41°03'50.5"N 111°32'51.7"W

Within a narrow canyon (less than 500 feet) through which the Weber River, I-84, and the line of the original Transcontinental Railroad pass, is a geological formation known as "Devil's Slide. The vertical slide consists of two parallel limestone outcroppings about 25 feet apart and 40 feet in height, extending about 350 feet in length up the canyon wall. Originally called the Devil's War Club by the Shoshone, the Gutter Defile by railroad workers constructing the railroad in the late 1860s, and the Devil's Slide by the mid-1870s (a more dramatic name than Gutter Defile).

The limestone walls have a Mohs hardness of about 4 while the inner and outer layers have a hardness of 3. Over many years, the softer layers have eroded faster than the harder layers developing a feature suitable for pull-outs on the Interstate. As opposed to the wetter east, limestone is prominent in the dry west. Limestone - mostly calcium carbonate - dissolves (slowly) in water.

Legend - likely not an ancient legend - has it the devil uses the slide every morning to come down to the river to bathe. On hot days, condensation can rise from between the walls - the Devil's breath warming the rocks.

The Union Pacific has touted the formation as a point of interest for travellers of the line since the opening of the line in 1869.

In the early 1900s, a large limestone deposit was discovered across the canyon. Limestone being a component of concrete, a corporation was formed and a company town - Devils Slide - was formed. At its height, the town had a population of about 500 people. It also boasted concrete sidewalks, a 2-story, 20 room hotel, a railroad depot, post office, and two schools. Being a company town, residents rented their homes. Those that preferred to not pay rent - and had means of transportation - moved to nearby towns. By the mid-1980s, the town was fading away and the company closed the town by the end of the decade. The last resident was a railroad foreman living in a railroad owned home. The railroad tore down this structure in the early 1990s and the site is now under a pile of tailings with only a few foundations still visible ... on private property. The former limestone mine is now a gravel pit. The current operation is vaster than the limestone mine and has effectively widened the canyon at that spot.

I wish I had taken photos of what was left of the town when I was passing through there in the early 80s. But I can say the same about many places I've been ...

In order across the canyon, NE to SW: the quarry, the town site, the railroad, I-84, the Weber River, Devil's Slide. It's a tight squeeze. Good place to watch trains if that's your thing. I've done so many times. But that's one of my things.

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Re: General news items
Just because you exercise your right to protest doesn't mean your cause is right or that you get your way.

It certainly doesn't mean you get to interfere with my right to to go about my business and ignore you.

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Unfortunately, some national magazine or something publicized US50 as "The Loneliest Highway in America" sometime around 1986 ... which created enough traffic that I doubt that statement is true anymore. As one article stated: "this quirky landmark has become a must-see for travelers."

Damn ...

Way back when though, that statement about loneliest highway was true - there was no gas between Fallon and Ely - some 260 miles with only two towns in between (and no gas) followed by another 160 miles between Ely and Delta, also with nothing in between that was - if anything - even more remote ... and that discouraged traffic. As did the 110 mile stretch between Salina and Green River.

That I-70 in Colorado was still a two-lane US highway through Glenwood Canyon - windy, twisty, perhaps uncomfortably close to the Colorado River - also limited traffic, particularly semi traffic.

Even now, with I-70 a full Interstate, that's still some remote country.

I often travelled between Reno and Grand Junction in the early/mid 80s, often by motorcycle. Although I-80 to Salt Lake, then down US6 to I-70 at Green River was the quickest route (I-70 was a 2-lane road then even though it did have Interstate status), I preferred US50 to Salina where I picked up I-70 (I-70 ended in a dirt embankment at Salina then)

Out along 50 in the middle of Nevada, between Middlegate and Eastgate, perhaps midway between Fallon and Austin, is "The Shoe Tree".

Story has it that back in the 40s or 50s, newly-weds had stopped and camped for the night along the road. They got in an argument, the wife threatened to walk away, and the husband tossed her shoes up into a nearby tree. He left for a nearby bar ("nearby" being relative - probably Middlegate) where the bartender convinced the man to go back and get his wife. They reconciled and when their first child was born, they tossed a pair of his shoes up into the tree as well. They continued the tradition on each anniversary.

