6225 ft above sea level. Lake Tahoe.

There seemed to be a pattern emerging concerning time, and the apparent shortness of it. Already I was perched on the back of the bike, waving to Napa in the wing mirrors as we headed east once more through the oven-like conditions of Sacramento. Onwards to Tahoe, where this time we intended to pay our dues and spend some time on those beloved, be-laked mountains.

Feeling more than a little travel-worn we arrived at Wright's Lake ready to shed our shoes, collapse on a warm rock and eat our picnic. We were becoming experts at the cheese, crackers and bottle of beer routine by now. Unfortunately as is usually the case, mosquitos had sensed the approach of my sweet-blooded self and had settled around me for a banquet. Attempting a hasty escape, I hopped towards the lake, fell off a log, sliced my leg open, laughed and cried and proceeded to swipe at every winged thing that dared appear in my line of vision for the remainder of the evening. Swiping- as it turns out- is not a fail-safe method of prevention. Next time I'm wearing a space suit.

Evenings were spent around the fire pit eating ice cream sandwiches and looking at the stars, while cuddling the family labrador and relaxing. Relaxing. (relaxing). I usually don't stop moving, so to find myself reclined on the porch deck, heavy limbed and heavy lidded- is testament to our play-hard ethic during this trip. Sleep was too easy, and mornings arrived in the blink of an eye. Family traditions die hard, with Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes to mark our final morning in Tahoe. With an afternoon to spare, I found myself getting all revved up on two small wheels- being taught by an admirably patient Forrest how to ride a Honda 100, an endearingly tiny motorcycle. Immediately I am in love. Apologies to my Mother, for this unwelcome statement...

But bikes on their kick-stands for now as it's time to head east again for a red-eye drive back through Nevada and onto Utah. This time, we had Forrest's parents and the motorbike in tow; ingredients for good times indeed. Many hours away, but worth every mile was our next stop: the Moab Desert. Rocks after rocks beyond rocks; more rocks.