Sparks

At Sparks, we hit the jackpot.

Enormous flea market? Check.

Kettle corn vendors? Check.

Plenty of room to walk and sights to see? Check.

Bathrooms? Check. (Well, port-a-potties, anyway.)

I had never seen such a large flea market. In fact, Sparks was one big flea market. We literally did not see any part of the town that wasn't covered in booths. At first I thought it was some kind of rodeo or festival, since I heard a PA booming somewhere in the distance.

While the 4-year-old braved the port-a-potty, I asked some kind-looking strangers about the event. "Excuse me," I said. "I've got a really ignorant question... but what exactly is going on here?"

"This is the flea market," they told me, clearly trying to restrain eyerolls.

Turns out the person on the loudspeaker was just a raffle announcer. (After all, what good is a flea market without a raffle?) Sparks apparently is a VERY small town, boasting about 9 people on a normal day. Twice a year, though, it turns into an antiquer's (and people-watcher's) paradise.

We left with lighter bowels, an enormous bag of kettle corn, and a bottle of Sioux City Sarsaparilla (the Grand-Daddy of All Root Beers). It was a great flea market and a very fine place to stop (though the port-a-potties were a tad fuller than I typically prefer).