We’re leaving the apartment we rented in town
Rockstar’s all geared up…
Mr Men books in new Kipling bag (45% off, and sans dangling monkey that his mum can’t stand): Check!
2 under layers of cotton clothes, a jacket and a cardi before he even puts his raincoat on (because his mum feels cold): Check!
It’s about a 3 hour drive (in good weather) to Squaw Valley, Lake Tahoe this morning.
Oh hey they have pollution here too?
The wide, sprawling landscape of low flat buildings strikes us, after the often “Jenga-ish” piling of storey upon storey of Hong Kong’s high rises… It actually feels weird to not climb more escalators or enter lifts with more floor buttons… Or to walk thru a sprawling car park…
7 traffic lanes. Monster trucks with “If you can’t see my rear view mirrors, I can’t see you!” on their bum.
We pass a well-kept billboard proclaiming Rolling Hills Cemetery and Crematorium. It’s a good name.
We stop at Black Oak restaurant. The “USD 4.99 children’s dollar-sized pancakes”… have full servings of scrambled eggs and bacon that come with. (And “dollar-sized” in supersize land = 4-inch pancakes)
I catch sight of the child at the next table (white sweater on the right) holding a giant rasher of bacon and chewing on it.
Here’s a closer view of the bacon
We can hear bacon eating little boy from where we sit… He can’t be more than a year older than Rockstar (who just turned 3), if at all. (In fact, guessing Caucasian kids’ ages I usually err on the older side because of their size, especially when Rockstar is quite small even by Asian standards)
Little Boy With Bacon stands a full head taller than Rockstar.
It’s just a little funny (as in haha) to us – Rockstar usually needs some persuasion to eat meat – Carnivorous toddler vs Herbivorous toddler.
(But seriously, all the grownups at the table are way bigger and taller than Rockstar’s parents so what can you expect?)
It still were a good brekkie (Rockstar had like, one “dollar-sized pancake,” some scrambled eggs and most of the fruit bowl – not bad, they have fruit on the menu, several other restaurants we went to, including Rainforest cafe, didn’t.)
We make a pit-stop at the outlets along the way for snowchains, and waterproof pants for Rockstar (I forgot to pack his one lone pair and we figure the outlets will be cheaper than if we have to buy stuff up at the ski resort).
Those are from Walmart – and if we don’t use them we can get our money back coming down from Squaw Valley (but we were told not to attempt to drive up to “Big Snow Area” without snow chains in case we get stopped)
Then off we go again…
Oh tee hee that billboard says “Wanna go home with me tonight?”
(I’m the designated driver)
Beer ad for the holidays…
Love this spot we passed…
Then we’re behind a car that has the word “Sheriff” on the rear.
Kings: Sheriff! Take a picture!
Me: It says “Pla-something Sheriff” in plain letters. No badge. Maybe it’s a name for something, not literally “Sheriff”
Kings: (Going just past the car, which is in the fast lane) See? Badge (on the side of the car). Take a picture!
I’m still eating my pizza. But I look obligingly. The driver is in that short-sleeved style Sheriff’s shirt and aviators we usually see on tv.
And he’s on his cellphone without an earpiece.
He starts at me peering straight at him and I jump and swivel my head theatrically forward.
Me: You see lah darling fortunately I didn’t take a pic. What if he gets mad and pulls us over to give us a ticket or something? (thinking: don’t look at the Sheriff, don’t look at the Sheriff)
Kings: What is he going to give us a ticket for
Me: He’ll think of something! He’s a sheriff! Drive!
And then…
I have never seen the Golden Arches with snow.
Snowflakes hit the windscreen in the last 20 minutes of our drive. I’ve never seen real snowflakes.
It’s unbelievable – they look just like the fake ones.
And so we arrive in one piece.
Kudos to Kings who’s doing all the driving since
1) I can’t drive (haven’t driven since I got my license after SPM)
2) Even if I did he would never trust his only child to my driving.
