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.
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