page 1

This morning it became very clear to me what it was all about. Traveling. Wondering. Exploring. Being a tourist.

We changed the wallpaper last night, to use one of Bobby’s expressions. After a fun week in Reno and Carson City, we headed south towards the sun. Topping a rise overlooking the Walker Lake Valley, I spotted what looked a passable dirt road for our motor home/office, Charlie Horse, provided we unhooked our dingy, Casper, to drive ahead. To see if it was possible to turn all 27 feet of our vagabond abode. To see if the “perfect” campsite was obtainable.

Ever since leading a very young family, horseback, 2,500 miles, from Mexico to Canada, pioneering the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada (Life Magazine, September 3, 1971, and www.SearchForaShadowofthePast.com) I have been in quest of the perfect camp. I remember riding back and forth a good half hour in a wildflower meadow nestled directly under Oregon’s snowcapped peak, Mount Jefferson, before settling in for the night.

Primary requirement for me is a view

This is perhaps the number one reason I love Nevada. There is a lot of nowhere, there. We found the perfect perch to watch the changing of the colors as the sun set behind clouds kicking out a skiff of snow. We parked among the rocks and sage at an elevation high enough to hide the highway, also at a distance that muffled traffic noises. (continued next page)