Dear Family, Friends, and Diary,
Part three of our Little Western Trip started with a drive north, brown hills and rocks on our left side and meadows on our right. Having passed these cliffs the day before, we felt it was worth stopping on the highway shoulder and capturing the scene. Highway 395 is the major highway along the eastern side of the Sierras and someday, we may make a longer trip of it, but only when the peaks get decorated with snow.
Pause one was the Tesla Supercharger at the Topaz Lodge and Casino. The plan for charging on this side of the Sierras is complicated by the relative scarcity of fast chargers. Carson City, Nevada's capital, has none. The Topaz Superchargers were so un-busy that they were draped with spider webs, so I don't think EVs are all that common.
After a Casino breakfast, we drove to our next stop: Urgent Care. Yeah, that's right, another medical complication. Marianne had developed an "angry rash" on her upper arm and a couple of equally upset spots on her tummy and leg. At the Carson Urgent Care, we learned that our insurance would not cover "urgent" care, but would work at an emergent care facility a dozen miles back. That facility was like a small Emergency Room, not connected with a hospital (and the associated waiting lines). The ER doctor diagnosed the arm rash as Shingles and the spots as infected bug bites. Possibly the result of low white blood cell counts. Everything is connected.
(Coincidentally, we had been distracted on an earlier trip this year when I developed a Shingles rash. That was diagnosed in a video exam from Kaiser in Maryland or Northern Virginia. Maybe our Shingrix shots lessened the effects of the chickenpox-revenge disease, but there was no prevention.)
We rewarded our patient (and the driver/care-giver) with cookies from Schat's Bakery.
All this delay meant we could check into the Federal Hotel and Casino, our Carson City home for a couple of days. We had a room with a view, barely. When I made reservations, I had failed to notice this was a casino, so it was not our normal welcoming lobby, but the rooms were OK, spacious if not luxurious.
Checked in, we drove up the hill to friends Claudia and Ward. We sat on their delightful back patio* for chatting and a great salmon barbecue. Marianne and Claudia video-communicate frequently, as they refine their art and complete art classes, but in person is always better. Besides, that way Ward and I expand the conversation beyond painting.
*( Pictures below, from the next day)
We faded early and returned to the Casino to watch night three of the Democratic National Convention. An elderly version of President Clinton gave one of the key-note speeches, remarking that he had just celebrated his 78th birthday. Me too, so that made me feel even older. Nancy Pelosi was the next speaker, and that didn't help. Hopefully, night four will be filled with younger Dems.
A travel-day morning and a Starbucks start, so I can stay current with diaries. Otherwise, I forget everything that is not a photograph. It's a comfortable way to begin our day.
After starting up, we moved on to breakfast with friends, Claudia and Ward, at L.A. Bakery Cafe. It's a small place and one of their favorites.
After breakfast, we drove to their home for a day of hanging out. By the end of the day, we had tons of pictures, including yard picts I promised from yesterday's diary. From deer in the front, to quail and flowers in the back, we can see why they enjoy their near outdoors so much. I know I did.
The next order of business was art work for Claudia and Marianne. Most weeks, they share painting class via video, but today it would be much more personal. Claudia has a large and organized studio that offered plenty of space. "Work" ... I don't know. I think it was more of a play date.
While the wives were being artistic, Ward gave me a grand tour of some of the mountain bike trails he helps build and maintain. He and other volunteers develop tens of miles of Carson-area trails, some of which connect to system reaching as far away as Lake Tahoe and, in principal, Mexico and Canada via the Pacific Coast Trail. And all this starts just behind their house. (The map shows where I took pictures, but I won't put ALL of them here. Way too many!)
The road up from the trail-head parking lot started with a locked gate, but we were identified as "trail crew": Ward, a boss, and me, a photo journalist. He was also the skilled truck driver as we ascended the narrow, rocky road, following a centuries-old route built to exploit the forests that used to exist before the area was settled. We stopped in a couple places to enjoy the path and views off to the Carson Valley and beyond.
Ward's friends and fellow trail-builders were out enjoying their path.
The waterfall bridge was an impressive work, especially considering
it was installed by manual-labor volunteers.
All in all, a great day, thanks to our hosts.
In the evening, Marianne and I settled into normal evening screen activities: the televised Democratic National Convention's nomination of our next president, Kamala Harris and my YouTube viewing of the latest volcanic eruption in Iceland. It's all good.
On Friday, we headed over the Sierras to Folsom, California. On Ward's advice, we took Highways 88 and 89 to get out of Nevada, rather than immediately get on the larger Highway 50 over to South Tahoe. Reportedly, traffic in the town is always a mess. I had worried about needing a charge, but it turned out that the Tesla had plenty of range to make it all the way to Folsom. It helped that, overall, we were going down over 5,000 feet and recovering energy we had "stored" a week ago.
We made the trip without scenic stops. Maybe we were just getting into a get-home mode, although we still have a couple of travel days left. Marianne has been disappointed in this trip, calling it "just a time filler". I sensed she was comparing it unfavorably to drives through quaint Bavarian and Italian villages. My trip planning had no way to live up to such expectations. Sorry. We'll be home soon.
Our stop was in Folsom, a town with considerable-for-California history, starting with the 1849 gold rush. We were staying in the historic part of town, now filled with tourist-centric shops, restaurants, and bars. Our meal at Scott's Seafood Roundhouse was excellent. Maybe we can redeem the trip, meal by meal.
Our friend Barbara could not meet with us on Friday, due to just returning from her own trip and the complications of grandchildren duties. Understandable. We planned to meet up on Saturday.
Saturday. A day with a plan. I would wake early, as usual; go to Starbucks for writing, as usual; come back to get Marianne for breakfast, as usual. Then visit the Folsom Prison Museum and, later, meet up with friend Barbara. So far, so good.
Breakfast at Karen's Bakery was two flights of stairs up and a block away. When we got there, we knew it was a good place because it was crowded with a young and prosperous-looking crowd. Marianne's decaf cappuccino was particularly good (however, I have to admit subsequent events have blurred what else we had.)
Hurrying back to the room, as one often does after a meal, our plans were dashed, thanks to a puddle of slick mud at the end of the staircase. Marianne stepped on the mud, slipped, fell, and caught her fall with her left arm. She screamed.
Her right knee hurt, but her left elbow and arm were way more painful. We struggled to get her back to the room, where we cleaned her up enough to be presentable at the nearest Kaiser Medical Emergency Department . Our second ED visit on this trip.
Two hours, two X-rays, a diagnosis ("broken radial head of elbow"), a fiber half-cast, and a handful of new pain pills later, we headed back to the hotel, plans for this weekend and the next several weeks significantly altered.
We went home on Sunday. Marianne struggled upstairs and settled in for as long as it takes to get her leg functional. As for painting, who knows?
Stay tuned.
John and Marianne