Truckee & Lake Tahoe: Alpine Lakes
Lake Tahoe was always on my dream list. Back in my Breckenridge ski days, instructors would swap stories about Tahoe and Truckee as if they were rival legends—powder stashes versus secret tree runs, après-ski hot spots versus laid-back dives. When our road trip route from Lassen Volcanic National Park to Yosemite lined up perfectly, it felt like destiny.
Truckee: Railroad Roots & Mountain Vibes
We rolled into Truckee along California State Route 89, a stretch that doubles as both the Lassen Volcanic Scenic Byway and the Yuba-Donner Scenic Byway. The views were all alpine drama—towering pines, jagged ridges, and that crisp high-altitude light that makes you breathe deeper.
Downtown Truckee looks like the set of a modern-day western: weathered wood facades, old brick storefronts, and the Union Pacific line still running right through town, a reminder of its railroad boomtown days. In the late 1800s, Truckee thrived on logging and ice harvesting (yes, before refrigeration, they cut giant blocks from nearby lakes and shipped them across the West). Today, it’s reinvented itself as a mix of old-west grit and modern mountain chic—boutiques, art galleries, coffee roasters, and outfitters for every season.
Donner Lake: Beauty with a Dark History
A few miles outside of town lies the shimmering jewel of Donner Lake. Sparkling, sandy-beached, and ringed with summer cabins, it looks idyllic—until you remember its infamous backstory. This is the site of the Donner Party tragedy of 1846, when early pioneers were trapped in a record Sierra Nevada winter. With over 20 feet of snow burying their wagon trail, starvation set in, and survival meant crossing a line few dare speak of: cannibalism. Standing on the lake’s edge, it’s hard to reconcile the postcard-perfect view with the brutal history that gave the lake its name.
Alan and I snuck Kodi into a private lakeside resort (ignoring the “No Trespassing / No Dogs” sign—outlaws again). It was straight out of a Slim Aarons photo: retro umbrellas, kids with neon floaties, wakeboards stacked in rows, men sipping cocktails in a glass-enclosed lounge. The pool boy wagged a finger when he caught us, but not before I snagged the perfect reel.
We chased the “money shot” up Highway 40 to Rainbow Bridge and Donner Pass. The winding road opened into a jaw-dropping panorama of the lake framed by granite peaks. There we stumbled upon a motorcycle crew in colorful racing leathers—fifty-somethings with windburned faces and grins as wide as the horizon. I filmed them revving off down the pass and thought, these people have wilder retirement goals than me.
That night, we holed up at the budget-friendly Inn at Truckee, got our laundry done, and recharged.
Lake Tahoe: The Big Blue
The next morning, Tahoe beckoned. No alarm clocks on this trip—Alan doesn’t move until the “road boss” decides he’s ready to drive. By the time we reached Tahoe’s north shore, it was already jammed with sun-seekers chasing one last taste of summer. Parking? Forget it.
At 22 miles long, 12 miles wide, and with 72 miles of shoreline, Lake Tahoe is North America’s largest alpine lake. And it’s deep—1,645 feet, second only to Crater Lake. Its water is so pure that a white dinner plate is still visible more than 70 feet below the surface. Looking across the lake, every shade of blue shimmered like it had been dialed up in Photoshop. Resorts and cedar-sided cottages hugged the shoreline, while sleek powerboats and sailboats carved the bays.
We cruised west on Highway 89 toward Emerald Bay State Park, where the lake’s blues fade into turquoise and jade. The narrow, cliff-hugging road felt like driving into the sky itself—panoramic, dizzying, unforgettable.
South Shore: Neon Meets Nature
On the south shore, the vibe shifted. Out went the rustic lodges and hidden cabins, in came neon signs, T-shirt shops, cannabis dispensaries, and high-rise casinos—Harrah’s, Caesars, and more. At that point we had crossed into Nevada, looming like Las Vegas had dropped anchor on the lake. It was fun, loud, chaotic…but not the Tahoe we came for. We hightailed it out, pointing Bessie toward Yosemite, convinced we’d find fewer crowds there. Spoiler: we didn’t.
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