Somewhere south of Sacramento, I got off of the Interstate. After the Fort Stockton debacle I had learned my lesson: highways are better. Interstates get you there quickly, but highways let you see where you are. Since I was there to see and not to get through, I took Highway 50 toward Lake Tahoe. Everybody has heard of Lake Tahoe, but I had no idea until I got there just how unbelievably beautiful it is. Maybe some people’s idea of the most beautiful landscape is the beach or the desert or a night time skyline. Give me a mountain lake any day.
The nice thing about traveling with a tent is that you can stop pretty much wherever you want. I wanted to stop at Spooner Lake, just east of Lake Tahoe. This was all in the days before Google and Google Maps and GPS enabled Android Handsets. I had no idea what other things were around. There were plenty. Yellowstone for one. Maybe that is a trip for another time. I did not really care at the moment, because I was in a place where there was snow on the ground in August. I walked on snow in August.
My campsite was back down closer to the lake itself. Yes, in fact, that water is cold. I had a notion to go skinny dipping in the morning, but the ambient temperature and the presence of children squashed that idea. Before I went to bed, I cooked up some noodles on the single propane burner. All I needed was right there. My spoon, however, was covered with crusted meals from days before. I spit on it and rubbed it clear. It delighted me to no end to think of my sweet, maternally inclined friend Mary Jane. She would not judge this spoon as clean. I was filled with the joy of being a man in the wilderness.