First off, I want to extend a tip of the hat to my good friend and colleague John King at AAA Washington. I was on travel assignment in Reno recently, and he—aware of my fondness for unspoiled Western landscapes—recommended a side trip to Pyramid Lake.

My one previous visit to the Silver State was a three-day weekend in Vegas back in 1997 (also work-related), so I was definitely looking forward to returning. And since John’s travel suggestions are always on the mark, I penciled in a day excursion to the lake, which is about 40 miles north of Reno.
It’s an easy drive; from I-80 exit 18 (Pyramid Way), head north. It takes maybe 10 minutes to get through the traffic lights and congestion of the Sparks suburbs, but soon the strip centers and residential subdivisions are left behind for the open road—in this case, SR 445.

This is high desert country: clumps of sagebrush, rolling hills and the more rugged peaks of the Virginia Mountains on the horizon. The sky was a constantly changing panorama of scudding clouds and pop-up rain showers that momentarily blurred the view. The two-lane road was blessedly free of traffic, which allowed me and my traveling companion the luxury to chug along at our own pace and enjoy the scenery.

The first glimpse of the lake from the road—when it’s still in the distance—is quite a sight. Against the prevailing browns and silvery greens, the deep turquoise color of the water looked surreal. There’s a roadside pull-off before the junction with SR 446 that has information about the lake, which is entirely within the Paiute Indian Reservation.

A bit of background: Pyramid Lake is a remnant of much larger Lake Lahontan, a body of water that covered much of northwestern Nevada at the end of the last Ice Age. It was first mapped in 1844 by American explorer John C. Frémont. And long before it became part of the Paiute reservation in 1874, the surrounding region has served as the tribe's ancestral homeland; in fact the lake’s northern end is considered sacred by the Paiute and is off-limits to visitors.

Fun factoid: Pyramid Lake stood in for the Sea of Galilee during the filming of “The Greatest Story Ever Told,” the 1965 film epic about the life of Jesus. 

The name comes from the pyramid-shaped formations of tufa rock in the vicinity, including an island in the lake that is a distinctive landmark. Craggy, towering rocks accentuate the shimmering flatness of the lake. A constant interplay of sunlight and shadow causes the water to change in color from gray to green to turquoise and back again. “Stark” is the word that best describes this remote desert setting, and it’s altogether striking.

SR 445 runs into SR 446; we turned left and drove about three miles to the “town” of Sutcliffe—basically a marina, a gas station and the Sutcliffe Ranger Station, where you can obtain the required permit if you want to fish or boat on the lake. There’s also a general store at the marina where you can grab a burger and fries if you’re hungry.

The real reason to do this trip is for the beauty and yes, the emptiness. I suggest driving from the SR 445/446 junction southeast to Nixon. The lonely road follows the lakeshore, and there are a number of short side roads where you can pull off, park and explore. We took the signed Tamaracks turnoff, and I spent half an hour clambering around a jumble of rocks that offered prime photo perches.

I don’t know if these parking areas ever get crowded, but on this May afternoon in the middle of the week there wasn’t another vehicle around and the only sound was the constant sighing of the wind. Personally, I found the solitude enchanting.

Once you reach Nixon, another tiny community, and the junction with SR 447, you can either retrace your steps or take SR 447 south to I-80, then I-80 to Reno. We decided to backtrack, and the return drive was just as enjoyable.

Once back in civilization, it seemed only logical to do a 180 shift and hit a casino. John Ascuaga’s Nugget Hotel Tower, right off I-80, was our destination. While it certainly doesn’t equal the glam factor of big Vegas properties like The Mirage or The Cosmopolitan, the Nugget’s casino does create the same effect as soon as you walk through the door: total sensory dislocation.

Slot machines beep and ping. A mirrored, smoked-glass ceiling made the already dim interior seem even more so, and although it was a little after 3 in the afternoon, it could just as easily have been 3 in the morning. There were plenty of people hovering around the game tables and trying their luck at progressive jackpots. Me? I don’t gamble—not even the penny slot machines succeed in extracting money from my pocket—but I did splurge on a large Starbucks caramel macchiato and settle into a comfy nearby chair to enjoy the next best thing to gambling at a casino: people watching.