The word “NEVADA” appeared in big wooden letters over the highway to be followed immediately by tired looking casinos and then we knew we were out of tightly corseted California and into the moral swamp of the snowy state.
Turpitude aside Lake Tahoe looked it’s usual gem-like state, turquoise waters deepening to impenetrable black topped by shiny white caps, the whole surrounded by mountains themselves capped with July snowfields. I haven’t been here in years and apparently neither have a great many others. Incline Village was an ant heap of hopeful swimmers in advanced states of undress who parked their cars everywhere and then some. Signs flashed notices that parking lots were full. We pressed on around the north shore getting stopped by roadworks, inching forward until finally we broke loose on Highway 50 and headed down from 6500 feet and pine trees to the desert floor and Carson City where the quartermaster could supply us with mango smoothies and Serrano ham to keep the wolf from the foot during the dangerous crossing of Nevada’s desert wastes. 13 hours to Moab on the Loneliest Road in America… shock! Horror! Drama!
We left Santa Cruz on Sunday morning around eight. It was cold and foggy and inspired me to wonder how hot central Nevada might be in a couple of days.
San Francisco looked lovely if foggy. We skirted the city to enjoy Crissy Field and the sea breeze where Layne made me a ham sandwich for lunch. We stopped by the DeYoung Museum in Golden Gate Park to check an Ansel Adams exhibit. Sunday was a tad bit crowded and they had extended the shoe from this it’s last day to August 6th.
I confess I prefer the photography of Clyde Butcher but Adams was the master.
Ever popular!
We crossed the Golden Gate, that monumental bridge that symbolizes The City.
$6:25 to leave the city but nothing to enter. They charge by plate so the journey our fee will have to travel means almost certainly we will be paying a late fee…
Rob and Miriam showed us a good time and we chatted as you do after years apart…
Miriam is from Argentina and I’d have picked her brain had she been inclined but she did grow up in wine country. We shall locate San Juan when we get there.
Rob is an organized soul and he could easily pop up pictures from 1995.
Wedding time.
We meandered back through the city, pausing to walk Rusty and enjoy the light.
And yes the homeless problem is nowhere near being solved in a city of impossibly expensive land.
The Bay Bridge is not the Golden Gate and spits you out into the suburbs of The City across the bay.
Google sent us east through endless suburbs into open country, half desert pierced by interstates leading to Sacramento, the capital. It was 95 degrees.
We drove up interstate 80 into the Sierra Nevada foothills past Auburn into the 4,000 foot altitude we were seeking.
The Gold Run rest area was mostly empty and we slept well with nighttime temperatures around 70. In a van, even one with battery powered air conditioning you try to stay close to bearable temperatures. To sleep well at night in a hot summer you seek altitude.
And if the rest area has a pleasant dog walk your buddy will thank you.
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