I’m in a lodge-chic cabin on the shores of Lake Tahoe right now, where it’s been gently sleeting all day. The forecast calls for snow, but that won’t stop me from driving down the mountains to the Reno Airport tomorrow to pick up my partner-in-vodka-and-wandering. We’ll come back here for a few lakely days, then head south and east and even a little north at the end. Any direction but west.
Just imagine two people of length (and no small breadth) in a silver beetle with a box of fishing gear, sackloads of hippie food, and a sweet little Stella guitar. It’s as tight a fit as a rocketship—we’ll be questronauts, westronots.
Stay tuned for more fish tales and maybe even a song or two from the road.