From Flagstaff, Arizona we make a slight detour north to see “the strip” in Las Vegas, Nevada.
The journey from Vegas to Reno is…eerie. We pass miles of land littered with U.S. Government restricted access signs in varying degrees of unfriendliness. Just as the sun starts to set, a heavy, solemn cloud starts smothering the mountains, diffusing light in patches.
It’s getting quite late, and we’re dog tired. Looking for a hotel is hard work – we stop in a tiny town and all of the motels are booked. There’s a big job or something nearby, and seasonal workers have swarmed in.
Then, suddenly, we’re in Death Valley!
The next day, a freak snowstorm makes the passage to Reno precarious, but lovely.
We drop in on my cousins in Reno, who kindly show us the big city lights. Just a few hours later the next day, we are pulling into Palo Alto, California – our destination.
Horatio sighs as Sal switches off the ignition. It’s time for a rest, for all three of us road warriors.