We spent the day driving thru a palette of dun tones - dramatic mountains and rockfaces in monotones. Strangely beautiful and desolate – the weird and seedy appearing now and then.
The photo we missed – a placard in a yard “Will Rogers never met Harry Reid.”
We detoured to a ghost town of Rhyolite, near Beattie. It was a gold town in 1906 – population of 10,000 people – but had only a few good years. In the 60’s an eccentric couple bought a bottle house (bottles rammed into walls) there and collected pieces of glass that they fashioned into garden whimsy.
The Bikers bar was celebrating Mardi Gras so the cook, a grandmother that usually makes chilli, made gumbo, rice and beans and Mardi Gras cake. Homecooking at its best – as was the price of $3.50.
On to Fallon, casinos and military base – a Comfort Inn to catch up on sleep (would you keep your arm on your half of the bed) . And now, we are in northern California.
Going from barren Nevada, over snow-covered Tahoe mountains and down into the lush Sacramento valley of green was like traversing the seasons in 5 hours.
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