Wiggin’s Trading Post

We stopped at the Trading Post because Brad wanted to get some steaks and sausage from their butcher counter. I struck photographic gold while I wandered behind the building; they have a full junk yard back there. Old wagons, farm equipment, hardware, all with a ruddy rusted pantina.

About 15 miles from the Nevada/California border, half way between Reno and Susanville, Chilcoot is a stop for hunters and fishermen on their way to Frenchman's Lake. A few scattered houses, a trading post, a restaurant, nothing else.

Across the street at the Chilcoot Frosty, we ordered burgers and fries. You know those brown lunch sacks, the kind you took to school? Well, we got one of those filled to overflow with French fries. I noticed a little handwritten sign in the window that read, “Exclusive, limited time only, Milkshake with fresh apricots.” How could I resist? The first milkshake I’ve had in over eight years, probably longer. Basically a frosty in a cup, mixed with apricots, but oh, so good.

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