It’s always bizarre to wake up somewhere so completely different from where you went to sleep. The shock of snow covered peaks in the near distance was a welcome surprise and much appreciated by my newly clean hair and body. Sayonara dusty desert sand! Unfortunately this haven in the middle of nowhere (at the junction of highways 93 and 50) is nothing if not smotheringly Republican: “Elect Anyone BUTT Harry Reid.” (He is evidently blamed for the recent demise of Ely’s coal mining industry. I still don’t get it.) A couple steps out of their oversized Ford pickup: he in a “You Need Jesus” t-shirt, lighting a Marlboro – oh, the all-American boy – she in too-small jeans, flip flops, and a pink camo tank top. Pink. Camo. Tank top.
Our waitress at the Big Apple Restaurant? Diner? Eatery? was eboulliantly cheerful in a Midwest meets Pacific Northwest kind of way. Her infectious cheery earnestness went even farther when she told me I had beautiful hair. (See discourse on curly hair – it’s in particularly fine form today.)
Departing the Big Apple establishment we discover Dan left laptop, cord, and sandals on top of car. Oops. That;s what happens when low blood sugar kicks in. Discovering this faux pas with a delectable mix of incredulity and hilarity – it’s a miracle the laptop stayed during the quarter mile drive – and one sandal was missing, easily recovered in the Motel 6 parking lot. All errors rectified, back on the road. None other than Hwy 50, the infamous Loneliest Road. More never-ending scrubby sandstone desert. Impatiently awaiting the granite – and water! – of Tahoe.