On the maps, the California-Nevada border goes through Lake Tahoe. But geologically and biologically speaking, Nevada begins a few miles east, at the peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountain range where the lush Californian forest turns to dust and brown rocks. When the highway reaches these peaks, Nevada is visible through the windscreen. This is mainly because suddenly there are no more trees blocking the view, and there it is – Nevada, stretching out all the way to the horizon, down the mountains and across valleys until, somewhere unseen, Utah happens. I’m reminded of the geography textbook from my first year of University and the term ‘rain shadow’ comes to mind.
A few weeks earlier I was on a bus going to work at Sierra-at-Tahoe, an out-of-the-way snow resort with decent trails but killer tree runs, as well as the best half pipe on the West Coast. I was silent and moody because it was early morning, when suddenly my travel buddy Simon (who reminds me of Point Break and is also a devout Christian), points to the snow-capped peaks beside the highway and announces, “Over those hills lies… Carson City.”
Carson City is the capital of Nevada. It is full of crazy saloon bars with swingin’ barn doors, reminiscent of Western films, complete with neon signs of cowboys advertising cheap beer and steaks. Shimmering casinos tower over the saloon bars, which themselves are next to serious-looking government buildings and diners. The diners are a mix of locally-owned businesses and corporate joints, such as Denny’s and IHOP, where the waitresses call me ‘honey’. Amongst all of this madness is Comma Coffee.
When you walk in, the first thing you see is a massive, old school espresso machine. It is sitting on a long glass bench top displaying fudge brownies, pecan pie, chunky muffins and all sorts of tasty baked goods you would expect from a country where cake batter ice-cream is mainstream. On the counter are brochures explaining the origins of the name: how the comma, which signifies a brief break in a sentence, (just like that), can also be used to signify a brief break in our hectic modern lives.
The elaborate and mismatched tables and chairs work perfectly in this environment. So do the mirrors on the walls, which hang beside framed portraits of people I’ve never seen. My ‘regular’ cappuccino is served in a huge mug large enough to bathe in. Cosy and warm, Comma Coffee might be the only decent coffee shop in the entire Silver state. Even though none of the wait staff call me ‘honey’, they make me feel welcome. After a long drive doing a road trip from San Francisco to Salt Lake City, this is the place to stop.