This was generations ago and over the years, travellers would stop and toss shoes up into the tree until the tree appeared to be bearing fruit when viewed from a distance.

At the time when some twits cut down the tree (2010), there were thousands of shoes hanging from this old cottonwood. Rumor has it a man from Fallon found his wife met her lover at the tree, so he cut it down to keep that from happening (how did that work out for you, fellow?)

Since then, a nearby tree is now Shoe Tree II ... but something more than just the original tree was lost; it's a tourist site with a pull-out.

I just drive on by anymore ...

Just a note: this section of US50 is essentially the old Pony Express trail.

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America is a Christian country that has enough tolerance to allow its citizens to worship as they desire - within the background of a Christian culture.

Don't like it? You're free to move to a country more in line with your beliefs; you don't have the right to change ours.

The separation of Church and State does not mean no religion; it means the State will not dictate religion and the Church does not define political positions. All in all, the Ten Commandments are a fairly good set of rules independent of religious undertones.

However: You can not be Muslim and American; the fundamental beliefs contradict each other.

I'm a bit hard-core; I'd have no objection if Muslims in the US were deported to Muslim countries. We should not accept any refugees from Muslim countries; they are not able to follow the oath of citizenship (speaking somewhat tongue-in-cheek as Mrs DT comes from a Muslim country ... although she is not Muslim and is baptized Lutheran.)

But in fairness to the muzzies, I saw this meme and thought I'd check the Koran for "accuracy" - the version I read was an English translation which may be questionable in itself.

The same verses taken from the Koran:

2:191
Kill them wherever you come upon them and drive them out of the places from which they have driven you out. For persecution is far worse than killing. And do not fight them at the Sacred Mosque unless they attack you there. If they do so, then fight them—that is the reward of the disbelievers.

3:28
Believers should not take disbelievers as guardians instead of the believers—and whoever does so will have nothing to hope for from Allah—unless it is a precaution against their tyranny. And Allah warns you about Himself. And to Allah is the final return.

3:85
Whoever seeks a way other than Islam, it will never be accepted from them, and in the Hereafter they will be among the losers.

5:33
Indeed, the penalty for those who wage war against Allah and His Messenger and spread mischief in the land is death, crucifixion, cutting off their hands and feet on opposite sides, or exile from the land. This ˹penalty˺ is a disgrace for them in this world, and they will suffer a tremendous punishment in the Hereafter.

8:12
˹Remember, O Prophet,˺ when your Lord revealed to the angels, “I am with you. So make the believers stand firm. I will cast horror into the hearts of the disbelievers. So strike their necks and strike their fingertips.”

8:60
Prepare against them what you ˹believers˺ can of ˹military˺ power and cavalry to deter Allah’s enemies and your enemies as well as other enemies unknown to you but known to Allah. Whatever you spend in the cause of Allah will be paid to you in full and you will not be wronged.

8:65
O Prophet! Motivate the believers to fight. If there are twenty steadfast among you, they will overcome two hundred. And if there are one hundred of you, they will overcome one thousand of the disbelievers, for they are a people who do not comprehend.

9:5
But once the Sacred Months have passed, kill the polytheists ˹who violated their treaties˺ wherever you find them,1 capture them, besiege them, and lie in wait for them on every way. But if they repent, perform prayers, and pay alms-tax, then set them free. Indeed, Allah is All-Forgiving, Most Merciful.

9:30
The Jews say, “Ezra is the son of Allah,” while the Christians say, “The Messiah is the son of Allah.” Such are their baseless assertions, only parroting the words of earlier disbelievers. May Allah condemn them! How can they be deluded ˹from the truth˺?

9:123
O believers! Fight the disbelievers around you and let them find firmness in you. And know that Allah is with those mindful ˹of Him˺.

22:19
These are two opposing groups that disagree about their Lord: as for the disbelievers, garments of Fire will be cut out for them and boiling water will be poured over their heads,
22:20
melting whatever is in their bellies, along with their skin.

