Paul:
We had been warned by Les that the Mancunian cook was a bit of a character and often his comments could be misconstrued as being offensive. At breakfast the Manchester cook did not disappoint and Amanda and I immediately detected a big chip on his shoulder about posh London accents and Brits class system. He told the breakfast party how proud he was of Manchester followed by a mildly racist joke about his close mate who speaks with a thick West Indian attending Edinburgh university but too ashamed to speak because of all the posh people there. The ten Americans and Canadians at the table seemed bemused but smiled politely.
Our first stop was the picturesque Gloria Ferrar winery to buy three bottles of award winning fizz. Then onto the Fremont diner to eat smoked pulled pork and corn bread and to surprise Dan's wife Bridget. Fabulous food also included sweet potato fries [chips to us] and salted caramel shakes. Bridget wasn't surprised. She thought she served us last week and looked familiar. She keeps Dan in order.
Joining Interstate 80 is a bit like taking part in the Gumball rally and Rollerball combined. Cars regularly hurtle towards us from behind and both sides and once in front slam brakes on to avoid cars in front of them. I quickly get the hang of this and for 100 miles Amanda clutches the door handle and seat leaning back into her seat whilst pressing an imaginary brake pedal. Outside it is 93 degrees F and the six lane east bound freeway shimmers.
On a gentler road we climb to 7,000 feet, the temperature drops to 60 degrees in the Sierra Nevada. I miss the turning to Cottage Inn, Lake Tahoe City and go back. Huge trees everywhere but no bears at this time of day.
Our room is designed by cowboys, real ones with stetsons and lassos. In barbed wire above the bed is the word, 'howdy'.
The Swedish Mustang's roof is controlled by microchips and at the press of the button the roof folds down like a Transformer from the films: amazing.
I am too exhausted to eat out so we load up with cheese, Kettle chips and biscuits from Safeway. We chat to local celeb Mark Jennings who makes travel shows. We convince him we aren't Irish or Welsh and continue looking for cheese. Back at the ranch we wash them down with red wine. Our attempt to sit outside on carved wooden seats amongst the long grass and trees to keep an eye out for bears is short lived. The attacks by bitey insects is too much and we return to the ranch. I am asleep by 22.00 but am woken up in the night periodically by the rustling and crashing of noises outside. It is the man next door not a bear.
Amanda:
I still have the taste of toothpaste in my mouth as I sit down in possibly the most beautiful vineyard in the world with a "flight" of fizz in front of me (about a third of a glass of three varieties). It's the sort of place I could sit for a long time in the sunshine but we have a long journey ahead. I almost vote to skip our planned lunch in the Freemont Diner but I'm glad we didn't - it looks like something from a film and we split an "awesome" pulled pork sandwich and sweet potato fries. Trying Paul's salted caramel milkshake, I order my own (a first as I don't like milk and am not bothered by ice cream) - it's Nutella and almost as yummy as his.
Paul negotiates the interstate with aplomb before we climb the Sierra Nevada mountain range (in the car) to descend a little the other side to Lake Tahoe. It's very beautiful and our hotel has much bear memorabilia - and yes, they do have bears here but although I keep looking, I don't see any. My hair civilising tools are equally evasive - still in San Francisco and I wonder if we will ever be reunited. Our room cheers me up though as it is hilarious - themed right down to the loo roll holder, it's a cowboy room. Most things are made of horseshoes and even the plant pot is a pair of cowboy boots - the curtains are denim, held back by bandanas. Yeehaw! I do a quick 'Achy Breaky' line dance when no-one's looking.
We go to buy cheese for an evening al fresco picnic; I have come over all Sonoma, I am appalled to be directed to 'cheese' in the 'deli' in Safeway (of all places). I have never seen so many varieties of processed cheese. I think back to Brian describing his "cheese crush" - a cheese rolled in the Maquis herb of Corsica; I think he would cry. I simply buy pretzels.
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