Photographs of the house

Pomegranate Tree

Grapefruits for breakfast

Kitchen window

These are pictures of my new house
Next post will be pictures of the neighborhood. Thats when things get interesting.

A Pause

My dear compatriot Phil took off for Toronto the other day and left me feeling very un-bloglike. But don't worry, dear readers, look for an update about the new house and pictures very soon.
In the meantime, soothe your need for information with this list of fruit trees found in my yard

mission figs
green apples
dates
limes
grapefruits
grapes
guava

Photographs of the Days

Our first and only "hike" at the Sycamore

The cave from Harry Potter

Travelers

This happened

We're not in Nevada anymore

The Road Ends Here

For the final leg of our drive, the air of anticipation was palpable. We were only three hours away from Val Verde and after these long ten days could not wait to get there. Val Verde is well-signed community and we found the new house without any trouble. There it was, Dorothy's new home, a quaint three bedroom on a road full of dirt mounds, barking dogs and a surprisingly large amount of neighbors. One of her new roommates, Ethan was there to greet them and help Dorothy unload her stuff. After driving with what felt like loads and loads of gear, we actually realized there wasn't much to deal with. Ethan showed us around town, took us to CellPhone Hill, pointed out the public pool and told tales of the town drunk, Salvadore. We had an early night with cool beers and Dorothy's first screening of the seminal film, "Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny". She realized she could have just watched this movie to understand the real Phil instead of driving cross country with him, but oh well.

Route 1 - Twists and Turns

Leaving San Francisco, we started out on a new highway: Route 1, the inspired suggestion of Dorothy's mom. The drive was the most enjoyable and most majestic of our trip. Behind the wheel of a suddenly smooth-handling Kitty Jo, Phil felt a bit like James Bond, zipping around bends up and down the mountains, and Dorothy, rapt in the passenger seat, surely felt like one of James Bond's passengers. We took our time down the coast, stopping every so often to look out onto the ocean and the spectacular mountains and rock formations. After all of the hours pummeling down 80 trying to get across the country, this felt like a real liberation, the kind of road trip we were looking for. We arrived at the Sycamore Mineral Springs and Resort in San Luis Obispo at 8.30 that night, and began to wind down. The Sycamore, another of Dorothy's mom's great ideas, is a charming place in the mountains offering mineral water hot tubs, a yoga dome, and room names like "Tickle" and "Zany." We had a long soak that night on the patio of our room ("Kindness"), and the next morning did a little yoga and indulged in much-needed massages. Thusly relaxed, it wasn't easy to get back into the car, but Val Verde was calling, so we dutifully hit the road for the last time.

California! Day One

We write this from Dorothy's new home in sunny, rural Val Verde. She has arrived, like the the near-mute Jimmy from the film The Wizard, with battered lunchbox in hand, in "Caaaalifoorniaaaa." The last three days of our journey were relatively restful, which was great for us, if not for you, dear blog readers. Driving across the border from Nevada to California was a joyous moment for the both of us, and we smiled our way to San Francisco, where we were separated for the first time in what felt like months. Dorothy caught up with old friends, staying with Laura in her beautiful apartment in "TenderKnob" and meeting up with fellow Skiddies Nicole and Mike in the Mission. Phil stayed at the top of a big hill with his dear friend Carey, who, along with her housemates, was perfectly hospitable, did her best to show Phil as much of the city as possible in the scant few hours we had, and finally satisfied his nagging yen for fish tacos. San Francisco was beautiful, and we were sad to have but one day there, but we will surely return, and besides - the road was calling.

.....

The only evidence we were ever in this godforsaken city...
We'll never speak of it so don't ask

ps we would like to thank Scott, Tim, My Cinnamon Girl and the good people at Lovelock Chevron

Elko, NV: City of the Dead

Elko, like every other Nevada city as far as we can tell, is depressing (Vegas may be an exception, but I’m just taking Tony’s word for it). We arrived around ten pm, but it felt much later. We dragged ourselves to the nearest open restaurant, in the glamorous Red Lion Casino. Passing between rows of glassy-eyed seniors pathologically pressing the spin buttons on their video slots, we settled at the food counter and ordered Chicken Fingers (Phil) and a Caesar salad (Dorothy). Dorothy ordered a martini and gave the waiter the recipe, and Phil ordered the same Bud six times before getting it. Phil won $3 at the penny slots, Dorothy lost $2, and that was that.

Photographs of the Day-Laramie to Elko

Phil at the Flats

Dorothy at the Flats

Phil behind bars - unapologetic

Dorothy behind bars - It wasn't me!

On the Road: Laramie to Elko (Pt 1)

A pretty uneventful drive for the most part. We made a stop in Rawlings, WY for lunch, and popped our heads into the Wyoming Penitentiary Museum. We missed the tour group around the actual hoosegow, so we poked around the museum, which looked like it was curated by a class of sixth-graders. Informative Xeroxes were mounted on colorful posterboard, a vast array of shivs sat in protective cases, while other artifacts of the penitentiary sat out in the open, accompanied by wildly speculative signage (“Why was this spoon found so far from the kitchen? Was it used in an attempt to escape the prison, or was it simply misplaced? We can only guess.”). It was not long before the strange smell and macabre mementos of Wyoming hangings had us back on the road.

We made it through Wyoming and into Utah, a state which looks from the highway like a model train set. We cut across the panhandle (is it considered a panhandle?), passing through Salt Lake City (surprisingly big) and the Great Salt Lake (very pretty), but the highlight of the state came at the very end, at the Salt Flats. The prospect of seeing a place recommended entirely by its flatness admittedly may sound unappealing, and indeed, Dorothy was mainly concerned with getting there by sunset out of fear of breaking down in a vast expanse of nothingness, so she put pedal to floor, racing the sun. We reached the flats just as the sun was setting, pulled into a rest area, and...well, marveled. It was an incredible, dare we say breathtaking, sight, an ocean of white adorned with naturally occurring patterns where the salt had cracked, stretching all the way to the mountains on the horizon. This was Phil’s time to find himself (check that off the list), while Dorothy humored his rambling and hackneyed epiphanies about his own insignificance and the infinite nature of etc., etc., man. Dorothy continued to drive the rest of the way, while Phil babbled in the passenger seat. It was a nighttime jaunt through the mountains that terrified us both, and we were relieved to reach the bright lights of Elko, NV, pale-faced and exhausted.