What happens in Austin
Be proud to be American… there are plenty of folks who are… like the 200 or so residents who live in and around Austin, Nevada.
After my second year of teaching US History to high school juniors, I decided to ride my Suzuki V-Strom cross country from the San Francisco Bay to Chesapeake Bay in Virginia. I rode US Highway 50 for most of my eastbound transit. My first night on Highway 50 was spent in Austin, Nevada… it was a short but memorable introduction to central Nevada.
I rolled into town on a warm July 1 afternoon. The main drag is about three quarters of a mile long. I noticed a small girl about 4 years old playing on the sidewalk in front of a place named the Owl Club. Another girl, who looked to be about 18 years old, was sitting close by. I figured they were together… they were. With no traffic in sight, I flipped a U-ie and pulled up to the curb. About this time, an older woman emerged from inside the Owl Club. She eyed me a little suspiciously.
I asked where I should stay for the night in Austin. The 18-year-old answered rather quickly… the Cozy Mountain. I thanked them and rode two blocks over to the Cozy Mountain Motel and asked about getting a room for a one night’s stay. The motel is actually a series of 12 or so prefab guest rooms arranged in a U-shape at the western edge of town. The owner, Cindy, was very hospitable and helpful. I checked in… no reservation… no problem. I asked where I could get something to eat, and Cindy said… the Owl Club. This time, I walked over to the Owl Club.
It was early July and the sun was sitting high in the pale sky. I walked in and sat on a stool at the bar. I was the only patron, but it was still early. The Owl Club was originally a movie theater many moons ago. It would have been a small theater, but Austin is a small town.
I ordered an IPA and just started looking around. The older woman that I met earlier when I arrived in town was tending bar. She introduced herself as Mary and said she was the owner of the Owl Cub. I noticed two photos on the large mirror behind her. One photo showed a young man in an Army uniform and the other showed a young woman in uniform. I asked Mary whether the soldiers in the pictures were local kids. She said they were her son and daughter. I told her that I was a retired Navy pilot and tipped my bottle to the young man and young woman in the photos.
That gesture sealed the deal. Mary refused to let me buy another beer. The next round was on the house. It got dark outside and the juke box got louder. A couple of people drifted into the Owl Club. After about eight locals arrived, Mary started pouring shots from a bottle of a chilled German liqueur… Jägermeister. Everyone was either talking or singing with the country tunes playing on the juke box. My shots were on the house, too.
I felt very welcome; Mary’s regulars treated me like a local. Mary was so gracious… everyone loved her. I pulled Mary aside and told her that I could not remember when I had so much fun and that I would definitely stop at the Owl Club on my way back to California. She asked… when and walked over to a calendar hanging on the wall. Mary picked up a pen and looked over her shoulder at me. I looked at the calendar and said, “July 24th.” Mary marked… Ray coming back across the calendar square reserved for Friday, July 24. I returned as promised on the 24th with a fresh bottle of Jägermeister in my starboard saddlebag for Mary’s Owl Club inventory.
Mary and her friends may be partial to German liqueur on most days , but I’m certain they were enjoying hot dogs, potato salad, and everything red, white and blue a few days later on July 4.
Copyright © 2023 by Ray Fowler
