Our plan for the day was to grab whatever breakfast appealed to us at the little coffee kiosk next to the front desk and then head west… far west… or rather Old West, to the old antique mining town Virginia City. This is one of Kirk’s favorite vacation spots and Stacy has lots of fond childhood memories of the place. About a year and a half ago we all went up to the Reno Air Races with Kirk and Lynne, and Virginia City was a de rigueur sidetrip. I figured my parents would enjoy it.
Virginia City is up in the mountains between Reno and Carson City. The drive takes you up some pretty dog-leg rich mountain roads. My Dad is somewhat claustrophobic. Add to that a substantial fear of heights. Since Stacy gets carsick, she rode co-pilot with me as we followed Kirk and Lynne up the mountain. Dad was relegated to the second row with N. He was not happy. I think the grab-handle above the passenger door has been permanently deformed into the shape of his crushing grip. By the time we parked and rolled out of the car in Virginia City he was looking an interesting blend of pale and green.
Ever on the lookout for gunslingers and cattle rustlers, we made our way through the mean streets of VaC. Nestled between tattoo parlors and saloons with names like “The Bucket of Blood” were ice cream shops and candy stores, ready to cater to the truly varied needs of the local prospecting population. Now I didn't see exactly what all transpired, but evidently at one point Poppa, L and N ran seriously afoul of the law and ended up in the pokey.
Despite my in-laws proving to be outlaws, or perhaps in part due to it, the longer we stayed in Virginia City, the more disreputable a clan we became. As our influence and infamy grew it seemed fitting to stake our claim in the town with a photo that would serve as a warning to other clans of ambition, that we were a motley crew and to be reckoned with at risk. I think we made our point.
Deciding that this town warn't big enough for the both of us (and that Kirk and Lynne’s dogs missed them), around lunchtime Poppa and Grandma holstered their weapons and hit the wagon train for southern Cal-lee-for-nigh-A, evidently hoping to ingratiate themselves with some of the ubiquitous gun-toting posses down in them there parts. We said goodbye and watched them ride off into the sunset, which was actually quite a feat since it was only around 11 o’clock. A quick sandwich lunch and ice cream cone and we too took to the lonely trail, onward and upwards to Tahoe Territory.
The southern road out of Virginia City toward Carson City is significantly more agreeable to my Dad than the northern Reno approach. The decent into Carson Valley is much more mellow a prospect (no pun intended). Once in Carson City we paused for a second scrapbooking store browse for Stacy (the things I do to accommodate her addictions!) and then turned south on beloved Highway 395, a long way away from where we abandoned it in Bishop days before. For about 15 miles south of Carson City we flatlined through the Carson Valley while the snow-peaked Sierras, now on our right, rolled stately past. As we got to Minden, NV, we hard-righted it and proceeded up the infamous Kingsbury Grade over the mountains to Lake Tahoe - another chance for my Dad to test out the integrity of his cardiovascular system. (The valley is at around 4700 ft., and the condo we rented was pretty much at the tip-top of the pass at about 7400 ft.) Again, a rather pale-ish green Grampy emerged from the minivan when we'd reached our destination.
Our evening was relatively uneventful. We moved into the condo, did some preliminary unpacking and competitive napping, and then, like brown bears emerging from hibernation, headed down the hill toward the lake looking for our equivalent of honey and beetle grubs. Our provision came in the form of a pretty decent pizza at Grand Central Pizza and Pasta in South Lake Tahoe. That was pretty much all we needed to get back into hibernation mode, so we didn't linger to see the sites much that evening. The condo we rented was a narrow, three-story job on a hillside; the three bedrooms were all on different levels. So the kids got the top floor, Mimi and Grampy the middle ground, and Stacy and I were forced to suffer the isolation and privacy of the basement floor (so sad). The last remaining thrill of the evening was in allowing, much against Mommy Bear's better judgement the baby bears to actually sleep in the top bunk of their room's bunk bed. I was fine with that -- Mimi and Grampy would hear and deal with any things that might go thump in the night!
1 comment:
Hmmmm, not too sure about that clan member on the far left. She looks a little shadier than most.......
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