows for some time the Pony Express Trail. I can envision messengers riding through in the days of the Wild West. The trail is very straight – riding west, into the setting sun. Until, of course, you run into these hills…mountains? And the endless range of peaks ahead must have been daunting. To be honest, I can’t imagine riding this trail. Long, straight, dry, hot, spliced at intervals by 10,000 foot ranges. No easy feat, it seems. Dried lakes brew into dust storms with standing pillars of sand clouds. These valleys should be more fertile given the prolific snowfall still evident in mid-May. As lonely as this road is today at least there’s a promise of something to come – thanks to a map, or simply the infinite extension of asphalt ahead of you. But to be a pony express rider with only a dusty trail ahead of you, mountains ahead and behind, flatness all around, and a pack of messages, must have been unforgiving and never-ending.