You thought I died, didn’t you. DIDN’T YOU?
You wish. Then you could come over here and steal my blog posts and awesome million dollar advertising campaigns like soldiers stealing shoes off dead men in war. Well, this blogosphere is a war of sorts and the competition for eyeballs is cut throat so I don’t even blame you.
But the truth of the matter is I have a writing gig for realz (as in, for actual money) and if I can’t can’t chew gum and walk at the same time, what makes you think I can blog and write for realz at the same time? Also, I am on vacation in Lake Tahoe (internet robbers don’t get excited, I left my husband and killer doberman pinscher [how do you spell pinscher? why do I think there is an "s" in there?] at home)
So anyway, driving to South Lake Tahoe isn’t bad as long as you don’t do it on a Friday night with the rest of the world, and you don’t do it during ski season, and you don’t do it during a snowstorm, and you don’t do it when chains are required. Highway 50 often parallels the American River so I jumped out at one point to take a picture for you.
At least I think that’s the American River, how would I know? Does this look like the American River to you? Here’s another shot looking down river. Now does it look like the American River?
Oh, who cares. My point is that it’s pretty. And I pulled over just for YOU. God knows you’ve pulled over for me enough times to catch that perfect goat shot.
Highway 50 is a very pretty drive in general, winding through the El Dorado National Forest and about eleventy million pine trees.
You can click to enlarge any of these photos.
Somewhere along this curvy pine tree-laden road is the small town of Kyburz. How small is it you ask?
I was supposed to leave for Tahoe on Sunday, but I had to wait until Monday because the ONE DAY I planned to drive up there, which requires that you climb a 7,000 foot high mountain in your car, SOMEBODY (not me) decided that it would rain like mad with 120 MPH wind gusts. And I’m glad I didn’t drive up on Sunday because it also did this!
It was about the time I saw this snow that I realized I’d forgotten to pack a jacket. And since I’m not one to turn around and go back home if I’m more than 100 yards from my house, you can bet I wasn’t going to do it at the 87 mile point either. I thought, well, maybe it’s not that cold. I mean the sun is out and the storm is gone, surely we’ll go back to being our warm seventy-degree something selves, right? I checked my dashboard.
Yikes! I don’t suppose anybody knows an inexpensive jacket shop at the BEGINNING of winter in this ski resort town?
