Ramblin' and Gamblin'

Even God is still asleep when I pull myself out of bed and begin packing things up for the road. Today the Winner and I will cross the desert and navigate the Sierra Nevadas before arriving in Sacramento. Even with the extra hour I get from pushing back my watch to Pacific Time, it will be a long day.

The sun is just beginning to peak over the mountain tops when the Winner and I stop on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. The water is an odd teal and there is a fetid smell of rotting vegatation. Salt crystals wink like diamonds along the water's edge. We climb back into The Big Yellow Truck and begin the long straight trek out into the Bonneville salt flats. Wide plains of stark white stretch out to meet mountains on all sides of me.
I imagine myself flying along in a bright yellow two seater. Technically, I AM flying along in a bright yellow two seater.

"Oh my God!" I shout. "I'm going 90 miles an hour!"
"Oh my God!" the Winner exclaims. "Who would have known? Nothing is around to give you an impression of how fast you are going."

I back off the accelerator reluctantly. While there is a thrill to flying down the highway at high speed, doing so in a Penske box truck is insane. I am not insane. I am merely neurotic.

We pull into a rest stop and walk out onto the Salt Flats. The Bonneville Speedway lies 7 miles in front of us. The world's fastest land speeds were clocked there back in the 1970s. Someone more neurotic than I strapped themselves into a rocket propelled vehicle and hurled themselves at speeds topping 600 mph over the barren flats. I am unimpressed. I have gone 90 in a Penske truck.

The desert is cool today. The oppressive heat that I expected to greet me has moved east. The Winner talks to family in CT. Temperatures are 105. Here in the desert it is the low 80s, dry, comfortable, lovely. We fly by golden fields and mountain tops. Rock formations rise along side us like abstract sculpture. Midway across the state we pull into the Colt Inn and Casino at Battle Mountain. We play the slots and we win! The sound of quarters dropping into the tray make me laugh. Six dollars! Enough to buy a bowl of chili and a tall glass of iced tea. There is such a thing as a FREE lunch. An hour later The Big Yellow truck swings back out onto I-80 west. Next stop Reno.

The Winner earns her FREE vacation by reading me the newspaper. We chat about polygamy. We both agree that having extra wives would be handy. Maybe the folks who populated the Old Testament were on to something. Satellite radio follows us through the desert and we sing along to tunes from the 80s. The Big Yellow Truck sails along without complaint. My eyes scan the landscape and then drops to the dashboard. Oh MY! The Big Yellow Truck is thirsty. I tell the Winner that we will be pulling off at the next exit to get gas.

The next exit approaches and a small sign under it states "No Services." We roll along. Miles later there is a sign for Jessup but I don't see a town. I see desert stretching to both sides of me.

"Where is Jessup?" I ask the Winner.
"I don't know. It's not even on the map."

The next exit tells me that it is a junction point for Route 95. Route 95 is a dirt road to oblivion. There is no sign of civilization. Neither is there any sign of life for the exit for Naval Air Station Folsom. These exits don't show up on the map. I feel like I am in the Twilight Zone. I cross over one ridge of mountains, decend into a dusty valley, only to have to cross over another ridge of mountains. I try to coast on the downhill to conserve fuel.

"What IS the next town on the map?" I ask.
"Fenley. It's 36 miles from here. Has the warning light lit yet?"

The warning light has not lit but the fuel guage flirts with the red zone. Thirty six miles in a thirsty box truck crossing one mountain ridge after another. I think I can do it if I back off the speed a little and turn off the AC. We coast into Fenley and fill the tank. A hundred dollars later and a sigh of relief we are back on the road.

We thread through Reno rush hour traffic, cross into California, and turn south towards Lake Tahoe. The golden brown of the desert gives way to pine trees. I have missed the green. It has been two days of driving through sepia tone. The green feels like technicolor.

We drive south along the Truckee river as people in brightly colored rafts float past us. We pass Squaw Valley, once home to Winter Olympians. I find a place to park The Big Yellow Truck lakeside in Tahoe City. We stand on the shores of the mountain ringed lake and admire how the snow covered peaks are mirrored in the deep blue water. We put our hands into the water and shiver. It is cold and it should be. We are still high in the mountains. The late afternoon sun is warm on our faces and we congratulate ourselves for the easy ride through the desert. We are another easy 100 miles from Sacramento. The day has been a breeze.

We climb into The Big Yellow Truck for the final leg of our journey. We gawk at the magnificent homes and resorts that line the lakeshore. Tourists dodge us as we wend along the lake. We begin to climb up and away from the lake. The Big Yellow Truck gears down to haul us higher and higher. I do not expect this climb. The map shows a road that runs along side the lake but the lake has fallen away below us. Up we go. Up. Up. Ever up. The snow covered valleys that I admired from the distance begin to look like they are at eye level.

The road narrows. The switchbacks become tighter. Redwoods tower along side us. The view is magnificent. Signs pop up along the road admonishing us to "Share the road." Share the road? Of course we will share the road. What selfish person wouldn't share the road?

And then it happens. A sign tells us we are approaching Inspiration Point and just as I consider what sort of inspiration I could use The Big Yellow Truck becomes part of a high wire act. The road before me is 24 feet wide. There is nothing on either side. No guard rails. No stone walls. No towering trees. We are on top of the world with nothing but 1000s of feet of vertical drop on either side. I reconsider sharing the road. I decide to take my half out of the middle.

I can hear the panic in the Winner's voice as she exclaims, "Where are the guardrails?"
"I don't know. I'm moving toward the middle. Don't distract me."
"Stop talking!" The Winner shouts.

I clutch the steering wheel of The Big Yellow Truck and place us on the double yellow line. The car approaching me has the same idea. I ease right fearing that a wind gust will send me toppling down the mountain. We creep along and I am afraid. There is no margin for error. Rarely does the world hold moments for me where there are no margins for error. The adrenalin surges through my veins kicking my heart rate into over drive. I glance at The Winner. Her face is a mask of anxiety, the pupils of her eyes are dilated.

Slowly we begin to descend. The vertical drop remains to the left but there is mountain side again on the right. Signs warn us that the coming switch backs should be taken no faster than 10 miles an hour. Around the bend we go. Slowly. Oh so controlled. The next switch back tells us that the speed limit is 0.

"Does that sign say to sit still?" I ask The Winner.
"I think someone stole the "1." she replies.
I am disappointed. I want to sit still. I want to hand this Big Yellow Truck over to someone braver than me.

The Winner and I start looking for elevation signs. Seven thousand gives way to 6000. Six thousand to 4000. Then we climb again. Back to 7000. The Big Yellow Truck takes us from mountain peak to mountain peak. And finally we start to descend. Agonizingly slowly we roll downward and around one bend after another.

My breath still comes in short gasps when we see the sign that says, "Sacramento. Elevation 25 feet." Once again I'm traveling at 70 miles an hour as sports cars and impatient people fly by me, cutting me off, making me feel ungraceful. But at least I am no longer afraid. A Lexus cutting me off at high speed has nothing over the bicycle on a high wire experience I had in the mountains.

I finish my day with two double Bombay Saphire gin and tonics and then I crawl into bed. The Winner turns on the TV but my mind is full. I cannot process any more.

My last thought as I pull the plug on the day is that I will never forget this. Just as I will never forget my first kiss, or the moment I realized I have met my soul friend, or the first time a guy saw me naked, I will never forget the first time I crossed the Sierra Nevadas. And I know that I will do it again. And the next time it will be in a bright yellow two seater that hugs the ground rather than one that sways above it.