A Retreat from Progress
There are many ways to measure the advancement of civilization. Some people point to electric lights, flying machines, wireless telephones, and other miracles that allow a man to ignore his neighbors more efficiently than ever before.
I prefer a simpler test. Every year, on Hwy 50, hundreds of sensible modern citizens climb into wagons and spend several days proving that the 19th century never entirely surrendered.
On May 31, the South Lake Tahoe Police Department once again performed the noble duty of escorting the 77th annual Hwy 50 Wagon Train. The officers managed traffic while a collection of horses, wagons, and determined souls rolled along the highway at approximately the speed of a thoughtful turtle.
The Wagon Train began in 1949 as part of the celebration marking the 100th anniversary of the Gold Rush. Since then, it has traveled from Lake Tahoe to Placerville every year.
It means that for 77 years, Americans have gathered together to commemorate a historical event whose central lesson was that large numbers of people will abandon common sense if someone whispers the word "gold."
The train holds a unique distinction of being the only Bi-State Moving Historical Event by Nevada and California in the United States.
The title is so specific that it is practically guaranteed to remain undefeated, meaning not even a left-handed, one-armed accordion-playing saloon owner in Virginia City could enjoy equal fame.
The South Lake Tahoe Police Department escorts the procession from Round Hill into California and through the city limits. One must admire the spectacle. Modern police vehicles equipped with radios, computers, emergency lights, and enough technology to launch a small moon mission carefully shepherd a caravan designed during the administration of James K. Polk.
After the wagon train leaves the city, the California Highway Patrol takes over and guides it toward Echo Summit and eventually Placerville. The transfer of authority resembles an international summit, except that the delegates are horses.
And I suspect the horses are the wisest participants in the entire affair. They have no interest in anniversaries, historical commemorations, state recognition, or civic pride. They walk down the road while people take photographs and congratulate themselves for temporarily recreating the transportation methods their ancestors spent generations trying to escape.
Yet there is something admirable about the whole business. In a nation obsessed with speed, efficiency, and arriving five minutes earlier than necessary, a wagon train stubbornly crawls across the Sierra Nevada every year and reminds everyone that history is not merely something found in books. Sometimes it clogs traffic.
And so the great procession rolled onward once again, escorted by police, admired by spectators, and pulled by horses who undoubtedly believe that a human is a curious species, always inventing faster ways to travel, then gathering once a year to celebrate moving slower.
