My favorite part of visiting Lake Tahoe happens in California. I love Truckee. The menfolk aren’t usually as enamored. There’s shopping, eating, walking, history, and shopping, which should explain why they would rather be somewhere else. The best pair of earrings I ever owned I bought in a small boutique in Truckee when The Mister and I first started dating. These earrings were something else. They were milky blue and impervious to disdain. Even guys felt compelled to compliment me on these earrings–that’s how cute they were. I wonder what ever happened to them? I’ll have to rummage through the dressers I pretend are organized and see if they turn up.
Back to Truckee. Did I effectively communicate how much I love this little one horse town? It’s a one horse town where a burger will set you back $10, so maybe it’s more a one Friesian-horse town, but still. It’s quaint and charming, in a ‘shake the last red cent out of your pockets’ kind of way.
We ate our $10 burgers at The Squeeze In. They are known for their omelettes, but I hate eggs and it was almost 2:00pm so there you go. It’s one of those hippie kind of dives (with $10 burgers) where everyone writes on the wall.
It took me five minutes to figure out which door was the woman’s restroom. Then, a woman walked out of the one I was sure was for men so I decided maybe it was just a free for all. I’m still not sure.
We spent the rest of our very short trip to Truckee walking up and down the main street. My mom and I would have loved to spend more time visiting the shops, touring the small museums, and taking pictures, but Mikey and Nicholas turned into Tasmanian devils.
Years ago I had a reader from Truckee, and as Nicholas ran down the street with Mikey in hot pursuit, both of them roaring like dinosaurs, I knew that would be the exact moment this reader would pop out of one of the nicer stores and exclaim, ‘Hey! Aren’t you Jules? When did your kids turn into turds?’ I would have had no choice but to use on her the tranquilizer dart I had cocked and aimed at the boys in hopes she would forget this very tragic moment in time. Seriously. Tasmanian devils. So, so, so crazy.
I kept staring at the beer sign, wishing. Just wishing. One beer. Earplugs. Maybe some rope.
I took pictures of all the buildings thinking I would report to you their history, but no. Devil children. We were lucky to get out alive. At one point my mom turned to me, eyes the size of saucers, and said, “What’s wrong with them?! They’re like animals!” And I was all, “I know! Aaah!” I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence. All I could do was alternate between whimpers and screams. So, feel free to use your imagination while viewing the pictures.
Speaking of pictures, I know what you’re thinking. I’ve gone overboard with the editing. You’re right. But it looks so good! To me! On my computer! Who knows what it looks like on your end, but I swear over here it looks a little bit like a vintage postcard.
Well, except maybe that last one. It starts off great. Soft blue skies, muted green trees, Southern Pacific train, and then BAM! Handicap sign. Gah. You don’t see one of those in a vintage postcard! Nothing says 1988 faster than a handicap sign compliments of 42 U.S.C. § 12181–12189, am I right?
I’m back. It’s good to be home.