** NOTE: I'll post pics tomorrow. Need to hit the sack. **

Hey, everyone. Finally the end of day 2 here in Grand Junction, Colorado. Similar to yesterday, today was reeeaaal good.

Jim and I agreed we'd get out the door at 8am, so naturally I stayed up until 4am and set my alarm for 7:15am. Got up, did a couple of work chores, fed the dog, got showered, loaded the jeep, grabbed the free breakfast (they're not serving these days, and no sit downs, so you get to brown bag it) and headed out the door. On the billet for the morning were 25 Ely and McGill casinos, all but 7 of which I had chips in hand.

First stop was to head out to McGill, a tiny town just north and east of Ely. On the way out, found the Fireside Inn near the airport pretty easily. Prior to being the Fireside, this property was the Airport Lodge. A tank and anti-aircraft gun are the metaphorical (un-?)welcome mat. Just so everyone knows, the address for the Fireside Inn in TCR (1125 Murray St), is not only a misspelled version of the more correct "Murry St", but that location is just a reg'lar house on a reg'lar block with reg'lar folks living there. Not a very likely place for a casino, and it obviously wasn't there. Perhaps that was just the address that the chips were sent to? If so, time to bust out the bulldozer and flip that sucker over to see if there's any chips under/inside it. Next trip, perhaps.

Continuing north, I had been alerted by fellow chipper Brian Meath that the 50 Club was about 2mi south of the town of McGill and should be easy to spot with the sign still up, but SURPRISE, the sign was not there and I blew right past it (at the time). Continuing into town, no people out and about. I was hunting for the Stray Antlers Elks Club. No address, no word from you guys (you're letting me down...), so I literally just drove all around. The town is on a hill, with the highway traversing the hill on a slightly level(ish) uphill, and most of the houses and other structures are on the uphill side of the highway. I zig-zagged up and down, traversing the hillside, searching for my prey. Found lots of buildings that COULD have been an Elks Lodge, but no labels, logos or lodge numbers to give one away. As I was heading up one particular street, a spotted an older gentleman moving his garbage can. I brake hard and flip a hard right and pull up to him, probably startling him a bit. I roll down my window and give him my most charming "Good morning! Can I bug you for a minute?" and he replies with a chipper "Sure! How can I help you?". I introduce myself and tell him what I'm looking for. I find out his name is Gary, and he's a former narcotics officer from Las Vegas who moved to McGill with his wife when he retired. "Bought a rundown house like that one over there, and there, and there..." he says, "and I fixed it up real good", clearly not thrilled that his neighbors didn't put the same effort into upkeep and improvement that he did. I asked if he's heard of the Stray Antlers or any Elks Lodge in McGill. He said no, the only Elks Lodge nearby was in Ely. He knew where the 50 Club was and told me it was just past the train tracks on the way back to Ely. We then chatted for at LEAST another solid 20 minutes while poor Jim was sitting in the other car (we're transporting both of my sister's cars to Denver, in case I didn't mention that yesterday), texting and calling and leaving us to chat (he doesn't collect chips, CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?). I was getting quite a local history lesson. The town was founded in 1905 and used to be VERY segregated. Not just black vs. white. He mentioned Chinese and Slavic, and said others were affected as well. He brought this up because the Victory Club (on the main drag) was for "furriners" who were not allowed into the 50 Club or much of anywhere else in town. Seems like that might possibly be a candidate for chips, but it's not listed anywhere. He said each nationality/culture/race had their own facilities - grocery stores, meeting halls, and so on, but of course none of that exists today. He said the residents used to enjoy spring water right from a pipe on the hill above town, but the county (?) decided someone MIGHT get sick, so they put in a pump below town and now everyone has to BUY groundwater - nice racket. On the way in I had noticed a big retention pond with a fountain in the middle. Now it made sense why it was there. Gary suggested I check some of the buildings up near what is now a Caldecott mine (so the sign says) to see if there's an Elks Lodge up there. I did and there wasn't. I handed Gary my business card and he said "Great Basin Internet, huh? The internet here is horrible. Can you fix that?" Well, after all of the wonderful information he just gave me, I'm sure going to try. I got his (former) business card with his home number on it and told him I'd surely call him after I got back. Just as I was about to pull away, he asks "Do you have a chip from the VFW?". I said no, I didn't think the VFW here ever had any chips. He says "Well, they did. Want one?" (!!!!!!!!!) He runs back into the house and comes back with a white, plastic, gold hot stamped drink token. I thank him for the wonderful gift and we say our goodbyes. Thank goodness we arrived on garbage day, huh?

