Silver Dollar Hogs
 DEER READER A quiet peaceful day by recent standards I'm sorry to report. No exploding motorcycles, no bizarre weather, just a normal day by current standards. Of course current standards should not be considered exactly normal.We left the accommodation in Death Valley, which should have been fantastic; I really could see the attraction, it was an old miners camp, simple, basic and reminiscent of the hardship endured by those pioneers. No frills but would have been very comfortable if the ambient temperature was 134C,. Sadly it was cold and pissing down so in our day it was a hut with no hot water and neighbours who were all hippies with no volume control. We may have been tired cold and grumpy.Suitably bundled we headed off, and up. I may have mentioned it before but to reiterate, altitude means cold.. Straight up to 5000 ft then and the bone chilling numbness and stuff that looks like desert but frozen solid. It is subtle torture because the only solution is to descend quickly, which means going fast, and that's hard on the hands cos the faster you go the colder they get. Its painful.And then there's the amazing stuff you see that should be photographed, but that means stopping and taking the gloves off and knowing that a photo won't show the essential weirdness of it, so is it worth it when all you want to do is get down the other side?Oh the decisions; well you have the photos, you decide.We dropped down to proper open range cattle country and found a cafe to get a coffee and warm up; they're pretty laid back folk, but then their cattle range between three military weapon testing sites, one of which is nuclear so I imagine they glow in the dark and are pretty easy to find - so who wouldn't be chilled.We were less chilled because we had seen the map and knew that the route would take us back up through the Sierre Nevada mountain range where we would be - well - chilled.Up through frozen lakes and windswept glorious desolation and - snap - into the snowlline. Instantly 3 foot deep snow. You have to understand this, there was noteworthy stuff along the way, for example I was bowling along and an eagle, fully five feet across the wingspan was desperately trying to take off but being hamprerd by a small crowlike bird who had taken offence at something and was beating the bejaysus out of it. Lots of that sort of thing, but nothing weirder than going from desert to 3 feet of hard snow and ice without any of that tedious slush / little bit of snow / bit more / bit more / xmas card.Now we had been given a choice of routes. One of which, illogical, long, using main roads and safe. The other sheer feckin lunacy, more direct, very much up, and possibly not open to four wheeled vehicles. Basically over a mountain peak that would have Bear Grills drinking his own wee at the very thought.So .... up we went.Must be a measure of the rigors of the morning. As when entered the chrimbo card of deep snow it didn't seem so bad. None of the bone chill and pain in the hands, just fantastic scenery. We climbed higher and higher and it got nicer and nicer. We were a few hundred feet from the summit and a sweet cruise down the other side for a mid-afternoon arrival at destination when we had to stop. First reason was because a flock of deer decided to gambol around us, Completely unafraid. Not your everyday experience. One could wax quite lyrical.Actually it was a bit of a clue, The deer were confident because we bipeds were very much in the minority. 100 yards further on the road came to an abrupt end, impassable to any vehicle in this land of 4x4s and certainly not available to a couple ot street hogs. So down we went - but totally worth the trip.Now we had 2 choices - all the way down to Bakersville, home of Country music and back North again on the main roads, or try another mountain pass 150 feet lower than the one where we met the deer and hope that it might be open.Well - neither of us had a checked shirt handy, so ..... up we went. I must try to remain understated here - but it was a long couple of hours. At altitude, on packed ice, with signs intended for the natural denizens informing them that tyre chains are mandatory on their Hummers doing the sort of riding that Ewan Macgregor wouldnt have been insured for on long way down, through perfect snow laden fir trees. We survived by the way - just in case you were wondering.Then, somebody turned the white switch to green and we ran like outlaws (literally as it happens as some helpful local was good enough to shout ' put yer helmet on y'big nosed feckwit, yer still in Nevada') for safe haven.We're in the Springville Inn. We're the only ones. It's an old stagecoach inn. Literally - there aren't even any staff, just a note and a key under the mat. It's delightful, really good rooms and fantastic quality - I will reserve final judgement until breakfast tomorrow, but thus far I am impressed.And it's dying on its arse, because nobody's coming here. If you are one of my select brethren of colonials reading this - or having it read to you, you have no excuse. This is your much treasured history. The points and peaks pony express, withering in front of your eyes, while you sit on the sofa watching 'America's got learning difficulties' with Simon Cowell. Get off the sofa and come here or it's gone for ever. I'll let you know what the breakfast's like if that tempts you and bubba further.
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