KirstenL4W

Boyfriend and I left the house as soon as I got home from work Friday. We had already packed, and since we are getting really good at this last minute road trip stuff, we didn’t have any running around to do (well, except for food - Boyfriend didn’t really eat lunch). By the time we make it out of Las Vegas Friday afternoon rush hour traffic, it’s a bit after 5pm. Not bad at all.

We started heading up US-95 towards Reno. Now, once you get past the turnoff for Pahrump, it’s a 2-lane highway all the way to Reno. All 300 or so miles. And there’s little else. A few towns here and there, not exactly large towns either. Since I started driving, and I hate driving that kind of road in the dark, Boyfriend and I switched seats at Goldfield. But before we did that, we managed to get a great view of the road at sunset:

Last time we drove US 95, it was on the way back from San Francisco, taking the scenic route through the Sierras and Reno. It was a dark night with no moon, and the narrow, unlit, 2-lane highway was scary, for me at least. The big black void was too much for me, since I couldn’t see a damn thing beyond my headlights. And beautiful Walker Lake? At least on this most recent trip we had a nearly full moon, and I could see the water just fine.

The Reno area was a lot colder than the weather we left in Las Vegas. It was in the 30s and threatening to snow. So much so that Boyfriend was worried about our trip over the Sierras the next day. I-80 in California has this silly little thing that if there’s snow on the ground, regardless of road conditions, all vehicles must chain up. Lucky for us, the snow moved out and it all disappeared, so no chains required.

In Reno, Boyfriend made reservations at the Peppermill Reno. I don’t know what, if any, preconceived notions any of you might have about Vegas, at least those who haven’t been here. The Peppermill is Tacky Vegas personified. Mirrored ceilings in the casino, colorful neon everywhere, and a tackfully decorated room with not one but two rows of strip lights circling the room. The wallpaper was something out of a vintage 70s floral collection, and the wall behind the bed was encased in a mirror with a smoky tint to it:

Saturday saw us out on the road a bit early to drive 1 hour back towards Vegas to Fallon, so Boyfriend could do a work thingy, then back to Reno for another work thingy. The Reno one pissed him off because the person was late and kept giving Boyfriend the run around. But work stuff got done, then we were on our way to San Francisco. We stayed in the same hotel as last time, due to its proximity to both the city and the ease at which we could get out of the city. But I can’t leave the Peppermill without telling you all about one more super tacky thing we saw - a car at the valet. A Porsche at the valet. A Smurf-blue Porsche at the valet. Not really the right color for a car of that caliber. But it seemed to fit in there just fine.

We went to meet some of Boyfriend’s Silly Little Game friends for dinner. I’d met one of them before, so it was a comfortable evening - none of that awkward “OMG what if his friends don’t like me” stuff. Been there, done that. Instead, it was some awkward “what if I don’t like it” out to eat stuff. We went to the famed Benihana restaurant. We’ve all seen it in the movies - it’s the place where you sit at a table with a bunch of people you don’t know and the chef shows off while cooking your food right there at the table.

Now, those who know me know that I am one of the pickiest people alive when it comes to what I’ll eat. In foreign cuisines, I’ll usually pick out one or maybe two things that I can tolerate and stick with those. I don’t do fungus, and I most definitely don’t do cold fish, especially if it’s raw. So no sushi. Just - no. Gross. I can’t even stomach the thought of uncooked seafood passing my lips. Just not gonna happen. So, I know Boyfriend, who thinks I need to open my mind when it come to cuisine, really wants me to try sushi. Too bad everyone else scarfed it down before I had a chance to muster up the courage. Ha ha you! The rest of the meal, on the other hand, was excellent. The chef was supposed to put on a fancy show out of cooking our food, but with our reservations being at 9pm, he was all out of personality by then, so we got excellent food with a lackluster show. There is so much food! Japanese onion soup, which was yummy (I waded my way around the mushrooms in it), fried rice, shrimp appetizers which were excellent even though I rarely like shrimp, then the meal. I got the Filet Mignon and lobster. OMG. Just OMG. It was that good. Top it all off with some Japanese style grilled onions and zucchini, and wow. And zucchini is another one of those things that I rarely like.

Sunday we wanted to be out at a reasonable hour, since we planned on driving down the coast before heading back. California Highway 1 has got to be one of the most scenic roads I have ever been on. A bit harrowing to drive in sections, but if you can have someone else drive while you look, it’s awesome. Thanks to my wonderful, awesome, most wicked bestest Boyfriend in all the land, I got my fill of Pacific coast scenery. We passed over the famous Bixby Bridge, took some photos, and started to head home after we got down past San Simeon somewhere. This is where the adventure truly began. But first, some scenery:

That’s the Bixby Creek Bridge taken from afar. The best pics are taken from out on the water, but we couldn’t drive there, obviously. Anyway, the adventure part. After we got out of the winding road area in Big Sur, I drove for awhile. Not very long though. Our GPS unit was going to help us get home on the quickest route possible. It routed me through a town, I missed a stop sign but didn’t get caught, and started following the directions. Until I saw a sign indicating that the next services were 84 miles away and I had a quarter tank of gas left. I didn’t recall seeing gas stations in the tiny town we just passed, so Boyfriend asked GPS where the nearest one was. That thing is pretty nifty. Except when it gets you lost. That thing led us down California Highway 229.

Now, let me tell you a few things about CA 229. It is not a highway. It is not a way at all, really. It is a one lane - ONE! - road that twists and turns its way past some ranches, until it finally opens up into a two lane road and brings you to another rural road somewhere. California wanted it to feel special so it gave the road some state money and a special number. Back where I come from these are called back roads, and they know to stay the fuck off of your road map. They know better. California highways, on the other hand, are all self-important, trying to bolster up the little guy and give it way more self-esteem than it should have. And they end up getting you lost.

The GPS had us turn off CA 229, onto some other road, then had us make a left onto some dirt road, where there was supposed to be a Texaco station on the corner. Maybe 75 years ago, but not today. Boyfriend laughed, but I was close to tears. It was so funny in a way that’s really not. Luckily, once we tore the GPS a new anoos and asked for a different gas station, it got us out of the middle of nowhere and to a gas station. Once we fueled up, the rest of the trip was long, dark, and uneventful. We arrived home at 12:30am, where I proceeded to collapse into bed, only to wake up 4 hours later for work.

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