Back to Ely we went, stopping at the now easier to spot 50 Club. No sign, but it's in the right spot just past the tracks and about 2mi south of McGill. Gary had said a few people have tried to resurrect the property, but keep giving up, so hard to say what the current status is (where's that dang sign, I wonder?). A peek inside shows some construction/cleanup going on, and the locks are shiny, so maybe an effort is being made. There are some operational minivans and a newish corolla parked in front of the houses/cottages just to the right. I consider knocking, but figure it's unlikely that they'd know anything. I haven't even seen them and I can tell you they're young 'uns. Old timers in small towns don't drive mini-vans. They have pick-em-up trucks, dammit. And maybe an old cruiser bike with metal fenders from a lifetime of DUIs. The PD guy I ran into is clearly an exception (or an well-informed imposter).

Heading back to Ely, the plan was to hit the odds and then the evens on Aultman St, the main drag through town. Then, we'd pop over to the Elks Lodge on Campton St. in spite of me not having a chip from there. Several casinos are "no more". Nothing but empty lots with addresses on either side divulging their former location. I'd like to thank Brian, again, for providing me with several missing addresses, which made the task much easier. The only addresses I didn't have as of this morning were for Miners Club, Capitol Buffet (by extension, I just assumed it was the same as the Capitol Club). I don't have a Capitol Buffet chip anyway, so it's kind of a moot point since there can't/won't be a picture, dontchathink? Brian said his research says there was no Apex Club in Ely. Only Gabbs, which I bypassed as being too far off of Hwy 50 to visit this time around. I spot the White Pine (county) Chamber of Commerce, park in front, and walk in to see if they know where some of my missing quarry can be found. Wayne, the executive director, is on the phone, facing away from the front door, impatiently insisting that someone on the other end of the call fix their internet as they can't get anything done. I wait a few more seconds and announce (to his back) "I can fix it". He doesn't miss a beat and slams the phone down, spins around and THEN asks "Can you?" Seems like he might have wanted to confirm that before hanging up, right? Anyway, he says that was his 3rd call this morning to AT&T. On hold for 20min, 40min, 10min, and each time getting nowhere and transferred and disconnected, and (well, you know how things are with these big internet/phone companies, right?). I tell him I have some questions for him, and if he wouldn't mind letting me at his computer and router, I'll see what I can do while we chat. He says "Be my guest, but I've already tried everything" (standard response from customers who have NOT, in fact, tried everything). I ask him about the 5 or 6 missing casinos and he tells me where Capitol Club, Longhorn Saloon, and Collins Court were (awesome!). While working on his network, I'm also jotting down these addresses and descriptions (I'm quite the multitasker). He asks how many casinos I have chips from. I tell him 949. He asks if that's the whole country. I say nope, just Nevada. He's shocked that there were/are that many, a pretty common response from mortals who don't collect. He asks how long it will take to fix his problem and I let him know it was fixed about a minute after I started. He's elated, so naturally, I turn the visit into a sales call. He said the Chamber is expanding and hiring more staff and adding more desks, phones, etc. I let him know we are also our own phone company and can give him a service that beats the old fashioned multiline setup he currently has and he'll only have to pay for one phone line, not 4 (plus fax). Remember what I said about garbage day? It's also good to show up on a weekday when the Chambers of Commerce are open, and particularly beneficial if you can time it during a 3rd failed and futile attempt to get customer support from "the big guys", so take note if you're going to try and duplicate my trip. While this is all going on, my buddy Jim is patiently twiddling with his phone, waiting for me to shut up so we can finish up Ely and start moving east to Baker and beyond.

We march up one side of Aultman and down the other, Jim working his magic behind the camera, taking pictures of yours truly with my bounty of chip booty in front of old casinos, newer businesses, and empty spaces where casinos once flourished. Jim peeked over one fence and saw an old lit metal sign piled among a bunch of other construction wreckage. He motions for me to join him and we go around the backside into the alley and into the junk pile. At first, I think it says "Bowl" (like a bowling alley), but there's no "B". I excitedly say "It's an original sign from THE OWL CLUB!", thinking I'm going to find out who owns it and take it off their hands. I then realize there's no Owl Club (Casino) in Ely and guess it was just a bar sign. If anyone here thinks it's valuable, let's discuss the merits of a joint venture and MAYBE I'll divulge the exact location, hehe. Meanwhile, I'm on the phone with one of my tenants, who just had a restraining order filed against him by his wife and wants to know if I can help him. Wha? How? I guess I get to look forward to wondering if the rent will appear in the coming months (they're current, thankfully). But you're not here for relationship discussions. You want to know what the hell is going on with my chips, my casinos, my trek, my pilgrimage, right? Moving on...

