In Lucin, the pandemic is as unknown as a Martian

Off in the distance lies the hangar/home of Ivo Zdarsky, lone inhabitant of the abandoned railroad town of Lucin, Box Elder County. | Lee Benson, Deseret News

LUCIN, Box Elder County — There must have been a hundred of them, bunched up together like it was the Memorial Day sale at Macy’s.

None of them had a mask on. They did not separate. They were as impervious to COVID-19 shaming taunts as a bunch of cows.

Wait. They were a bunch of cows.

Tanner Benson, Deseret News

Rush hour in Lucin, Box Elder County.

The quest was to find a place the pandemic has not touched, a spot on the planet where coronavirus is as unknown as a Martian, and it led us to here: A lonely dirt road 5 miles off a lonely paved road in the northwest corner of Utah, with a herd of black Angus cows constituting what passes for rush hour at the entrance to the town of Lucin.

It’s possible there may be somewhere in the state as small as Lucin, but it is not possible to be any smaller. According to the internet, the population of Lucin is one.

My son Tanner and I drove to Lucin on a recent afternoon. To get there we took I-80 to Wendover, where we bought gas for $1.85 a gallon, continued on the freeway a few miles until we could turn right onto Nevada Highway 233, which became state Route 30 once we reentered Utah.

Right after the sign that said “Welcome to Utah, Life Elevated,” there was another sign that said “No Services 93 miles.”

About 10 miles along that road, there’s a right turn that leads to Lucin.

If the name sounds familiar, it’s because Lucin used to be a big deal in railroad circles. Lucin was one of the towns that sprang up when the transcontinental railroad was completed in 1869, located some 44 miles from Promontory Summit where the golden spike was driven. In 1904 the town gained more fame when the Southern Pacific Railroad erected trestles in the Great Salt Lake that sent trains directly across the lake from Ogden to Lucin, cutting off those 44 miles. The engineering marvel became known as the Lucin Cutoff.

Lee Benson, Deseret News

The railroad still travels through Lucin, Box Elder County, but the town is gone.

Nowadays the train route across the lake remains, but the trestles are gone, replaced by a causeway, and Lucin the railroad town is gone, too. All that remains are the tracks, a sign by the ponds that used to provide water for the trains and is now a favorite of target shooters — the sign, not the ponds — and an old pump house that could stand a paint job.

The lone Lucin resident is a man who builds airplane propellers and designs airplanes. His name is Ivo Zdarsky. According to various reports, he defected from the Soviet-controlled Czech Republic, the land of his birth, in 1984 by flying a hang glider under the radar to Austria. From there he made his way to America, first settling in Los Angeles until he grew tired of the crowds and in 1997 bought 400 acres of land in Lucin for $99,000 and built an airplane hangar that doubles as his home.

In 2012, no less an authority than The New York Times sent a reporter and photographer to Lucin to write about Zdarsky and take pictures of his “ultimate man cave.” (See “The Only Guy Out There” nytimes.com/2012/03/29/garden/in-a-remote-part-of-utah-life-alone-in-a-hangar.html).

Armed with masks and gloves, Tanner and I hoped we could meet Ivo and ask him about not having to social distance in a place that practically invented social distancing. But there’s a gate about a quarter mile from his hangar/house that is locked and requests “No Trespassing.”

Unable to get anyone’s attention, we turned around and drove a couple miles across the desert to a clearing where a collection of desert art called the Sun Tunnels is located. The Sun Tunnels are large concrete tubes aligned so that on the winter and summer solstices you can see sunrise and sunset through them. They were built in 1976 by land art sculptor Nancy Holt, whose husband, Robert Simpson, created the Spiral Jetty that is located almost due east on the shore of the Great Salt Lake.

We had no idea they were there. Another pleasant surprise, like the $1.85 gas.

We did finally get to talk to a human. A man from Cache Valley was camped in his RV by the Lucin ponds. Darrel was an ATV rider with “One Track Mind” on his baseball cap and a shiny four-wheeler on a trailer next to his pickup.

He’d been there for three days, riding here, there and everywhere, and wasn’t sure how long he’d stay but said he was in no hurry to get back to the pandemic, was happy for the solitude and hoped it would last. His biggest fear was that he’d have company.

“Don’t tell anybody about this place,” he said.

“Sorry. Too late,” we told him, explaining why we’d come. But as we drove away in the direction of the paved road and the world where the pandemic exists, we seriously doubted he’ll soon be overrun, unless it’s by cows.

Tanner Benson, Deseret News

The turnoff to Lucin, Box Elder County, on state Route 30, where paved turns to dirt.

from Deseret News https://ift.tt/3dcMHq1