On Sunday morning, the sun rose, peaking through the trees, lighting up the western shore of Lake Cascade, coffee was had outside the trailer, no long sleeves needed. Kayaks in tow, Sunday Ticket for afternoon Packers & Seahawks. Why would you leave? Time is our friend, that’s the one thing we can control.
Needless to say, we packed up and headed south for Central Nevada. A Ben Franklin’s worth of miles down highway 55, we smartly decided to deal with Amy’s broken phone at an ATT store. One would think that Smart Guy might have used his time wisely. Hmmm, maybe he could have figured out how many miles to our next destination, Great Basin National Park, or maybe he could have hooked up his XM radio to listen to the Seahawks or Packers game. Nope, truth be told, neither us really know what he did other than loiter around the strip mall and brag about the Cougars big win.
88 degrees in Boise, and we headed east for Twin Falls (83 degrees). Upon crossing the Snake River, Curt managed to point out the place where Evil Knevil launched his rocket ship, meanwhile, I noted the lush, green floor in the Snake River Gorge, and wondered why we weren’t turning right and looking for a spot to spend the night.
Down the 93 we went, past Jackpot, Nevada (78 degrees) with a setting sun on our right. Hmmm, doesn’t darkness usually follow a setting sun? With Great Basin NP hopelessly out of reach, we figured finding a nice gravel road off the 93 would lead us to a perfect campsite. Good thought, but without people, you generally don’t have gravel roads, and there are no people in northern or central Nevada. On we went, mile after mile of being passed by semi trucks, and finally the mega metropolis of Ely, Nevada emerged on the horizon. After a quick fill up, we both noted the howling winds and dropping temps, and asked ourselves a critical question? Would we pay someone 50 bucks to find a place to camp, empty our trailer, secure the toys, prep the bed, heat the trailer, and dial in the satellite dish? Yes we would. Smart Guy’s visa now has a charge from the Prospector Inn and Casino. It still seems unthinkable to slide into one of those vile overcrowded KOA’s.
Why Old Joseph? More to follow this month, but suffice it to say that Old Joseph would not be pleased that we failed completely to note the weather forecast, missed the Packers demolition of Denver, did not research the distance to our destination, and that better weather was always in our rear view mirror.
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