There are not too many perks on the Great Migration to California – ask Brother Dear, who just survived driving the Dodge/Forklift Trailer Combo through a metropolitan area at rush hour, Buck breathing heavily on him through it all.
However, said metropolitan area — Reno — is really the only one on our journey, and it just so happened that we hit it about the same time we hit the eleven-hours-of-driving mark. Pre-Maggie, I wouldn’t have considered stopping with “only” eleven hours in. But we did and turned the stop into a perk, checking into one of the casinos that offers gorgeously comfortable rooms for far less than we paid for our moldy, smoky, can’t-believe-it’s-not-rented-by-the-hour room at the Pocatello Ramada. Said casino also features a great steakhouse, and we introduced Maggie to white tablecloths, seared ahi, and Steele Pinot Noir. Luckily, the place was practically empty and the white jacketed waiters seemed charmed by Maggie playing in the floor and sampling bits of lavash.

Hard to believe that less than eight months ago she was in the NICU and now she only needs to hold one of my hands to stand. Maggie says, California here we come!
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