47:4
So when you meet the disbelievers ˹in battle˺, strike ˹their˺ necks until you have thoroughly subdued them, then bind them firmly. Later ˹free them either as˺ an act of grace or by ransom until the war comes to an end. So will it be. Had Allah willed, He ˹Himself˺ could have inflicted punishment on them. But He does ˹this only to˺ test some of you by means of others. And those who are martyred in the cause of Allah, He will never render their deeds void.

For whatever it's worth ...

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I recently came across a document written in 1968 by a Canadian WWI bomber pilot. The document describes his last flight entitled "My Last Bombing Raid". I thought it might be of interest on this Armistice Day.

The document is transcribed as written except for the addition of pictures.

My Last Bombing Raid

In World War I the British Air Force consisted of the Royal Naval Air Service and its Army counterpart, the Royal Flying Corps. There was no Canadian Air Force, but early in 1916 the Royal Flying Corps established a branch in Canada. A ground school was opened at the University of Toronto and later airdromes were erected at several locations in Ontario.

In 1916, I joined the ground school and after preliminary training in Canada was transferred to Salisbury Plains in England where I graduated on De Havilland 4's (DH4's). After finishing aerial gunnery at Turnberry Scotland, I went to France and was posted to Number 27 Squadron.

Our airdrome was situated at Vilers-Brettoneux, a small village on the Amiens-Perrone Road, about 4 miles east of Amiens and twenty miles from Perrone.

The 27th, a DH4 long-distance bombing squadron, was equipped with Beardmore-Halford-Pulinger engines (B.H.P.'s). The DH4 was a biplane with the pilot's seat beneath the upper wing between the engine and main gas tanks. A Vickers machine gun was mounted on the cowling and by means of a special gear was able to fire between the blades of the rotating propeller.

A small gravity tank was attached to the upper wing near the pilot's head. This tank was used for starting the engine and taking off, until the pressure in the main tanks had increased sufficiently to supply the carburetor. The observer's seat was in the rear of the fuel tanks.

Attached to this cockpit was a scarf mounting supporting one or two Lewis guns. As the pilot was just behind the engine, he was usually quite comfortable, but the observer was very much in the open and exposed to low temperatures. He was readily recognized around the mess table as the tip of his nose was scarred from repeated frost bite

The average speed of the DH4 was 125 miles per hour, and it carried enough fuel to remain in the air about 5 hours. Each squadron had one airplane equipped with a special carburetor and oxygen for the pilot and observer. This machine could climb to 24,000 feet and the day before the raid would take pictures of the next day's target. There was no danger from attack as the enemy was unable to reach this altitude.

Our targets were primarily railroad junctions, troop concentrations and ammunition dumps. Ordinarily twelve machines took part in a raid, each plane taking off separately. They would then climb to 17,000 feet over the rendezvous previously decided upon. In the case of 27 Squadron, this was usually Perrone. It took about one hour to reach this altitude and when all the machines had arrived they would take up formation and proceed over the front line on their way to the target. Each plane carried eight, twenty-five pound bombs, four on the bottom of each lower wing.

When twelve DH4's were in close formation, there were 12 machine guns firing forward and as many as twenty-four to the rear. The Germans learned to respect this fire power; however, if the formation were broken up or an individual machine became separated from the rest of the squadron, the heavy DH4 bomber was no match for the faster, easily maneuverable German fighter.

In the spring of 1918 the average tour of active duty for a pilot in France lasted six weeks. usually the same pilot and observer continued to fly together. About the middle of March, a new observer was posted to my machine. He was Lord Cecil Douglas, a son of the Marquis of Queensbury of the Queensbury family of boxing rule fame. He was twenty years of age and well qualified to carry on the enviable tradition established by the upper class of his generation in fighting for their country.

On March the 21st the Germans attacked the British sector of the front line and aerial activity became markedly increased. Bombing raids were carried out once or twice daily. On this date the squadron commander's machine was being overhauled and the plane I had been flying transferred to him. I was given "F" which we all recognized as a "lemon".

