Two hours after we left home we entered the hilly part of the road, those are the hills that lead to the majestic High Sierras. Sierra Nevada, that is. The freeway becomes narrow and constantly rolls up and down, winds round and round along the hills and needling through the valleys, rivers and creeks. Pine trees, young and green, neatly line up and bringing out this tender and fresh side of Mother Nature. Life flourishes in the low slopes of the Sierras.

Deep into the heart of the High Sierras, there is the American River, roaring down in its amazing color of azure blue and jade green over huge rocks and trees, pine and redwood reaching majestic heights. There seems to be zero pollution as pure mountain snow water runs off the rocks and is filtered through pine needles and lush soil. We were easily tempted and stopped a few times just to watch the river rush by under our feet, numb by sitting in the car for too long and refreshed by the vigor of life giggling in the pure water. Only a short two months ago, this river swelled to the point of washing away all the highway we are traveling on and along with a few expensive vacation homes on its banks. We could still see some furniture hanging on the trees towering over the freeway.

The hills are covered by trees; snow tops scatter around and give the landscape its final glorious and yet mysterious visage. At 6000 feet, the air becomes a little thin and the temperature drops to a chilly 52 degrees, still rather pleasant and inviting as ever. Suddenly huge rock formations jump out of nowhere and a whole peak is nothing but a giant rock, bare and dark bluish, sort of like the Half Dome at Yosemite but not yet that refined. I actually prefer the roughness of a mountain if given the choices.

Just as the snow top was 100 feet away from the road, the highway makes a sharp turn downhill, there among millions of trees and surrounded by handsome mountains is the Lake we were looking for. She is magnificent, in her blue-green jade dress, matching that of the ocean or the Bay when he is calm and nice, rare occasions, you bet. The Lake also has very nice beaches around the downtown of South Lake Tahoe. It was Monday, hotels were half empty and the beaches were deserted. Perfect for a quiet time.

We went over the stateline to Harra's for dinner. Before we go up to the top floor restaurant we were stopped by the rustling of the gambling hall. I had never seen so many slot machines in my life. Our three year old thought they were video game machines and immediately climbed on a chair to push whatever button attracting his eye. Until a security guy came over to tell my wife that kids are not allowed to play. Play? Hah.

I had a nice stroll inside the casino which takes almost the entire street level of the hotel in the size of a good department store. Of course I met a bunch of losers, those who would simply avoid eye contacts in social situations but cast their fascination on the glittering machines and alienating noises. Hope and wish are mixed together here.  Human souls can be barren. The funny thing was that most of the gamblers preferred to clogging in clusters at the corners of the casinos throwing their limited cash away to this gold-coated glittering house. Then there were those hungry eyes of black jack or craps table hosts and hostesses and of course prostitutes and their high class pimps. It was a challenge for the inflated egos. I had to walk fast, for I didn't want to put my hand into my pocket and find an ego that's not familiar to me.

We went up to the Forest Buffet and pigged it out. The view from the top was truly remarkable as a lot of the Lake and many snowcaps are in sight. The food was reasonable, good taste and not too expensive, $12 per person, non-alcoholic beverages included. You have steak, fish, lamb chops, salad, fruit and great dessert. Too bad I was on diet.

Anyway, gambling is illegal in California. So there are four big casino hotels just across the stateline in South Lake Tahoe. Harra's, Caezars, Harvey's and the Horizon. Big 4 star or 5 star hotels with huge disco or waltz room and gigantic casinos on the street level. I originally planned to walk through all four of them but quickly got bored after Harra's and Caezars. Maybe Bill Cosby will have his show at Harvey's, who cares? I don't even like the Cos. South Lake Tahoe is a great skiing town as the mountain of pine trees become ski resort in the winter where a lot of Californians rush over during the weekend. Now, most of the tourists are just gamblers and addicts.

The next day's main event was to drive around the Lake. A beautiful scenic drive with many fantastic stops. You can rush through in about 2 hours; or you can spend a whole day or a whole week exploring all the spots, coves, forests, lagoons, bays, and cruise, fishing villages and state parks.

The interesting thing is that the Nevada side which takes half of the Lake shore has virtually nothing. Meanwhile, the California side is full of activities. We crossed the stateline and went up Highway 50 again, originally with the connection to Highway 28 in mind to go around the Lake. But before the exit, we changed our mind, as if the mountains were calling us, maybe, we decided to go to Reno, just to see what the heck this World's Biggest Little City was about. The drive was amazing, as the highest elevation tops 7000 feet. Huge rocky mountains with snow on top yet to melt, if it ever would. Just beyond the Lake area, there are no trees, low desert bushes and some low land flourish with life as the snow water runs off the hill. Nevada is empty, open, sad and beautiful, a kind of beauty that lingers in one's heart longer than your ordinary encounters.

Nevada is empty simply because folks there appear directionless. Although libraries and bookstores try to post up big signs to balance the psyche, as it appears to me, they are severely dwarfed by the neon-flashing casinos and resorts and hotels. People don't look healthy in their eyes. But the landscape was open, really open. I feel our car could fly or I myself could fly up. As a matter of fact, aircraft is a big hobby. If you can afford it, you can fly your own little single engine there.

So we took a two hour detour and came back around to the Lake. The real beautiful spot is on the southwest corner of the Lake. Emerald Bay is the name. With the gorgeous rocky mountains with snow still covering most of the hillside as the backdrop, the pine and redwood tree decorated lakeshore suddenly becomes a deep bay surrounded by rough rocks, amazing formation with wild imagination as only nature could, as whitewater simply falls straight down from the mountain along the sloped rock of dark color.

The color of the water is unusually deep. And the surrounding is rough thus surreal. That's where I found out that I could have done some homework by asking around so that I could spend more time here and in other nice parks. Oh well. We may not penetrate deep at one spot, we surely opened it up by driving far and wide. It started to rain and the air got cold and the wind started to whistle.

The rain got steadily heavy through the night. We had our final continental breakfast in the hotel, packed up and headed back towards the high mountains and hoping to get home safely. The driving became a wretched ordeal. The single lane freeway winding around the mountains seemed to have their turns sharpened by the rainstorm. Normally in the mountains there shouldn't be much traffic in the middle week, especially when it was relatively early in the morning but a few drivers got so scared or overly cautious, the congestion was rather interesting. Folks had their reason to be precautious as visibility were reduced a few hundred feet, and a few feet at occasions. Mist kicked up by the car ahead was hazardous enough to kill.

I liked it. I liked it all. It was sad, dangerous and exciting. It took longer to get through the mountains but the slow traffic did not reduce the intensity of the beauty. I truly felt close to the river rushing along and the redwood laughing in the rain and wind.

After two and a half of going through terrifying rainstorms and windstorms, the Bay Area is of course clear and sunny as nothing ever would change. In Sacramento, I almost forgot about the rainstorm and near misses. Of course I had to stop to rest my legs and take the sweater off.

Anyway, I guess next time I will have a better idea of Lake Tahoe.

Summer, 1996