Storm Chasees

Nevada

Batten down the hatches.

Or whatever the opposite of Storm Chasers is.  That’s us.  This trip is all about staying ahead of Weather.  We were lucky to make it over the Sierra Nevada mountains before what turned out to be just the Hors d’oeuvres course of this monster Bomb Cyclone and Atmospheric River gala event.

Sometimes I love this country.  I mean the people in it.  The land itself I’ve always loved - that’s the easy part.  But the people, well, that can be challenging, especially over the last decade or so.  One of the most appealing aspects of this trip was that we would be self-contained in our own little bubble while we traveled.  Covid aside, I was relieved to be spared having to interact with too many people.  Perhaps I’ve lost my “people skills”, or perhaps I just don’t want to be disappointed.  

But sometimes you have to channel your inner Blanche and rely on the kindness of strangers.  When this happens I’m rarely disappointed by the American people.  Take the day we left Yosemite on a carefully researched most RV friendly route over the Sierra Nevadas.  Some of the more terrifying passes were already closed from the snow a few days earlier and more was expected that evening. 

We were driving through the glorious foothills, climbing steadily and congratulating ourselves on beating the weather when we saw the big flashing sign: CHAINS REQUIRED OVER CARSON PASS.  Well, shit, basically.  And panic.  Dan’s suggestion to make a U turn did not go down well.  I’d need an abandoned airfield to execute that move.

We pulled into a church parking lot and frantically consulted the map.  No good options except going way south or way north.  And that was when the lovely, handsome Mr. Tile and Stone man (sorry Bob!) pulled up in his truck, rolled down his window and asked us how we were doing.  

He sent us on our way with a local’s reassurance that we could ignore that sign.  He’d just come over the pass and it was clear.  And did we believe him?  You bet we did. We scurried over that beautiful pass as fast as we could. 

One of the best parts of towing your home is you never need to look for a restroom.  And we needed one when we got over the Pass.

We made it to Washoe Lake State Park outside Carson City, Nevada, pursued by the Hors d’oeuvres storm, in time to nab one of the last FCFS spots.  That’s First Come First Served in RV-speak.  Not ideal for the Uber Planners amongst us, but sometimes you just have to live dangerously (with backup plans A and B of course.)  This is where we will wait out the Bomb Cyclone before heading down the eastern side of the Sierras to Death Valley.  Everything has the thrilling ring of danger about it these days!

We are tucked in amongst the sagebrush, facing the mountains that hold back Lake Tahoe which we hope to see if the weather permits.  One word about the smell of sagebrush.  I know it’s adored by many who consider it sweet, but for me it has the disinfectant whiff of those blue pucks used in Australian urinals.  And no, I cannot disclose how I know what those smell like because I really don’t know, but apparently it’s one of those olfactory memories that never leaves you.