It took about three hours to drive south from Mill Creek Falls to Reno. The Sierra Nevada Mountains are visible in the distance. As we got closer, we could see how badly wildfires had denuded some.
After charging in charmless Reno, we picnicked on leftover pizza in Truckee River Park.
Sunday rafters floated by our table.
Aside from the bejeweled color of nearby Lake Tahoe--sometimes sapphire blue, sometimes aquamarine--I barely recognized the area since my only other visit in 1978, when I thought I had discovered paradise. Upon arrival, we couldn't get any closer to the water than the road above the Cave Rock parking lot, filled to capacity.
After checking into the hotel, on a strip as crowded with pedestrians and traffic as Times Square, we headed to the Emerald Bay scenic outlook on the lake's California side.
Thom napped in the sun on a park bench while I caught up on my journal notes and blew my runny nose. A commotion awakened him. He heard people shouting "Hey guys, heads up, there's a bear approaching," meaning us.
Instead of fleeing, we both joined the picture taking frenzy. Note the woman in yellow having her photo taken in front of the bear who apparently doesn't care for Indian food. The next morning, I asked the hotel desk clerk if bear sightings were common. "Oh sure," she said pointing to a bulletin board with some named photos. "We've got three on the property right here."
Our bear probably could have ridden this oversize bike.
If you get to Cave Rock by 8 a.m., there's plenty of parking but the longest drive of our return trip to Florida loomed ahead: more than 600 miles to South Provo, UT. We wouldn't see much water again until we skirted the Great Salt Lake that evening.
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