[Hm-m-m... was someone in the doghouse with the squadron commander?]

On our first day in "F", Douglas and I started on a raid to Busigny but were forced to return because of engine trouble. The next day we were scheduled to bomb Le Cateu. This time an oil pipe burst and we had to return. This was repaired, and on March 23rd we started again, but the pressure pumps failed and we were unable to continue. On Sunday, March 24t, we were to bomb Aulnoy. This turned out to be our last bombing raid.

We succeeded in reaching an altitude of 17,000 feet over Perrone but it was evident the engine was not running well. I discussed with Douglas the advisability of returning to the airdrome. Because we had been forced to turn back on the proceeding three days, we were especially anxious not to return again. We finally decided to accompany the rest of the squadron and started over the line. We soon saw puffs of black smoke from bursting anti-aircraft shells. Their guns were located near vulnerable targets or frequently were mounted on lorries. Far below they could be seen speeding along the highway, to stop suddenly, fire, then off again to repeat the performance. Fortunately, at 17,000 feet they were not very effective, although it was not unusual for a plane to return with shrapnel embedded in the wings or fuselage.

It was soon obvious we could not keep up with the formation and after selecting a likely target I dropped our bombs. It was now easier to maintain our position although we had to gradually lose altitude and were soon 3,000 feet below the remainder of the squadron. I was not familiar with the exact location of Aulnoy as routinely we dropped our bombs at the direction of the squadron commander. The first indication I had that we were over the target was when bombs began falling past our machine from the planes directly above us. I could see the other observers frantically waving for us to get out of the way. Fortunately, we were not hit and after dropping the bombs the squadron turned for home.

I had hoped the other machines would throttle down and allow me to remain in formation. This, however, was not forthcoming.

I realized the commander's orders were to bring back as many machines as possible. I decided to keep in contact with the formation but could only do this by losing height rather rapidly.

On this section of the front, northeast of Perrone, there was an excellent landmark. Earlier in the war a huge ammunition dump had blown up and exposed the underlying chalk leaving a large circular white area readily visible from the air for long distances. [Perhaps Lochnagar Crater?, 50.0155, 2.6973 - NW of Perrone] This guidepost had just come into view, and I was congratulating myself that we would be able to reach our side of the line when a burst of machine gun fire ripped through the gravity tank, allowing ten gallons of gas to pour over my head. It would have been relatively easy to elude the German by side-slipping steeply. However, this would mean losing height quickly and thus jeopardizing our chance of avoiding being taken prisoner. British machines were not equipped with parachutes in World War I.

We were being attacked from behind and below the tail and I began sharp "S" turns to allow Douglas to fire on the German fighter. I soon realized the Lewis gun was silent and I was unable to contact Douglas. I had to assume he had been hit by an early burst of fire.

The Germans were using three types of bullets in tandem: the tracer, the explosive, and the regular bullet. By following the flaming tracers, the course of each burst from the German machine gun could be followed. I felt a burning in my left ankle and knew I had been hit. The next burst hit the radiator and the water was lost. Bullets also went through the main gas tanks with the loss of all our fuel.

The danger of fire was one we all dreaded. I realized that, so far, we had been extremely fortunate in that all three gas tanks had been punctured by tracer bullets and this catastrophe had not occurred. The bullets began cutting the wing supports and the engine ceased with the propeller in a vertical position. Realizing that true valor lies between cowardice and rashness, I put the plane in a sharp side-slip. The firing ceased and I pulled out at about 3,000 feet, but the German was still on my tail. I was preparing to side-slip again when two British SE5 fighters appeared. The pilots waved and I felt quite confident I would hear no more from the enemy.

My machine was without power, and as I was now only about 2.000 feet from the ground, I quickly chose a spot which appeared satisfactory for landing; however, on coming nearer, I could see my proposed landing area had been an orchard in which the tops of the trees had been blown away, leaving stumps reaching several feet above the ground. I planned to pancake the plane into soft earth, but when I pulled back on the stick it would not move. Douglas, having been wounded, had fallen and jammed the controls. The vertical propeller hit the earth and the airplane flipped over on its back. Douglas was thrown about twenty feet beyond the machine and my head went through the top wing. I scrambled out, and, as I recall, suffered very little pain from the wound in my ankle.

