The Sweet Part of Nevada

From the north end of the lake the highway follows the valley of the Walker River, which I also wrote a Wikipedia article once. It was a good investment, learning all that geography and it comes back to me when I visit a place I wrote about. 

Driving north along the river near just north of the lake I see that a shelf of light storm clouds is jutting from the mountains to the northwest. We are going to get a little weather on this sunny day, a preview of the winter storms to come. Yet it feels more refreshing than anything else to see the clouds. As I drive I notice that there is a rainbow band in the shelf. How can that be. I find the sun behind me and use the physics of rainbows to deduce the rainbow band I am seeing in the shelf of the storm is just the anchor point of a giant arc that would fill the sky, but which is not visible except at where it meets the ground. It happens to descend into the earth exactly where I am heading. 

I always use a paper road map, as I have since I was first a traveler, when I was seven years old, and traveled with my grandparents, and they made me the navigator at times, as I was impeccable at keeping track of our location. 

There is only one kind of road map to use for Nevada.  GTR Mapping. They make a series of maps for the western states that is the only kind one should use for road trips. While stopped, I looked the folded road map on the driver's seat, I recollected from long ago how the Walker River descends from the Sierra to wind through a series of valleys, eventually emptying into the lake. Now driving upriver along the Walker, I notice how the valleys become more green until one finds agriculture---fenced fields of grass where cattle graze delightfully.  The further one goes upriver, the greener the fields become. It's a cow paradise. This the Sweet Part of Nevada, so achingly beautiful and emerald after crossing the arid desert. 

I stop in downtown Yerington, which is the first real civilization, a town that does not feel like the end of the world like the mining towns and the remote hamlets, but a real town. I walked around the downtown taking pictures of the signs in the sunlight. Local businesses. I love Americana emphemera---the signs that are taped in windows and announcements. A laser printed sign for in-person voting the door of the small convention hall. A steakhouse entrance had printed signs grumbling about how they have to make people wear masks. We hate it too, was added on the sign.

From Yerlington going upriver the rod winds through more scenic fenced farms and then enters a canyon, the kind of beautiful narrow rocky canyon I am used to from Colorado. It was a bit of paradise. I parked momentarily to listen to the rushing stream. From where we live in Arizona, one has to drive a long distance to hear such a sound. 

At the top of the short canyon I pulled off into a rest area, The wheels of the 4-Runner made deep ruts in the mud from the rain that had passed through. I am glad to get it dirty that way.

I got out of the car. The aroma of sweet rain drying in the erupted sunlight was like paradise. I found myself in the parking lot where a hiking path went up the barren ridge. The map indicated there was overlook over the Walker River. I gave it a go, starting up the hill but quickly realized the path was too muddy and could compromise my balance, so I turned back and accepted the pleasure of strolling around the base of the hill by the river as the sun came out from the brief storm.

When I felt I soaked in enough I drove onward, with still plenty of sunlight, as I always like to leave myself. 

The road cuts over a pass. You leave the Walker Valley and come down into the valley of the Carson, another river that descends from the Sierra down into western Nevada, providing a lush area of green fields where cattle roam. I found myself driving Gardnerville, which I thought would look like home, given the time I spent there eight years ago. But I barely recognized anything there. There was so much growth. I did not even remember where my friends lived, that I housesat for, and the office where my friend had his business selling electrical medical devices, and the bar where I watched the local hero Colin K. in the Super Bowl. Gardnerville was exploding. Also Minden was full of life. The airport here is where Trump had one of his rallies. It was half full of Californians who had come into Nevada to see him. This is the New Nevada---Gardnerville and Minden. 

From there US 395 becomes a four-lane freeway. Quickly I was in Carson City, the capital, where I got off the freeway at the exit for my hotel. It was still early, so before checking in, I used to the last of the full daylight to drive around town and reacquaint myself with the capital, including the location of the Statehouse, the Legislature building, and the Supreme Court. Carson City is not very big, so it only took a half hour to give myself a good tour before heading back to check into my hotel by the freeway.

The hotel is part of a casino of course. It's nice and fairly new. As I check in, there is a young woman in the lobby., sitting on chair and wearing a mask,  Going to the casino,? she asks me. I tell her no, I'm checking into the hotel. She informs me she has to take my temperature. OShe holds a remote sensing thermometer up to my forehead. I pass. She gives me a sticker with the date on it. I put it on my black leather jacket that I am wearing. Once a day per guest, she tells me. 

At the counter, after giving my id the woman begins checking me in. I ask her a question. "I have to know, what happens if I go out to breakfast tomorrow and when I come back, that thing goes off when they point it at my forehead?

"We would have to ask you to check out," she tells me, in a somewhat serious tone.

"Would I be able to go get my things from my room?" I ask her (this is what was bothering me)

She laughs. Of course I could.

That breaks the ice. She grumbles about how they hate the temperature checking. "It's part of the New World Order," she says, with resignation. "The new normal. We have to get used to it." She says this half seriously and half mockingly.

"Well let's not get too used to it," I say, firmly. That perks her up. 

"Yeah, we gotta go back to normal she says."

"Yes we do," I said.