Whistler is too fancy for me. In the midst of what I'm sure are glorious mountains, shrouded in clouds, dripping with rain, you have to pay $2 an hour to park on a crowded horseshoe-shaped street of boutiques, bistros, and landscaped bits of wilderness walkways. Molly and I slept well, however. The forecast called for more rain so I decided not to camp at Nairn Falls, just a bit east of Whistler, where I had reservations. We did stop there for a hike to see the falls, then headed east through the mountains on Highway 99, the same 99 as the oleander landscaped Central Valley road. Beautiful country, hardly any traffic, no parks, no campgrounds, just woods, streams, mountains. Coming down the other side of the range, the country dries out. You see sage brush and
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