Where Highway 70 comes down from the Sierra Nevada and meets Highway 395 is Hallelujah Junction. Once it was a bar. A reverend on tour said, "Hallelujah ought to be a church, not a bar." Then, for a while it doubled as a terminal, when Highway 70 was closed. Pilots used the pavement for a runway. "I guess they thought it was the promised land," a local man once said. Now it's a Shell Station doubling as a lottery bar. All filling stations. It never was a church.
1 comment:
I like it when you include the words of those you meet along the way. And I am interested by the image of a reverend on tour. Reading the previous entry on borders reminds me of an epiphany I had walking deep in the mountains - on the back side of one place - only to find myself on the back side of another place. Somewhere in there I had crossed a border.
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