Addventures in Vacationing!

When we last communicated, we had struggled into Dave Walley's Resort, south of Carson City Nevada, near the crossroads hamlet of Genoa, the first settlement (by white people) in what would become the Silver State. The muffler on their 1996 Honda was dangling precariously  from the back end of the car and it was late Saturday afternoon.

Sunday required a trip to the supermarket about five miles away for  groceries. Minden and Gardinerville are small towns adjacent to  each other that boast several casinos between them, somme very chic boutiques and one very well appointed grocery store. Supplied with victuals and constantly listening for any sounds of an exhaust system being jettisoned, we made our way back to our little vacation paradise and spent the remainder of  the day getting to know the pool and hot baths.

It turns out that the resort is right on a geological fault line and the water is heated from deep beneath the earth's surface. We weren't very concerned that a volcano would suddenly erupt under our feet, and, since Kris loves the water, made the most of our Sunday afternoon.

Monday morning concerned a trip to the muffler repair shop, located across busy highway fifty from another casino, where the car was fixed and our credit card was burdened with new charges. Then it was off across the mountain to Lake Tahoe.

Lake Tahoe lives up to any superlatives you might ever have heard about it. The water is at one and the same time remarkably  clear and a variety of stunning shades of blue. The lake is nearly surrounded by mountains that - at least in April - are snow covered. Near the south end of the lake is Emerald Bay, as scenic  a place as you can imagine. The shoreline rises several hundred feet above the lake surface, providing majestic views. There are big trees too, probably puny compared to the redwoods of California, but plenty large enough for a transplanted easterner such as me.

Before getting there, however, the traveler must pass through Stateline Nevada, aptly named, a community devoted to extracting as many dollars as possible from Californians who  want to gamble. Casinos almost on top of  one another right up to the "Welcome to California" sign.

After looking at the bay, we ate a picnic lunch and took a scenic detour through some very nice forest country back to Nevada, Dave Walley's, and the pools.

Tuesday was our day for Virginia City. Readers old enough to remember the "Bonanza" show on television might recall that the ranch called the Ponderosa was shown  on the show's opening map as located near Virginia City and Lake Tahoe. In fact, we probably were staying on the fictional ranch.

Virginia City owes its existence to the famous silver strike of 1859, the Comstock Lode. Eventually, huge amounts of silver were taken from the area, fortunes were won and lost, and the landscape was forever altered by the detritus left by  the miners. Comstock himself turns out to have been a drunk and a braggart whose name is attached to the strike because of his efforts at self-promotion.

Nowadays, the town relies on tourism to keep going. Saloons, hotels, the ubiquitous gambling parlors, and museums front the main street in town. My favorite saloon name was the "Bucket of Blood."

We strolled the streets and had lunch there. I only mention it because the saloon we stopped at featured a beer called "Ichthyosaurus" I think. The menu urged, "Order an Icky!" Somehow the name didn't deter me, so I did order an  Icky, which turned out to be rather bitter. Take a tip from me and don't order an Icky.

One other thing I might mention. Along highway fifty east of Carson City on the way to Virginia City there are billboards advertising the "Bunny Ranch." If you should be in the mood to get a pet rabbit, stop in. I can't think it's very profitable though, ranching rabbits. We gave it a pass.

Wednesday was our chance to drive all the way around the lake. There are plenty of photo opportunities, especially on the Nevada side. We walked in a state park, watched an osprey hover over a small lake not far from Tahoe, had a picnic lunch at another state park with a beach on the north shore, crossed into California  again, and drove along the western side through more very large trees (and some road construction sites that we were assured have been going on forever), until we arrived back at Emerald Bay for another look at some world class scenery. It was all wonderful.

Thursday and Friday I'll cover briefly. We made little side trips, saw a pair of golden eagles soaring high above us, and spent an afternoon strolling around Genoa. We stopped at what was called the oldest bar and eating establishment in Nevada, where I won a couple of bucks on video poker, sampled some Teriyaki jerky (seriously) that didn't appeal to me, and learned more about the history of the pony express.

Friday was our wedding anniversary, which I'll not write about except to say it was very  low key, and quite nice.

