Lake Tahoe

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The bus dropped into the garage at first light. There was nothing for miles but strip mall expanses and suburbia, so the latter seemed a better route to walk aimless through for an hour while the two Mexican gentlemen working on dear ol’ Champ did their thing. Nevada suburbanites filled their yards with rocks, a testament perhaps to their willingness to conserve water, a thing lush green yards doesn’t afford, or perhaps simply that they’re all really as tacky as their strip mall outlets would indicate. Nearly every suburban home was empty, the inhabitants off to work as VPs or CEOs or other such letters, leaving their valuables easily accessible to cat burglars, I thought.

When the repairs had been explained, the credit card details exchanged, and the bus fired up beautifully purring I asked the mechanic his name.

“Jesus,” he said. I smiled, as this bus has given me so much over the short time I’ve lived with her, wandering random friends, a warm place to live, steady transportation around Colorado and now so far beyond. It only made sense that Jesus would fix my bus.

We climbed fast and hard out of Carson City, never really looking back and a guy passed us beeping his horn and waving his hands. A fellow Pennsylvanian, representing the Steeler Nation all over the back of his little Subaru. The mountains went up and up and soon we were overlooking the forest cliffsides that we would then disappear into the canopies of, but nothing beats the feeling of first seeing the great big blue Lake Tahoe peeking through those conifers.

To say that Lake Tahoe is crystal clear would be a horrible understatement. You can see the shimmering reflection of the sun, for certain, but the depths of which you can look down through the water and see the giant tan boulders, the smaller gray stones, fish swimming, sands replacing other sands; this lake is clearer than transparent, it’s almost telescopic in it’s visuals.

My dear friend Matthew has lived as a snowboarder on the lake’s various shores for nearly a decade now and he showed us back into the mountain forests to a hidden lake where the snow was still clinging from a dumping the previous week, where eagle’s nests sat at the top of beautywoods and a broken raft, unsunk but not quite floating, hovered in the water. We talked of camping here for a summer, how easy it would be to live off the land or even just the beauty of the land and I thought, for the first time, about moving here for a minute.