You probably know by now how impulsive I can be some times. Today was one of those times. I’ve been thinking lately of some friends of mine who, many years ago, had just moved down from Carson City, NV into the high desert of Apple Valley, CA. They cursed about the southern California desert and how Carson City, NV had some attributes over Apple Valley, CA.
Ever since then, I’ve wondered about this desert town on the east side of Lake Tahoe, which, by the way, this lake is split between California and Nevada.
I wondered about the real estate prices and if I could get a better deal out there if I really liked this little patch of sand. I lined up some properties on the internet I thought I’d like to see, lined up a realtor in Carson City and drove two hours to get there.
I was all prepared with my very comfortable zip off hiking pants and sandals to ride in. I even brought my camera. I brewed my coffee and poured it into my favorite travel coffee cup which fits perfectly in my van cup holder. The trip started and continued at the same anticipation and anxiety I get when traveling these curvy, hilly, mountain roads. I white knuckled it again and was afraid to pick up my coffee cup from the holder because I was afraid to take my hands away from the ten o’clock, two o’clock grasp. I thought that my coffee would get cold, so I dared to quickly grab my coffee cup on a straight stretch of the road at times.
Everything was going fine until I was going into Lake Tahoe. Riding on a four lane highway with plenty of cars around, a flash of a deer face appeared in my driver’s window. A deer ran out and hit my driver’s window, slid into the back quarter of my van and ran off. I didn’t quite know what happened, but with such a big bang and being so shocked and shaking, I stopped on the side of the road, hoping no one would rear end me. A lady in a large truck who was behind me stopped. I rolled down my window and she said, “Yea, you hit a deer.”I thanked her for stopping to see if I was all right. Still looking around and shaken, I thought I might have to call 911. I asked the lady how was the deer and she said it ran off into the woods.
There was traffic now lining both sides of the road, slowing down and stopping. I said to the lady, “I wonder what damage was done to my van.” I quickly got out and purveyed the damage, and to my surprise, a small dent in the curve of the wheel. It wasn’t that big of a deal. There were large dirt marks about three feet long all along the back quarter panel. I rubbed my fingers over them and looked at an angle to see if there were dents under the dirt marks. Luckily, just dirt and some scratches, but I could probably get them out with a little elbow grease when I wash the van. I thanked her for stopping to see if I was all right. She knew she was holding up traffic, so she continued on. I was glad it was only that small dent and quickly got back into my van since the lookieloos were starring at me and my van.
I got to the realtor’s office in Carson City, NV, told the two girls there manning the office. I was still shaken up and had to tell somebody about my ordeal. They offered me coffee and one young girl gets a call from her hubby and she said, “I love you” a half dozen times, which I thought pretty excessive. Come to find out, her husband was starting out to ride his motorcycle from Carson City, NV to Los Angeles, CA. Talk about taking risks. I then met and told my realtor of my ordeal and we started on our way to homes in my price range.
They looked really cool on the computer and, in fact, they were. The neighborhoods were cute, but the very close surrounding neighborhoods weren’t. There’s a prison nearby and we believe the people in the area who were sitting outside smoking and not very nice looking had either just been released from the prison or have relatives in it. He showed me the lower desert areas, the upper desert areas. That’s when I got homesick for my ranch in the desert of Southern California. Our desert down there came up far and above. I started thinking that maybe I just didn’t know what I had. This area was a mishmash of commercial areas, industrial areas mixed in with homes. What confusion I felt. And some of these homes were supposed to be in better neighborhoods. They were cute homes, but no, I thought. This desert is not to my liking, not very pretty, gets snow, temps down into the single digits sometimes, but the weather in the summer is much better than the desert of Southern California.
After arriving back at the realtor’s office, he asked me where my car was in the parking lot. I pointed at it, showed him the dirt, small scratches and the small dent and low and behold saw this puncture where the deer's hoof must have hit. This cannot be buffed out. It’s only the size of a pencil eraser, but still, this is something that will probably enlarge into something ugly. I was saddened, but more concerned about how hard the deer must have hit.
All in all, I accomplished what I set out to do. Filled with curiosity, wonder and questions about a place way out there all of these years, were finally answered. After I arrived home, I sighed, “Oh deer.”
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