Saturday was checkout day, so we left Dave Walley in the rear view mirror, found the eagle's roadside nest and watched as a western kingbird tormented a much bigger eagle. We'd never seen anything quite like it.

East of Carson City, highway fifty  is called the "Loneliest Road in America." It lives up to itsome s name. Fallon, fifty miles east, is a fair sized town, but then it's about two hundred miles through sagebrush, relieved by winding roads through mountains, before you see another town.

About thirty miles west of that town, Ely Nevada, Kris suddenly started shouting at me that there was something in the road. At first I couldn't see it, but then I did and braked just in time to avoid hitting a dog that was running right down the center line. At Kris' urging, we pulled over to the side and she coaxed the dog into the car. It was a medium sized black dog, looked to me to be part beagle, was wearing a collar but no tag. There was no human habitation within miles.

The dog looked thin but was not starving or anything and didn't smell gamey, so we guessed it hadn't been in the wilderness very long. Obviously it wouldn't survive very long, though, running down the middle of the road, even in the very light traffic of the Nevada desert.

We drove on to Ely with the dog, Kris giving it water, and stopped at a Shell station (You have to take advantage of your chances to buy gas in this part of the world.) where the attendant directed us to a local animal rescue operation in town. We went there, arriving just as they were closing, and the woman there refused to take the dog from us. When asked, she provided directions to the pound north of town.

Kris and I were in a serious contest of wills by this time. She was adamant that we could not leave the dog at a pound where it might be euthanized, and I didn't want to take the dog all the way back to Colorado Springs. (I bet you're all rooting for Kris to win the argument, aren't you.) She did agree that we could take a look at the pound.

Alas, though we drove all over north Ely, we couldn't find a pound. By now it was late afternoon on Saturday, places were closed or closing and wouldn't reopen until Monday. We were both having bladder issues, so went to another Shell station - Ely is a two-Shell kind of town it  turns out - took care of our little personal issues and went inside to buy some dog food. Kris asked the people there if they would like a dog and the young man behind the counter agreed to take her (the  dog that is). So it all turned out well.

I'm cutting this short because Kris is up and showered now and we're almost ready to hit the road again, bound east to explore Arches National Park and then head for home.

Ah, Vacation

Here I sit at a place called "Dave Walley's Resort" south of Carson City Nevada, on Sunday morning. My bride of nearly twenty-seven years is still asleep and I've checked the news, the baseball scores, and one other matter on the Internet. I'm looking out the living room window at a very attractive mountain and despite some sinus problems, it's a very good day.

Carson City is a bit more than a thousand miles from Colorado Springs. We decided to drive rather than fly here so we could see more of  the sights and especially stay over at Salt Lake City,  which neither of us had ever seen. We took what has become the usual route from Colo Spgs, as the big green road signs call our town, west to Hartsell Colorado (Don't blink or you'll miss  it.), then north through Fairplay and Alma in the mountains, over Hoosier Pass, down to Breckenridge and Frisco, then boogied west on the interstate to Utah.

We had to brake hard to avoid killing a fox, saw another fox at a distance, and the largest herd of elk either of us had ever spotted. There must have been forty or more beasties grazing at a ranch north of Hartsell. Don't misunderstand, they were wild animals, just taking advantage of the rancher's grass.

After crossing a lot of desert in Utah, scenes of austere sublime beauty, we arrived in Salt Lake just after dark and checked into a hotel about a mile from Temple Square. We wanted to see the very center of the Mormon world, so after a short hiatus, we drove over.

The great Mormon temple is a huge edifice, topped by a golden angel - I guess Moroni - blowing a trumpet. It's all alabaster, looks to  my unschooled eye to be Victorian in style, and is surrounded by very pretty courtyards with statues commemorating scenes from the Book of  Mormon and the history of the LDS devotees. The most attractive of them depicts a family making  its way across the plains with a large handcart which doesn't show much in the way of supplies. The man's pants are ripped at the knee, both the man and the woman look rather gaunt, and a child is cuddled up asleep on the cart. I marvel at the fortitude of the Mormon  pioneers who did walk across the plains all the miles from Missouri to the Salt Lake.