Jim and I are about to leave town when I suddenly remember that I promised you all that I'd pick up chips along the way. I dive into Jailhouse (the most interestingly named casino ever, I think) and ask the person in the cage if they have any table games (no). If anyone has any table games in town (no). How about chips in the vault or behind the counter or in your pockets or at your house or at your friends' houses or in your seat cushions (no, and the gaming officials are here doing an audit). Clearly, she's playing hard to get, but I think I can crack this nut. "Are you SURE you don't know anyone in town who might have some chips laying around in their junk drawers or in books they inherited from their parents/grandparents?". Suddenly, she remembers that her boyfriend has a bunch and she doesn't think he really wants them. HOW DID YOU NOT REMEMBER THAT EARLIER?!?, I quietly rage to myself. I give her my business card and ask her to contact me if he does want to get rid of them. I assure her that I'll pay for shipping. She says "I go to Reno all the time, so I can just bring them to you". You go to Reno "all the time"? From Ely? Clearly, she has a pilot's license I was heretofore unable to glean from her persona. Either that or "all the time" means she's been to Reno twice. Exactly twice. I leave, thinking I'll probably never see any chips from her, but stranger things have happened, right?

The wind is kicking up hard now. My tenant calls back, wanting to vent and/or pour his broken heart out. He's really is a very sweet young man. Emphasis on "young". He has 3 children with this girlfriend that's causing him grief and he's worried she's going to take them onto tribal land and that will be the last time he'll see his kids. His voice is cracking at various times, and I'm having trouble balancing the decision to let him get it all out vs. telling him to contact a family law attorney vs. go talk tot the local PD/Sheriff. Meanwhile, I really need to hang up because my reading glasses have flown off and skidded 50ft down the not-very-smooth street (glass side down, naturally), my casino list is flapping all over hell and gone, my long red box of chips in airtites, tokens, and silver coins is taking all of the strength to keep from weather-vaning itself out of my hands, and Jim and I are leaning into this headwind trying to make our way to the last stop, the Elks Lodge, 2 blocks off the main strip. You thought I was going all NCR on you, eh? But it WAS chip-related, so back off.

We opt to quit fighting the wind, head back to our cars, and drive over to the Elks Lodge for the final picture (with the Stray Antlers Elks Lodge chip as a proxy). Jim has just now realized that the next overnight stop on our planned trip is in Grand Junction CO. He says "We're driving all the way through Utah today? Did you know that's like 400 miles?" I say "Yep." His face begs for more information. Maybe a shortcut. Perchance a narrower part of the state to drive through, so I assure him with "And we still need to divert to Baker to find 2 casinos that we have no actual addresses for". I can see that this is news to him in spite of the detailed itinerary I gave him a week ago. "We're not going to get there until midnight if you keep finding people to yak with", he says with the clarity that comes with spending more than an hour with me out in public. "Yeah", I laugh, "that may be. You want to just go straight to Grand Junction and I'll hit Baker solo and meet you at the hotel later?". He says "I can't do all nighters like you, so I think that's a good idea". We gas up and he heads out. I run in to use the restroom, and just as Jim predicted, I strike up a conversation with an old timer paying for his gas (old timers walk in and pay cash, dammit. None of those newfangled cards the government monitors you with. - another free tip from me to you). He regales how things used to be, but isn't any help with Miners Club or Stray Antlers, the 2 remaining nemeses of the day. A little water for the dog, a purchase of a couple cans of Bang! energy drink, and off we go to Baker.

