*A plaque that leaves one with more questions than answers*

This almost became my last blog post due to a plaque I stumbled upon during an unicycle ride today by a banana-shaped park.

I had planned to take a day off and rest because my neck hurt. But boredom got the best of me after an hour or two at the Ely Holiday Inn Express (where breakfast is served until 9:30 a.m. on weekends, mind you). So I suited up, hopped on the EUC, and began zigzagging through the neighborhoods of Ely, Nevada.

I passed cute houses, funny houses, and very old houses. But one thing drove me back onto the road: I needed something to write about. And I figured a light cruise around town might deliver at least one blog-worthy moment.

*Cute house full of namaste and chakras*

*A proud house- Proud of their very large …Chicken*

And then that moment hit when I arrived at a banana-shaped park—yes, banana-shaped—with a massive brass plaque planted proudly at the tip of the fruit. This was, without exaggeration, the largest plaque I’ve seen in East-Central Nevada. It was too magnificent, too proud in posture, to ignore.

Now, I’ve traveled extensively. I’ve seen plaques commemorating great battles, natural disasters, fallen heroes, even the occasional geologic anomaly. But I have never seen a plaque celebrating a sewer renovation. (Okay, maybe I saw one in London at my niece’s wedding, but it was unmemorable. And to be fair, London’s sewer system is older and more famous.)

Anyway, I was in full unicycle attire, trying not to arouse suspicion. By the time I reached the plaque, I had already waved at half the neighborhood and had briefly been followed by a very friendly old man in a well-used pickup truck.

I removed my helmet—a gesture I reserve only for parades, funerals, brises, and the christening of tall ships—and read the plaque aloud.

I immediately knew that this was something that needed to be shared with my 10’s of followers and the friends and relatives that are using this as a poorly written proof of life medium.

Because I’m dyslexic, I didn’t want to transcribe it myself. I asked ChatGPT if it could find the text online (it couldn’t). So, reluctantly, I took it upon myself to honor this:

*A plea for help that AI failed to deliver. Notice I even said “please”. Maybe capitalization would help.*

So here is my best-effort transcription. The beginning is a little dry, but stick with it—it gets good. I didn’t feel I had the right to edit out the first paragraph. You might see something gems that I missed:

“Ely became a town in 1877: its first buildings, a stage station/post office, were located on the corner of Altman and Murry. The original wastewater system for the town dates to the period of 1905–1911. The sewer pipes were made of vitrified clay, which was state-of-the-art at the time. Portions of the system were upgraded to reinforced concrete pipe, ductile iron pipe, and PVC starting in the 1950s.
When the sewer system for Murry Street was proposed and approved in 1910, there was notable opposition—partly due to cost and the monthly fee. Opposition took the form of sabotage during construction. Earlier lines had also been protested by residents and prominent Ely companies, citing concerns about where the sewage would be dumped.
“Growing pains” aside, the system remained intact—though with repairs and upgrades—into the 21st century. The aged sewer line on Murry Street served both the Murry community and the residents of Ely. It was 100 years old when it was replaced in phases between 2015–2023 with modern PVC sewer pipe.”

And in that moment, I realized I had discovered the Rosetta Stone of American suppositional history. Let’s unpack what this monument could tell us:

1) Someone at the highest level of local government decided there was an angle in celebrating Ely’s successful sewer transformation, and that a plaque was absolutely necessary.

2) The plaque’s writing was outsourced to a disgruntled intern—likely a 5th year senior at Brown University in Providence, RI, sent to live with his Aunt Lou and Uncle John after coming home with a Tool lyric tattooed on his neck. His parents hoped he’d reconnect with “real people” by spending the summer of 2023 in Ely.

3)There was almost certainly an internal email that kicked off the project, sent from the supervisor to the intern that probably read like this:

“One of the mayor’s major donors is Algo Sewers & Sons. He flew the mayor and his wife to Cabo. We owe him big and need his support.
Make a plaque that celebrates the history of our long-running ‘Make Our Sewers Wonderful Again’ program—and the role Algo Sewers & Sons played in making it a success……You go to Brown, right? Well, put some Brown into it. Try to sound more enthusiastic—you’re making everyone depressed. And put a Band-Aid over that neck tattoo. ”

4) The intern protested at first. Then he took two gummies and wrote a masterpiece of smug copy. He sent it off, assuming it would be rejected and reassigned to someone who cared.

5) The supervisor probably never read the email and forwarded the copy immediately to his brother-in-law’s bronze foundry in Sparks, NV, where it was cast into a large plaque. Money changed hands, promises were made.

7) The plaque was hurriedly mounted at the tip of the banana-shaped park and was shielded from probing eyes with a temporary fence. Sod was laid. The unveiling was staged for the next day at a small public ceremony, only 2 months before the hotly contested election. Bill Algo, of Algo Sewers & Sons, stood beaming onstage, ready for public recognition and eager to write a big check to the mayor’s campaign. The plaque was revieled…

8) The mayor lost and the sod died.

9) The banana park looks like a cinnamon-sugar churro with a bronze label at the tip.

10) No one has vandalized the plaque.

Note: The above series of events is entirely fictional. But you know there’s a good story behind it.

I sent a photo of the plaque to one of my daughters. Her response: “So if you poop in Ely, you are supporting corruption?” (She’s a pediatrician. She sees a lot of poop.)

I texted it to my “voyage consultants”—Mike and Jeff from Peet’s Coffee—who are listed in my phone as “Mike Petes” and “Jeff Pete” because I never got their last names, met them at Pete’s Coffee, and assume they prefer to remain untraceable. I also misspelled Peet’s because that’s what I do.

*Voyage consultants- Currently on probation*

I simply captioned the photo: “Proud of their sewer system.”
It went downhill from there. I'm reconsidering my decision to make them my remote advisory board.

*I question the people I employed as service providers. I don’t even know their last names*

Also worth mentioning: I came across a beautiful mural, commissioned in 2001, accomp

Later, I met a local family at a restaurant. The parents were a little younger than I. Their son was sitting nearby with a young couple. They were in their 30s and were my kids’ age. They were curious about the unicycle—turns out they own six Onewheels.

We talked, and the dad, Mike, asked what I was doing. He instantly broke into the best Forrest Gump impression I’ve ever heard when I told him. We laughed for half an hour. At one point, I told his son he reminded me of my oldest son. This made him uncomfortable, just like it would have my son. See!

*Forest and Jenny Gump ( Mike and Nice Wife)*

During this random zigzag through a small Nevada town, I realized that I had stumbled on a plaque that entertained me for the whole afternoon. And if there’s one, there are probably many more in each small town I pass through.

Is this the real purpose of this trip? To cruise across America, meet people, and make baseless suppositions about small towns? But what if these plaques aren’t just bureaucratic oddities? What if they’re honest reflections of a town willing to tell its story—warts and all and show pride for what is important, the diversity of their children and the ability to poop and get it away from where they live. For much of the world, this is an unimaginable luxury. Maybe we should make more plaques telling the true stories of how mundane but critical things happen, and how we are one people in this country, even though we come from many places. Thanks, Ely!

Remember to visit Ely and explore its back streets. Eat at Racks Bar and Grill. Great food, friendly service, and a sunny patio out back where everyone seems to know each other and greet one another like long-lost friends

A Plaque That Almost Ended This Journey

Blown Back to Ely

Are we there yet?