When you are in Gold Point, look for a Walt. Actually, don’t look for him, he will find you. You’ll get good stories and cheap burritos. Look in his eyes and you won’t ask why he moved from New York, back when it had seven million people to this town which now has seven. Tip him well, perhaps he’ll tell you how to get to this cabin, “Free. First come, first serve.” Less than ten miles of dusty road and you’ll be the only ones in perhaps 400 square miles. Never mind the myriads of spent bullet cartridges of more gauges than even my friend David has tried. Your woman won’t mind the busty handygirl calendar. The view of Death Valley and the Milky Way so thick you have to clean the cream off your mustache will make up for it. Tread carefully, you are on Howard Hughes’ old property and there are plenty of mine shafts gaping.