So when we finally moved from the east coast back to California, we decided to drive one of the cars cross-country. I’d always been curious about what the U.S. looked like driving by, but I’d never really gone east of Dallas or so. Everything east of there was just some blur I saw from a plane dashing from one coast to the other.
We’re in a bit of a hurry—the moving van picked up all our stuff in beautiful New York, and was scheduled to be in California within 5-6 days. We piled into the car, and started driving.
First stop was Buffalo (to see East Aurora and one of the centers of the arts and crafts/craftsman movement.) Next day: no plan. We weren’t sure how far we’d go, and after a couple of horrific lines getting onto toll roads, we weren’t about to get off if we didn’t have to. Lunch was in one of the east-coast-style rest stops where you don’t need to leave the turnpike, and where there’s one choice for meals. By dinnertime, we were passing the outskirts of Chicago, and the traffic sucked and we couldn’t see any services, so we just kept going trying to get away from the insanity. By about 9:00 that night, we were on the outskirts of Davenport, Iowa, and I was having problems keeping my eyes open. It was absolutely dark out there in a way a city kid like me has enever seen, and so when we finally saw an oasis of brightly-lit motels, we stopped.
We woke up the next morning in the West. We were surrounded by prairie. Unlike the last thousand miles, we could now see the horizon, and there was precious little in the way. The coffee shop had the required set of local farmers, and it was pleasant and relaxed in ways we just hadn’t felt for a long time.
More dashing. Ogalala, Nebraska (great hippie bar-be-que place out by the reservoir), Denver (to see friends), Glenwood Springs (crafts fair ten blocks down the road on the hottest day of the year). We also got a call from the truck driver; he was stopping to see family in Dallas, so we could slow down a bit. Then Salt Lake and flashbacks of a previous life for my wife.
Then, we do the day across the desert. Driving across the salt flats, climbing into Nevada, pushing the poor Camry to insane speeds as we get closer to California. Then, familiar territory. Reno looks like it did on family vacations, the Boomtown casino’s still a nice place to stop. Finally, we follow the Truckee River a bit and end up at Lake Tahoe. We called ahead; one of the old 1950’s motels on the north shore has a vacancy in a room with sliding glass doors looking out over the lake.
So we stop, we get out of the car, and… we’re home. The sun’s shining like we remember it ought to. We can smell the pine trees and sage, and the air smells right. We look out over the lake, and even in June the mountains south of the lake are covered in snow and reflect in the lake.
I don’t know why it took me so long to decide to head back to California. When we got to Lake Tahoe, we knew moving home was the right thing to do.
And after that, we made it up over Donner Pass without resorting to cannibalism. Not everyone can say that.
