Vegas and Beyond — Unruly Skoolie

Was it six hours from Jerome to Vegas? I couldn’t tell you, but I can say that cruising into the Vegas Strip after a whole day driving through the “nothingness” of the desert seemed like a dream… or was it a nightmare? Strange to think that Vegas once looked just like all the desert “nothingness” that surrounds it. “This spot’s good,” I imagine someone said, and they began to build pyramids and fountains and golden lions and castles. Why not?

I’m not a gambler, but not because I’m attached to my money. I love to be released from the burden of cash just as much as the rest of these sinners; it’s losing I hate. Love to play, hate to lose, so The City of Sin appeals to me purely on a conceptual level. It’s a voyeurist’s paradise and for our two to three hours in the belly of the beast, I fluctuated rapidly from amusement to pity to slight disgust to amazement. Seems a sad place to call home meant only for those who can stomach superficiality... or else embody it, but whatever. Different strokes. It’s an American institution so here we are, doing it…. kind of (kid in tow keeps the sinning to a minimum).

We’re out of there quickly and back into the wild the next morning and I’m relieved. Though Vegas is perhaps unlike other cities, it’s unsettling how quickly "the city" ceases to make senses after connecting to the great outdoors. Highway 95 is shrouded in mystery as it runs stark along the west end of the enormous government missile test range, nuclear waste dumping zone and the ever-intriguing Area 51 and Groom Lake. There are some characters out here and my inner X File fangirl is on full alert. I want to believe, but more, I want Oregon so we blast through the desert and find ourselves eventually in another world…. the other-worldly Lake Tahoe.

Tahoe! We look cute, but this shot does not justice to the lake.

Tahoe. Wow. It’s my first time and I’m certainly impressed. It reminds me of Crater Lake, but like Disney Land. Gear clad skiers and snowboarders walk the streets fresh off the lift which begins and ends right in town while the rest of us enjoy fresh brews by the lake. The vibe is high. The winter season is sadly (for some) coming to a close but the snow gods have been merciful and the die-hards probably have a couple more weeks of bliss until Tahoe is turned over to the easier going fancy types who will undoubtedly enjoy the glory that is spring and summer on this mountainous lake. It’s hard not to be taken with the place, but it’s actually harder to find somewhere to park the rig- most campgrounds are still closed for “winter” and apparently Tahoe has buckled down on bootleggers in the last couple of years. Motel it is. We find a modest shelter, enjoy our weekly showers and sleep. When we wake, it’s snowing.

The drive out is gorgeous, the Truckee River glowing deep blue-green like nothing I’ve seen. It just looks cold. The snow is coming harder and I’m glad I’m not driving because all I can really do as we get onto the white highway and begin the journey over the Sierra Nevadas is whisper words of safety and affirmations to myself, “Nice and slow,” “We have new tires,” “We’re totally safe and this is totally normal,” “We’re not gonna die.” The kid is thankfully totally unaware of the apparent doom before us and is happily watching cartoons on the tablet while I white-knuckle it behind our intrepid captain. When we finally come out of it, he admits, “that was scary,” and I feel better for not being a total wuss. Just a Texan, I guess…

Eventually we make it out and the forest leading into the central valley is so sublime. Its quiet and ghostly and rich. I can finally taste Oregon in the distance. But first, Chico.

We stop for a few days to visit with some of Skeets’ old friends, Hans and Sarah and their two daughters Bella and Violet. They moved from the last home we visited, a more rural homestead in Cloverdale, and now enjoy a new home in a new development that is decidedly cookie-cutter and suburban for better and worse. We park on Wisteria (isn’t that the name of every suburban street in all those shows?) and immediately feel that every neighbor is peering out of their blinds, afraid. Whatever. Hans and Sarah are happy to have us and are tickled at the audacity of The Unruly. They get it.

Spending time with Hans and Sarah and the gals is comfortable… and comforting. Phoenix is in another level of heaven having two kids to play with and although I’ve only met them one other time (under very similar circumstances when we were traveling though Cali two and a half years ago) their company is easy and homey. I wish I could spend more time getting to know Sarah, though she has sometimes debilitating health issues, I find her to be strong and sharp and sweet and her goodness has shone through Bella and Violet who are forever kind and patient with Phoenix and show him the best time. I’ve seen some bratty and entitled little girls… these are not those.

We have been fed well, laundered our clothes and bedding, showered and have been shown loving company and alas, it’s time to go again…. and plus a pesky neighbor has called the sheriff on us for illegal camping (HA!).

To Sarah, Hans, Bella and Violet: thank you for everything- we owe you twice now. And to Sarah, specifically: I send you strength and love and insight. Until we meet again...

Reunited with the earthly remains of our friend, Saguaro.

The drive out of Chico and up into the central valley of California… ahhhhh….. orchards and vineyards and fruits and nuts and farm stands all up and down the bucolic 99. All I need are hot springs, waterfalls and farm stands.

May life be so pleasant for all of us.