I crawled over to Douglas and found him alive but unconscious. I succeeded in placing a tourniquet above his knee to stop the bleeding. The lower part of his leg was dangling by only a few shreds of tissue. Except for the bullet holes and the broken propeller, the plane was not extensively damaged but the rear of the fuselage and the tail were covered in blood.

We had crashed about thirty rods from a sunken road, and I began hobbling in this direction seeking medical assistance. I was met by a Frenchman who indicated he was familiar with first aid. He agreed to look after Douglas while I continued to seek help. I was able to stop a British staff car and urged the officers to return to the nearest medical station to obtain help for Douglas. They hesitated as they informed me the German infantry was advancing rapidly. They finally agreed to return to the small village of Millencourt about one mile from the site of our crash.

I was able to arrange for medical help and ambulance to care for Douglas. I was then taken by sidecar to a nearby airdrome. When we arrived, the first aid station was vacant as the medical personnel were on the landing field. One of the pilots was in the air without his undercarriage and they were standing by to help when he landed. Fortunately, he did not crash and the first aid sergeant was free to dress my wound and give me a hypodermic, which I now realize was an opiate. I was again placed in a sidecar and we retraced our course through Millencourt and by the field where we had landed. By this time, the ambulance was leaving with Douglas on its way to the hospital.

Following this I remember very little until I awoke about 4:00 p.m. on a field which had been set up as a casualty station. At dusk I was placed in an ambulance with five other wounded soldiers and after travelling most of the night, over shell-pocked roads, arrived in Doullens and was admitted to the third Canadian hospital. Apparently I was given considerable sedation as my memory of what happened in the hospital is very vague.

Early the next day I was placed in a hospital train for Boulogne. This was a long and painful trip. We were able to travel only a short distance before being shunted to a siding to allow a long string of freight cars, loaded with guns and ammunition, to go by their way to the front. Our train arrived in Boulogne late at night and I was admitted to the eighth British Red Cross hospital.

On the third day, I was operated on by a British surgeon who removed pieces of boot, sock, and explosive bullet from the wound. two days later I was placed on a hospital boat for Dover. I was then taken by train to Waterloo station in London. About 4:00 a.m. I was picked up by ambulance and taken to the Prince of Wales Hospital, which had been Marylebone Station Hotel before the war. Inasmuch as there was a Zeppelin raid on London that night, I spent the remainder of the morning in the hall. I was confined to bed for about three weeks and then allowed out of bed on crutches.

I was fortunate in being under the care of Dr. Low [perhaps Dr Hugh Lett], one of the leading younger surgeons in London. I was interested to read in later years he became President of the Royal College of Surgeons. His skill in repairing my Achilles tendon was responsible for my complete functional recovery, although I was unable to resume flying for about seven months.

It was not until May 4th that I learned that Douglas had been hospitalized in Etaples and far from the English Channel, about twenty miles south of Boulogne. He had been transferred there by ambulance and was critically ill for several weeks. It had been necessary to amputate his leg shortly after admission. Soon after I received this information, Douglas was transferred from Etaples to Victoria Hospital near Buckingham Palace.

On my first visit I began to sympathize with him about the loss of his leg. He silenced me and said his wooden leg would soon be ready. When it was fitted he would go to his home in Scotland. As he was fond of tennis, he could be found on the courts surrounded by a bevy of beautiful girls. If he noticed them whispering to each other, he could be sure they were questioning why a husky young man was not in the military service. They would assume he lost his nerve. He would disprove this by drawing his revolver and firing a bullet through his leg without flinching. Needless to say, I did not mention this subject again.

Following the war, Lord Douglas entered the export and import business, and I became a physician. On visiting England in 1954, my wife and I had the pleasure of having lunch with Lord and Lady Douglas at the Ritz Hotel in London. It was quite nostalgic to reminisce about our "Last Bombing Raid of 1918" --- now fifty years ago.

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