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Former boom town is a rootin' tootin' hoot with a touch of tacky and a bonanza of colourful characters
BY REB STEVENSON
VIRGINIA CITY, NEVADA–The Ponderosa Mine is already feeling a bit cramped.
Mainly because ... um, it's a mine. And those don't come in any size but extra small. To boot, a dozen other people are crammed in it.
Then, without warning, guide Mark Lonero blows out the only candle.
"Now that is total darkness," he declares.
I want to squeal and cling to the male next to me. Mind you, he's 7-years-old and that might set off the world's next mine disaster.
It's these very blips of gritty realism that elevate Northern Nevada's Virginia City from a tacky Old West anachronism to an absolute gem of a place – a lost world in which steam locomotives, loveable town whores and dishonest-to-goodness saloons are part of everyday life.
Granted, there's no shortage of rip-off sepia portrait studios, winking slot machines and goofy souvenirs along the wonky boardwalks, but somehow even they are charming when set against a backdrop of real, rootin' tootin' history.
Modern Virginia City's population is 1,100 – a serious decline since the 1870s when she was as big as San Francisco and many of her 30,000 residents were filthy rich.
Then, folks noshed on fresh oysters that were shipped in on one of the 45 daily trains. They attended the theatre. And for a while, prospector John Mackay was the Trump of the town, raking in a million dollars per day.
Sure, there was danger and nearly intolerable heat (the miners had to surface every 15 minutes to suck on ice). But those were no match for the lure of big fortune.
Glory days, they were. So, of course, they didn't last.
"Virginia City probably would have become a ghost town if not for this one-hour commercial that ran every Sunday night called Bonanza," says Susan Sutton, who works at the tourist office.
Whenever Ben Cartwright and the boys from the popular 1960s TV show rode into town, they were headed to Virginia City. Not that the soundstage looked anything like the real thing.
I suppose you might say Hollywood didn't let the facts get in the way of a good story. And neither did Samuel Clemens, who changed his name to Mark Twain while at The Territorial Enterprise newspaper in Virginia City in the 1860s.
You can admire his desk and a toilet he used (oh, the glamour) at The Mark Twain Museum, and you might even meet the man himself on weekends, when dozens of costumed guides take to the streets.
Twain was clearly Virginia City's history idol. But the runner-up had an enterprise of her own: a thriving prostitution business. Julia C. Bulette, who was eventually murdered by a client, also has a tiny museum dedicated to her. It's in the basement of the Chinese Mandarin Restaurant.
When locals weren't sampling Bulette's charms or attending the theatre (1885-built Piper's Opera House is still open to the public), they were asking for multiple encores at the saloons.
Virginia City counts 15 of them today – most complete with old light fixtures, soaring tin ceilings and colourful stories.
In the Old Washoe Club, I meet two sketchy characters.
"This is the poor man's martini," explains Deke di Marzo, leaning over a beer containing a submerged olive. "A lot of gunfighters drink it."
He motions to his sidekick.
"This is Billy Mayfield. We rob the train. I kill him every day."
He's referring to a 1916 Baldwin steam locomotive that carries tourists along the Virginia and Truckee railroad.
Taking a cue from Julia C. Bulette, I bat my eyelashes at the conductor. This earns me a ride up front with the greasy, overall-clad engineers. There is no seat, nor are there doors. I hang on to a metal post for dear life as the old gal chuffs away.
We pass through a tunnel. That's like a taste of Hades in a heat wave. The engine is so hot I hear it takes two days to cool down.
Virginia City itself is surprisingly temperate. It's the dryness that gets you. Within a day, I'm as parched as the arid hills that frame the town, my lips are chapped and even my skin feels thirsty.
"Newcomers just flake," laughs Paul Yandre, my host at Cobb Mansion Bed and Breakfast.
He so smitten with Virginia City that he takes his guests out for tours in a 1948 Chrysler Town and Country Woody Convertible just for the heck of it.
"There are no franchises, no strip malls, no traffic problems. I haven't found a place I like better," he says.
Nowadays, the mop water at the Bucket `O Blood is clear. The robbers recover from their fatal gunshot wounds. And nobody has filled Julia C. Bulette's lace-up boots.
But if you think the echoes of old, exciting Virginia City faded with the mining boom, think again.
About 15 years ago, Yandre was startled by a huge explosion. Turns out an old miner named Billy Varga had ignored the classic "never put your dynamite next to the microwave" rule. When he hit the start button, he cooked his entire house.
Yandre ran down the street. Remnants of the dwelling were strewn across town. Windows were blown out blocks away. By some stroke of luck, the miner himself was alive.
"I arrived just in time to see Billy running out with his red underwear on fire."
Just the facts
Virginia City is 40 kilometres south of Reno in Northern Nevada.
An All Inclusive Excursion ticket is available for $33 (U.S.) at the tourist office and includes the V&T Railroad, Virginia City Trolley Tour, Ponderosa Mine Tour, The Way it Was Museum, Piper's Opera House, Historic Fourth Ward School Museum, Historic Radio Museum, Chollar Mine Tour and Comstock Gold Stamp Mill.
For more information, visit www.virginiacity-nv.org or call 775-847-4386.
Rates at the Cobb Mansion Bed and Breakfast range from $99 to $199 (U.S.) per night. See www.cobbmansion.com or call 877-847-9006.