I hit the 487 turnoff to Baker and I can see the small burb in the distance. Once I get into the downtown metro section of this metropolis, I'm searching for Great Basin Casino primarily. I'm positive that the Border Inn is at the other tip of "The Y" (the turnoff to Baker from the East). I drive ALL the way to the other end of town, don't spot anything obvious, and turn around to drive ALL the way back through town again (this is getting exhausting). I see the post office and wonder if it's staffed. There's a car parked by the door, and I hope it's not just a resident checking their PO Box. I walk inside, and lo and behold it IS staffed. Joanne and a customer politely listen to me ask if they know where the Great Basin Casino is/was. They've never heard of it, but tell me it's probably the same as the Border Inn. I said maybe (the dates of operation for the two casinos in the Chip Rack don't rule that out). They mention that there was maybe a casino at "the Y" (I'm thinking the whole triangle of roads leading to Baker is the "Y", but apparently their meaning is just the west tip, where I just came from). They ask if I saw the green building at the turnoff. I said I did, but I was referring to some green buildings near town. After several minutes of banter, the customers says "Gary would probably know". I'm thinking, "Of course GARY would know. Gary. Why didn't I think of GARY?.... Who's Gary?" Turns out Gary is Joanne's husband. Not only that, but Gary owns the Border Inn. With Denise (Denise?) Ex-wife? Girlfriend? My mind wanders, in case you haven't noticed. I ask if maybe we can call Gary. She doesn't hear me or ignores the question and says "Rex is who you need to talk to." Rex? Denise? Gary? My mind is reeling so I get my phone out to start typing random names, words, and other disjoint facts into my notepad. "Who's Rex?", I ask. "Rex Leonard", she responds, as if to distinguish him from the other Rexes that were running through my not-from-around-these-parts head. "Rex Leonard?", I inquire, as if to stimulate further discernable facts that I can use to determine if there's a Great Basin Casino anywhere in the area known as The Great Basin. Her answer? Are you sitting down? "Gary will be here in a few minutes". Gary? Gary's back in the conversation? What happened to Rex? Is he dead now? Did I miss something? I drop that for the moment, intently aware that the owner of one of the only 2 known casinos in the area is about to arrive, and will have ALL the answers I'm seeking. A vehicle arrives and... it's FedEx, looking for someone who has to sign for a package. She's not at home. Can't leave it with the Postmaster (actually, probably could, but...). She'll come back tomorrow. FROM WHERE?! Is there a large FedEx facility anywhere within 200 miles, I mentally inquire of myself? She leaves and the mythical Gary replaces her. Finally, I'm about to get all the answers... and I do.

[Deep breath - cue soap opera music] Turns out Denise is Gary's mom. Denise and her husband owned the Border Inn originally. It burned down in '81 and they sold it to a CA concern that also owned the Nevada Hotel and the Bank Club in Ely, among other properties. They rebuilt it but eventually defaulted on the loan, so in '86 Denise (minus her husband, not sure if he passed away or they divorced or ???) and Gary reposessed it and have owned it ever since (so THAT'S who Denise is). [Side note: Gary also said the reopened it in '91, so there's a discrepancy there in my notes]. Now, who the hell is Rex? Rex owned the Great Basin Casino at the Y (west tip), a green building on the north side of the highway (that I wasn't even looking at because I was so focused on Baker to the south, so that's why I didn't see it). Rex abandoned the property 25 years ago and there it sits today. I innocently ask if I can maybe talk to Rex or get his phone number to chat with him. A look of serious consternation befalls both their faces. "You don't want to talk to Rex. He's more likely to shoot you than let you finish your first question". Sound advice, especially in light of what I'm considering a near-miss-of-death experience knocking on the door of the mobile where the Frontier Tavern was the day before. I opt instead to ask Gary if he has any chips from the Border Inn still sitting around. He's not sure, but will check and let me know (if any of you try to snake these from me, I'll never write an awesome story like this again for you, ever!).

I thank them for their time, offer to bring high speed internet via fiber and fixed wireless to their community (they're skeptical until I produce my business card, so maybe?), and head to the car to double back and find the Great Basin Casino. And find it I did, but before I proceed, I must derail this chip adventure one more time.

