Photo by Sharon Leach, taken May 1996
We slept out on the open desert the night before, after driving from the Bay Area through Reno and up the east shore of Pyramid Lake. We took the road as far as the truck would let us. The four of us walked down to a beach of pebbles, laid sleeping bags out a little distance apart. Zeke knew just what to do. He dug himself a little place in the gravel to sleep.
It was me, and Zeke, and Jym, and Sharon: we’d driven up for a weekend-long work-play thing for the magazine we all worked on. Wind blew eastward off the Virginia Range. Even after crossing ten miles of brackish Pyramid Lake it still smelled like the sagebrush on the other side.
Before I fell asleep Sharon’s hand crept into mine.
As the sun rose the next morning we found our friend John. He’d gotten his pickup stuck in the sand by the Pyramid late the previous night. He’d dug his wheels in a little, assessed the situation, then crawled into the back of his truck to sleep. We got him dug out and went for a little hike.
It grew warm, then hot. John expressed some dissatisfaction with our wind-swept surroundings, deeming the whole east shore unsuitable for camping. We shrugged and caravanned to Sutcliffe, a Paiute settlement on the West side of the lake. In the bar there we drank a few Coronas, played a game of pool or two. The heat of the day ebbed a bit, and we headed north to the only trees on the entire lakeshore, an incongruous grove of cottonwoods. We found a quiet spot. John started cooking slabs of meat.
As the sky turned pale violet Sharon and Zeke and I took a little walk. We went down to the lakeshore. The wind smelled like sagebrush. A chill grew from the sweat-soaked hair on the back of my head.
you’re good, man
A very nice piece of writing. As you intended I felt like I was there. I like your style. Thanks, and I won’t be so long between visits next time.
Bill:www.wildramblings.com