Yesterday morning, after a little misadventure involving directions, we set out west for Nevada. The Great Salt Lake truly deserves its name, we saw miles and miles of slat flats, two salt harvesting plants  and many seagulls. I wonder how seagulls originally got there, the lake is a thousand miles from any ocean. Anyway, we began seeing signs for the little town just over the state line, advertising casinos and strip joints. (Lap dance, $10.) There's a world of difference between Utah and Nevada. I'll bet there are any number of sociology papers about backsliding Mormons sneaking over to Nevada for sin. I mentioned that to Kris, who quickly replied that there are lots of people in Utah who are not Mormon. And she's right of course.

Nevada is greener than Utah, at least eastern Nevada is, but as we drove farther west it looked more and more arid. The foothills are eroded, there are talus piles at the bottoms of them, and very little vegetation. (Aren't you just impressed that I know a geology term, though I think good geologists would say "talus cones.") There are a few small towns along Interstate 80, all of which seem to feature casinos, but the country seems almost uninhabited otherwise. There was an occasional hawk or vulture and a lonely pronghorn or two.

About a hundred miles east of Reno we heard a noise from the back of the car and we began to  sound more like a motorcycle than an automobile. Clearly there was an exhaust problem. By the time we reached Reno we started to hear dragging from the tailpipe. We got off the highway immediately, actually pulled into the parking lot of a furniture store and took a look. The muffler appeared to be hanging by a thread.

We walked into the store, explained that we weren't in the market for a Lazyboy, and asked if there was a muffler repair place in the vicinity. The sales clerks were very nice, checked the Internet and made a few calls, but it was already late afternoon on Saturday, and repair shops were closed. After a good deal of palavering, the clerk directed us to a Walmart where we could get some wire and kind of jury rig the muffler until Monday morning. So there we were in the Walmart parking lot, while I crawled under the car to tie up the muffler. There was very little clearance and not much in the way of places to actually tie the thing off. Finally it was done, and we were able to continue, following the not very helpful directions to Dave Walley's. And that's why I'm sitting here telling you this story. By the time we arrived the wire had stretched or broken, and the muffler was again almost on the ground.

I'd like to say we'll just flop today and get to a muffler shop tomorrow, but unfortunately we're short of groceries, so either we eat at the resort - very expensive -  or risk the muffler finding a grocery store from this rather remote location. I checked the Internet and there is a Meineke shop in Carson City. That's the other matter I mentioned. I'll probably be sitting around there tomorrow morning. Ah, vacation!

By the way, I think Dave Walley was a  pony express rider. At least there's a big pony express motif here.

The Young Baseball Season

The national scene is so depressing that I for one can't bear to post anything about it. Instead, I'll talk about baseball.

We've only gone through two and a half weeks of the season, less than ten percent of the scheduled games have been played, but still there have been some developments the pundits did not anticipate.

How about those Colorado Rockies, certainly the most pleasant surprise of the young season. The emergence of Dexter Fowler as a power threat - seven homers already from the lead-off spot - along with the resurgence of Troy Tulowitzky and continued excellent play by Carlos Gonzalez have propelled the Rocks to an eleven and four start. The supporting cast is good too, with Michael Cuddyer and second baseman Josh Rutledge, a young player poised for stardom. Granted, Todd Helton is not nearly the hitter he was a few years ago, but Jordan Pacheco is being eased into the first base position and Helton will play fewer games in hopes he'll stay fresher with more rest. Nolan Arenado, considered a super prospect, waits in the wings, ready soon to take over at third base. Catching is in the hands of Willin Rosario, not considered very good defensively, but baby can he hit with power.

In baseball, it all depends on pitching. The Rockies have cobbled together a rotation of starters that few people outside of Colorado know anything about. Jorge de la Rosa can be a top leftie, now that he's recovered from elbow surgery. Juan Nicasio, whose neck was broken last year by a line drive, is back and pitching well. Jhoulys Chacin can be very good or very bad. The last two starters, Jeff Francis and John Garland, are retreads, but both might be able to provide quality starts. The bullpen looks like a strength with Rex Brothers and Rafael Betancourt, both very capable on the back end.

In the end, all will depend on the five starters, but if they falter Drew Pomerance and Christian Friedrich are available at Colorado Springs.

One thing the Rockies will have to prove they can do is beat the Giants in San Francisco.