You may not have surmised this for the simple reason I have not yet discussed it (and why would I?), but remember Disco? My sister's dog? Who has so patiently waited in the car every time I've gone off to snap a picture of my beloved chips? Well, not for lack of me trying and offering opportunities, but this dog has not s**t or pi**ed even ONCE since we left Auburn on SATURDAY (hope you weren't drinking anything when you read that last sentence). Yeah, SATURDAY. I've been stopping every hour or three to let her stretch her legs and tell her to go potty. I'm not stupid. I know how to doggie-daddy. She just stares at me, sniffs a few things, and stares at me again. Eventually, it's "Hop in" and she obediently goes right back to her blanket on the back seat of the jeep. No whining, barking, scratching my neck, nipping at me... nothing. She's eating her food and drinking lots of water, but her little pla-doh fun factory and her little kidney still are simply not producing any output. That said, she's been on a short leash every time we've stopped. But it's for good reason. The very first time I stopped on Hwy 80 to let her pee, I no more than opened the door to let myself out when she bolted between my back and the front seat and took off down the frontage road in the exact direction of Auburn. Uncanny pigeon-like reflexes, this dog. I thought my sister was going to disown me because clearly that dog was remaking Disney's "Homeward Bound II" and was not holding back on the throttle. An impressive quarter mile time to say the least. Jim and I hopped in the cars and were about to give a futile, but required-for-insurance-purposes chase when a woman pulls up, rolls down her window, and hooks a thumb to the back of her car where THE BAD DOG sat quietly. She saw us shouting to the dog, and the dog in full gallop, so she just opened her back door and Disco just jumped in. Wha? We were super thankful, but I vowed to never let that dog out of the car without the leash again for the entire trip. Back to the present... I call my sister and give her the news. "She's not going to the bathroom", I say, trying not to be gross. She says "Did you tell her to go potty?" Really? REALLY? "Yes, I did, and in fact, I was downright insistent, but she mocks me". Since Disco wasn't showing any signs of distress, we opted to just see how things went. Only 2 more days until she's with my sister again anyway, and then it's HER problem. SHE can tell Disco to "go potty" and maybe it will work this time. In any case, I'm about to leave the burgeoning duty-free international shopping zone that is Baker, and I decide to find a spot with no one around where I can let Disco off the leash, hoping that with nothing but the Jeep around, she won't stray. The Jeep comes in handy as I select a very rocky road to amble down, where I had spotted a copse of saplings that shield Disco's view of the towering and enticing Baker skyline. She does her usual unproductive sniffling, and then it happens. The miracle of pee flows. I'm joyous. I text my sister "Stop the presses!". Moments later, Disco assumes the doggie crabwalk that can mean only one thing. "Houston, we have poop off!". Another text to my sister, "Disco's prairie dogging it as I speak!". Thank goodness that's over. I expect Disco to have a huge look of relief, an "It's about time you figured out I have bladder shyness, you cretin!" glare. Instead, she just hops back into the truck without so much as a by-your-leave. We leave.

In case you forgot, we're on the hunt for the elusive Great Basin Wild and Wooly Casino, located juuuuuuuuuuuuust outside the internationally renowned sage capital of the world, Baker. There's the green building. I pull up and park. Graffiti on the front. Door blocked. The back door is locked, but the hasp has only one screw and it's 3/4 hanging out. I COULD remove that and peek inside, but I opt to respect the lock, in spite of a lack of "no trespassing" signs anywhere. The front door turns out to be held by a short length of baling wire wrapped around a screw on one end and a loop loosely circling the knob. A pallet leans against the jamb on both sides and a smashed up slot machine is tipped on its back and slid up against the pallet to keep it upright. Security at its finest. The knob turns (hmm). I furtively look around, fully expecting a wild Rex to pop out with a shotgun. I see no cars for miles in any direction (remember, there's THREE directions to look out for - this is a very complicated B&E I'm working here, but lucky for all of us I'm a professional... sorta). I unloop the wire and peek inside. I expect emptiness, mold, mildew, and despair. I see... slot machines? Seriously! At least a dozen of them. All toppled over, cash boxes out and bent from someone smashing them to see if they could find anything. Several in the front room, and I can see tops of more through a cut out pass through window int the wall to my right. There's stacks of papers, trash, tickets (not TITOs - something else). Black trash bags, displays, shelves, and miscellaneous other crap. I lean in and take a few pictures. At least I know this was definitely a casino, and by all accounts, it's the one I was looking for. I get my chip out and take my requisite picture. Whew!

