You’re driving down U.S. Route 50 in the dead of the Nevada desert. They call it the Loneliest Road in America for a reason. It’s just miles of sagebrush, heat waves shimmering off the asphalt, and the occasional dust devil dancing across the flats. Then, out of nowhere, you see it.
A tree. Not just any tree, but a massive cottonwood draped in thousands of sneakers, work boots, and high heels.
It looks like a hallucination. It’s weird. It’s gritty. It’s the tree of shoes Nevada, a landmark that became the soul of the desert before someone decided to kill it.
Most people think of the shoe tree as a single, static thing. Honestly, it’s more of a saga. There’s the legend, the murder, and the rebirth. If you’re planning a road trip out past Fallon, you need to know which tree you’re actually looking for, because the one everyone talks about in the history books? It’s gone.
The Argument That Started an Icon
Legend has it the whole thing started with a fight.
Back in the late 1980s, a young couple was trekking across the Great Basin. They were newlyweds, or maybe they were about to be. Accounts vary, but the bartender at Middlegate Station, Fredda Stevenson, used to tell the story best. Apparently, the bride had lost a chunk of their money at a casino in Reno.
They pulled over by a giant cottonwood—the only shade for miles—to argue. She threatened to walk. He told her she wouldn't get far without shoes and tossed her footwear high into the branches.
He drove two miles down to the bar to cool off. After a couple of beers and some stern "marriage advice" from the locals, he went back, apologized, and eventually threw his own shoes up there to match hers.
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Why people kept doing it
It sounds like a tall tale, right? Maybe it is. But after that, the floodgates opened. For twenty years, travelers on Highway 50 felt this weird, irresistible urge to add to the pile. It wasn't just littering. It was a ritual.
- Military boots left by sailors from the nearby Fallon Naval Air Station.
- Baby shoes tossed by parents who had visited the tree years earlier.
- Athletic cleats and even the occasional pair of skis.
By 2010, that tree was carrying thousands of pounds of leather and rubber. It was a 70-foot monument to human weirdness. It gave people a reason to stop and breathe in a place that usually feels like the edge of the world.
The Night the Tree of Shoes Nevada Died
On December 30, 2010, someone showed up with a chainsaw.
They didn't just trim it. They murdered it. They cut deep into the trunk of the 80-year-old cottonwood until it toppled over into the dirt, its branches still heavy with the footwear of three decades of travelers.
The locals were devastated. People in Middlegate cried. It felt like a member of the family had been taken out in a drive-by. The Churchill County Sheriff's Office investigated, but no one was ever caught.
The fallout of the vandalism
Why would someone do it? Some people thought the shoes were an eyesore or "desert trash." Others speculated it was environmental activism gone wrong. Whatever the motive, the act of vandalism didn't stop the tradition. It just moved.
You can’t kill a desert legend that easily.
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Where is the tree of shoes Nevada now?
If you're looking for the original, you'll find a stump and a memorial. But the tradition didn't die with the old cottonwood.
About 2.4 miles east of Middlegate Station, a new tree has taken the crown. It’s a bit smaller, but it’s already becoming "the" tree of shoes Nevada for a new generation. Thousands of pairs have already been flung into its branches.
If you want to find it, put these coordinates in your GPS: 39.2942° N, 117.9868° W.
It’s on the north side of the highway. You can’t miss it. Just look for the glint of sunlight hitting a pair of dangling Nikes.
Tips for your visit
Don't just drive by at 80 mph. Stop.
- Bring a pair. If you have old sneakers you’re about to toss, tie the laces together. It’s harder to throw them than you think.
- Eat at Middlegate. You have to try the Middlegate Monster Burger. It’s massive. If you finish it, you get a shirt (and a serious food coma).
- Check the weather. It’s the high desert. It can be 100 degrees at noon and freezing by sunset.
The real meaning of the shoes
Is it art? Is it garbage?
Some people hate these trees. They see them as a blight on the natural landscape. But in a place as empty as central Nevada, the shoe tree represents a connection. It's a way for someone from New York or California or Germany to leave a mark on the "Loneliest Road."
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It’s a reminder that even in the middle of nowhere, you aren't actually alone.
How to make the most of Highway 50
The tree of shoes Nevada is just one stop on a much longer journey. If you’re doing the full Loneliest Road trek, make sure you grab a Highway 50 Survival Guide at a visitor center. Get it stamped in towns like Austin, Eureka, and Ely.
If you get all the stamps, the state will send you a certificate signed by the Governor. It sounds cheesy, but honestly, it’s a great souvenir for a drive that most people are too scared to take.
The new tree is thriving. It’s proof that you can cut down a trunk, but you can’t kill the impulse to participate in something bigger than yourself. Go see it before someone else decides to bring a saw.
Pack an extra pair of shoes. Make sure they’re tied tight. Aim for the high branches—the ones that have survived the wind.
To see the tree in its full glory, plan your stop during the "Golden Hour" just before sunset. The light hits the hanging shoes and creates a silhouette you won't find anywhere else on Earth. Once you're done, head back to Middlegate Station to sign the guestbook and hear the latest theories on who really cut down the original giant.