Almost as nice a surprise as the Rockies has been the play of the Boston Red Sox, consensus choice of the experts to finish last in the American League East. Red Sox pitching has been dominant so far and there has been enough offense to bring ten victories in the first fourteen games.

I like the Red Sox' chances, especially considering that David Ortiz is about to join the team after the almost endless rehabilitation of his heels. Big Papi's big bat in the middle of that lineup should make all the other hitters better. Certainly, the first three hitters, Ellsbury, Victorino and Pedroia, will see more strikes to swing at as opposing pitchers will be reluctant to walk them ahead of Ortiz.

What's best about the Bosox, though, is the tandem of Jon Lester and Clay Buchholz. The Sox will go as far as those two bulwarks of the rotation take them.

Disappointments? The Los Angeles Angels are off to a slow start. They might recover, but will have to do so without Jered Weaver. I don't think they can catch the Oakland A's. Likewise, the Tampa Bay Rays and Toronto Blue Jays have not performed as everyone thought they would. The Giants, aside from that three game sweep of the Rockies, have been mediocre, but it's always a mistake to count them out.

I can't say I like either the Los Angeles Dodgers or the New York Yankees. All that money spent and they seem to have assembled teams composed of players on the downhill side of their careers. The Yankees, despite winning some games recently, are relying heavily on older players and second stringers. I don't think they can last.

Maybe I'll try for some social comment in my next entry. Then again, maybe I won't.

Civil War Sesquicentennial Update

It's time for a Civil War sesquicentennial update! When last we checked in about the great American calamity, it was 1862. The Union Army of the Potomac had won an equivocal victory over Robert E. Lee's Army of Northern Virginia at Antietam Creek, but their commander, General George B. McClellan, had allowed the Confederates to escape back to Virginia.

President Lincoln used the victory, such as it  was, to  issue his preliminary Emancipation Proclamation, which he made permanent on January 1, 1863. Then, disgusted with McClellan's lackadaisical conduct, he fired the boy wonder and replaced him with Ambrose Burnside.

Meanwhile, in the trans-Appalachian west, Confederate forces advanced as far north as Perryville Kentucky before being turned back.

Burnside understood he was expected to attack Lee's men, and did so in December 1862, at Fredericksburg Virginia. The result was a lopsided Confederate victory, a Union retreat, and what became  known as the "Valley Forge of the Civil War" for the Yankee army. Burnside led his army west during the last days of the year into a severe sleet storm. The men, the wagons, the artillery, everything was soon coated in heavy ice and completely bogged down. The storm was not Burnside's fault, but it made him seem to be a luckless general, and Lincoln soon replaced him with "Fighting Joe" Hooker.

The series of defeats and botches during 1862 had bred a great deal of dissatisfaction among the men of the Army of the Potomac, so  much so that desertion now became a major problem. Hooker moved quickly to confront it by improving food supplies, and by granting furloughs to the troops on a rotating basis. Hooker also worked to improve the northern spy service, so that by spring he had very good intelligence about Lee's army. As he planned a new campaign he knew within a thousand how many soldiers Lee had, and where they were located.

West of the Appalachians, Ulysses Grant was now commander of a Union army charged with opening the Mississippi River to northern shipping and denying it to the rebels. Controlling the river also would   effectively sever Texas and Arkansas from the rest of the Confederacy. Grant's target was Vicksburg, a citadel overlooking the river whose guns shut out northern boats.

To get at Vicksburg, Grant, after several other efforts failed, decided to work his way south along the west bank of the Mississippi until he had bypassed Vicksburg, then cross to the eastern bank, swing around behind the city and take it from the land side. But to do this he would have to jettison his supply wagons, leaving behind all hope of reinforcement. His  men would have to live off the  land.

In fact, they lived off the land quite adequately. Moving swiftly once they were across the river, they stripped southern barns and animal pens, and enjoyed what amounted to a huge camping trip. Mississippians, both white and black, would suffer very serious privation as a result, but by 1863 northerners were in no mood to worry about southern sensibilities. Denying foodstuffs to southern civilians and soldiers meant a shorter war. By June, Grant had Vicksburg cut off.

Next month: the battle of Chancellorsville, and the prelude to Gettysburg.