Below me, down three thousand feet, was Nevada. I had taken my under powered 1973 Chevy Nova on a ski trip to Lake Tahoe. I was looking for Heavenly Valley, and I saw a sign ‘Heavenly Valley South’, so I took the road. That was thirty minutes ago. I had been winding my way down a narrow road which hugged a three thousand foot cliff plunging down toward the Nevada desert. No way to turn around, no guard rail, no shoulder on the road . . just a drop off of three thousand feet.
There was also no line in the middle of the road, because it wasn’t wide enough for two cars to pass. Then I saw another car slowly creeping up the hill toward me. The Volkswagen pulled to the right until its passenger door was brushing the granite cliff. I pulled to the right until my wheel was on the edge of the crevasse. We passed with inches to spare.
Another thirty minutes later and I was in Minden, Nevada. . . about 10 stores, a town square, no people, and a Shell Station attendant who had his name embroidered on his pocket. Art cleaned my windows, checked my oil, and pumped my gas.
It was almost as if I was in Hill Valley.