CLARTER FARMS

Sunday morning after the reception, we did not get up bright and early, but eventually fortified ourselves for the arduous journey east at the local nosherie around the corner from Mike & Alia’s.

Yes, alas, this again is turning into a food blog.  Hey, there’s lots of vicarious eaters out there.  Yes, the banana pecan waffle was mine.  Mea culpa.

We managed to get out of SF, across the bridge, and out of the Bay Area with remarkably little traffic, especially as there was an Indy car race that day just a bit north.  In fact, our drive went surprisingly smoothly all the way.  Our destination was Carson City, NV, and the local-block-famous Clarter Farms, owned and operated by my old high-school and fraternity bro, Uncle Lee and his delightful bride, Kelly.  We took I-80 to Truckee, then turned south to the north shore of Lake Tahoe, which was as beautiful as ever.  We spend a week every summer down at the south end, just about where that snowpeak is. 

From there, we went around the north and east shores, which were absolutely packed with the parked cars of the end-of-summer vacationers flocking to the water.  On the east shore, we picked up highway 50 to go over the pass to the Carson Valley.  With less options to screw up, the Garmin got us right to the Farms.  It truly is an impressive operation.

Not pictured is THE peach tree, nor the tomato plants.  All two of them.  This beehive of industry puts out 4 or 5 fresh eggs a day, and the tree will ripen any week now.  Regardless (warning:  more food pics coming), we ate like kings at Clarter Farms.  Garden-fresh salad, wild Alaskan salmon that Kelly got up there, and Conundrum wine.  Oh, yes, it all was good!  In the morning, we had those fresh eggs, and there’s nothing like one hot from the roost.  We were piggies.

That next day we bundled into the Clarter Prius and sipped our way up to Reno for a visit to the Harrah auto collection.  At one time, Harrah, an early casino mogul in Northern Nevada, had over 1500 cars.  At his death, the collection was broken up, but a core group was retained for this museum.  Thank goodness, for it is a superb gathering of American marks, even those that had European roots.  Who knew that Fiat once had a factory here, or that Rolls chassis were fitted with American bodies?  All very cool stuff.  Here’s a smattering of things that caught my eye.

L to R, clockwise:  don’t remember the mark, but this open-bodied monster with two rows of seats was the biggest thing in the display; a four-row station wagon; group shot; a bizarre Dali-esque redo of one of my favorites, a Citroen Deux-Chevaux; a 1956 Chrysler 300, slightly hotter than my old ‘56 Chrysler Newport, but full of nostalgia for Loni and I (our first date car); and the unimaginable solid copper Rolls.  Egad! 

My favorite car in the whole place was this pretty little Franklin.  I’m just astonished at the smooth and graceful flow of the lines for that era.

But, after all, this IS a blog about RV-ing, when it’s not about food, so we have to include one of the earliest RV’s, a 1921 Ford-based rig, with beds that folded out.  Naturally air-conditioned.

 

We had a great time with Lee and Kelly, and were sorry to leave those chickens, but they sent us on our way with a couple days’ supply.  We went up through Reno, and east again on I-80.  Destination:  Salt Lake City.

Yeah, right.  In our dreams.