A journey through the Sierra Mountains between Nevada and California has the potential to be daunting, especially traveling west; it certainly wasn’t a party for Donner and company. We’ve made that passage many times during our 30 years on the road, but usually it was going east — i.e., downhill — and not in the middle of winter. Still, we had our moments.

Gold, Blue and Auburn

In fact, whenever we go that route, we’re always acutely aware of what we have come to think of as the “color curse”. On that stretch of I-80 in California, there are three exits whose names feature a color: Gold Run, Blue Canyon, and Auburn. And at some time or other, we’ve suffered a vehicle breakdown on the freeway very close to each of these exits. So whenever we would be driving anywhere and see a “color exit”, we’d usually make some kind of remark about keeping our fingers crossed. (There is a fourth “color exit” in this vicinity, Verdi — Italian for green– but it’s in Nevada, just out of the mountains. We never had any trouble there. Well, except for being ticketed once because our tail lights were out.)

The most memorable incident was in May 1999. We were headed to Santa Fe, New Mexico to begin our summer season of performing at libraries. About a mile from the Blue Canyon exit, we noticed white smoke pouring from underneath us, so we pulled off and had a peek. The transmission pan literally had melted — the only time we’ve ever heard of that happening. (And from what we gather, it’s the only time anyone has heard of it happening.) Even though this was before the age of ubiquitous cell phones and Internet, we got a ride into Reno, acquired another vehicle, disposed of the old one and transferred our belongings, and hit the road again. Within 24 hours. And yes, we made it to our shows in time.

Destination Grass Valley

On our final RV drive over this hump, we were going west, but it was in August. So the roads were perfectly clear. And there was only a smattering of snow still lingering in the notorious pass. Unlike Donner et al, we were able to get out and stretch our legs and admire the sights,

Our destination was Grass Valley, so we turned off the freeway before Auburn. But we sailed through Blue Canyon and Gold Run without incident.

Our purpose in Grass Valley was to visit friends Teri and Roland, who had agreed to sell our RV for us while we headed back to Cambodia. We knew them from our days spending time in L.A., where our son played with Teri’s kids, and we were part of a homeschool community. Roland is by profession a diving coach, and we’re pretty certain he’s the only one we’ve ever known.

They live in a beautiful rural home outside Grass Valley. (Incidentally, we’d performed at the library in Grass Valley a few times in the past; there are not a lot of libraries in the U.S. we did not perform in.) We stayed in our RV parked in front of their house, and at night a bear would come around and try to get into the trash can, which fortunately was secured.

Bear on the Prowl

During the few days we were their guests, we finished getting the RV spruced up to sell, and showed them the ropes about operating it, introducing them to all its idiosyncrasies and peccadilloes. And we also made the last adjustments to our personal gear.

One thing was that Dennis had to ditch his well-worn barefoot shoes. We ordered these online at the beginning of our around-the-world jaunt, and we’ve put many a mile (and kilometer) on them. He’d hung onto his for a ridiculously long time, and finally they had to go.

The End of the Era of Life on Wheels (begun in 1992)

And having done such things, we finally said goodbye to our friends. And literally kissed our RV goodbye. Farewell to all those years of driving over the Sierras, and hustling to get to performances, and sleeping in parking lots and at rest stops, and being stranded with mechanical problems, and dealing with paranoid locals, and showering in a cubicle the size of a shoebox, and figuring out where the next dumping station is, and dealing with extremes of heat or cold, and discovering some enchanting and remote corner of the country that we might not have been aware of otherwise.

The severing wasn’t nearly the traumatic moment we always thought it might be. In fact, we really felt no sadness at all — perhaps we got all that out of the way when we sold our trailer a few weeks earlier. Instead, we just felt relief. Finally we had cut loose the one anchor holding us down, and we were fully committed to our new lifestyle as global nomads.

8/10-17/2023