Only one more stop. Border Inn. Pretty uneventful, in spite of having just met the actual owner of the joint, who's probably one of those connected New York mafioso types with a first lieutenant named Rex. I get my chip pic and decide to pop inside to see if Gary's there so I can thank him. There are several cars out front, plus a few more gassing up, including a school bus. Remember the undeliverable FedEx package from the post office? It was for the school bus driver. I resist running over to tell her she missed her package, even though I think it would be hilarious for her to try and figure out why some rando guy with California plates (my sister's car, remember?), who moments earlier was taking selfies of himself holding an inanimate plastic disk, would know about a personal, requires-signature package she was expecting. C'mon, you know that would have bugged the crap out of her for hella days if I just blurted that without explaining myself, jumped back in my car, and did burn outs in the gravel parking lot and flipping her the bird as I headed east without even looking back. But I digress...

I walked inn (get it? "Inn"? Bwahahahahaha) and found myself in a casino with one of the last remaining unrestricted licenses for a small casino, but no table games to be found. ~30 slots patiently waiting for someone... anyone... to come visit them. A couple of young men were hanging out at the food court. Ok, sandwich counter, deep fryer, whatever. I buy a bag of cashews and jokingly ask which machine is ready to pay off. I expect a 'we haven't heard that one before' chuckle, but instead, one of them says "I think the frog one's about to go". WHAT? I laugh my best "haha, very funny" chuckle. I then saunter casually over to the slot area and, spotting "the frog one", whip out my finest fiver and proceed to slide it into the cash muncher. But it's no bueno. Won't take it. I'm like "no wonder. They don't want anyone to put money into it because IT'S ABOUT TO GO!". I pull out a tenner, thinking my fiver (which I got back in change from these yahoos) was a dud. The tenner fails as well. I smell a plot. This is the one machine in the whole place that's going to pay and they've rigged it so no one can play it. I now suspect Gary's going to walk in, possibly with Rex right beside him (shotgun in hand, naturally) to unlock the cash muncher so they can put their own fiver in and reap the rewards. I stop playing that scenario in my head long enough to move to the machine to the right. "The fish one", I suspect the counter geniuses call it. I wonder quietly if this one's ABOUT TO GO. Let's find out. Turns out the fiver I got from these yoots was not a fake. Fishy gobbled it up and I hit max bet like a good boy. First "pull" and it's a winner. Screw work. Playing slots is the path to fortune. I've got this nailed. Next, next, next, next, next. Down to my last $0.75. Let's just donate it to keep Gary, Denise, and Joanne from hittin' the skids. Oops! Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Well, six bucks. I opt to take my 20% gain and skeedaddle before the IRS shows up. Or maybe the gaming officials who are surely done with the Jailhouse audit by now and are moving east to Chicago, where all the real corruption lives. Again, I digress. I see no TITO printer, so I hit the cashout button and await the cavalcade of pennies I so richly deserve. "Hand Pay Required. $6.00 Please Call Attendant". I did it. I broke the f'ing bank. They're going to have to go to the vault to get all that cash. They might even tell me they'll send it to me cuz they only have the $2.29 they got from the sale of my nuts (that didn't come out right). I locate tweedle-dee and he proceeds to fill out a form, like he's giving me a citation. Oh, crap. He's going to ask me for my ID and have me sign something. That's how they get you, ya know. So, do I just jet out of there, leaving my six bucks but retaining my anonymity and narrowly escaping the clutches of The Man? Or maybe tell them I don't have any ID on me? I opt to simply ask why they are hand paying a $6 payout? He says the're all that way. No matter what you win. No TITOs and the machines don't have any actual pennies in them, much less 600 of them. That's fair. I sign the form, T-Dee goes into a back room and fetches the old cashola, and with absolutely zero pomp and circumstance, thrusts it my way and proceeds back to his recharging station. No bells. No whistles. Not even a croak from THE FROG ONE.

I wish I had more to report, but that's pretty much it. Back on the highway, nothin' but high desert all around me for miles. The promise of maybe a chip or three from Julie back in Ely or Gary in Baker or Charles in Austin or E. in Eureka. I've completed my quest to find the original homes of the 45 chips holed up in my little red box (which I got from my neighbor Steve Blust, by the way - Thanks, Steve!). Only 2 or 3 casinos still undiscovered. Wish I had those 8 elusive chips so I could have taken pics with them in front of their prior homes. Made several interesting acquaintances along the way, and hopefully, kept you all entertained with my writings. This is part 2 of 2 for this trip, so you've finished all of the chapters and can move on with your lives. Thanks for joining me and until next time, happy chipping! I'm off to Denver in the morning, then flying home to Reno on Wednesday.

** I'm tired, and can't stay up to load each picture one by one right now, so I'm going to post the pictures tomorrow. Sorry. **