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A cowboy in Virginia City (Dave Lauridsen) MAY 2006 ISSUE • Table of Contents • Maui: Friendly, Quirky, and Full of Soul • Secret Hotels of Bali • 25 Reasons We Love Oaxaca • Family Travel: Guide to Summer Vacations • Road Trip: Nevada • 40 Best Vacations

Day 2: Carson City to Unionville

Craving R&R, we backtrack 15 miles to Genoa for a dip in the steamy mineral pools at David Walley's Resort, Hot Springs & Spa. When they opened 144 years ago, the hot springs were a few baths carved into rock; today, Walley's springs feed eight hot tubs, all with an unobstructed view of the snowy Sierras. We try the 99-degree tub and the unbearable 104-degree one before hopping out to grab coffee in the adjacent café. On the wall, there's a picture of McAvoy Layne, a Twain impersonator almost as famous as Samuel Clemens himself.

At the Genoa Country Store, a boardinghouse/bar turned soda fountain, we pick up turkey sandwiches for lunch. The town used to be a pit stop on the most popular wagon route to California during the 1849 gold rush. Mormon settlers created a trading post here for 49ers to rest and get new pack animals.

Genoa's demise can be attributed, in part, to Virginia City's success. Between 1859 and 1879, the Comstock Lode beneath Virginia City, 30 miles north of Genoa, produced $400 million in gold and silver. As we wind our way up Mount Davidson toward the hilltop town, we pass tons of abandoned mines. In Virginia City, wood-plank sidewalks are about the only real thing that remains from the mining days. Meanwhile, the "Ye Olde" saloons, shops, and quaint museums all scream modern-day tourist trap.

In pursuit of some real history, we take a mine tour at the Ponderosa Saloon.

A passageway in the back of the bar leads to part of the 300-mile honeycomb of tunnels beneath Virginia City. Our guide, who looks like Santa Claus, explains how the miners worked 15-minute shifts in 140-degree heat, using canaries to tell when oxygen ran low. We last just a bit longer than 15 minutes before resurfacing and refueling with mint chocolate chip ice cream from Red's Old Fashioned Candies.

Unionville, 180 miles east, feels more authentic. In a lush canyon down a dusty two-lane road 15 miles off the interstate, the town is the proverbial middle of nowhere. Unionville was the site of a smaller silver strike in the 1860s, and it hasn't been gussied up in any major way since.

Lew and Mitzi Jones, an adorable couple, own and run the Old Pioneer Garden Country Inn, composed of five houses. They live in the first, and keep sheep, goats, and chickens in pens. A pair of border collies is guarding their porch when we drive up. Lew opens the door, and we catch a delicious whiff of roasting meat. He walks us to our room in the six-bedroom Hadley House cabin. A brook, sparkling in the sun, rushes beyond our window. We've died and gone to Little House on the Prairie.

At dinner, Dagny and I meet the B&B's other guests: four Jeans, three Marys, a Penny, and a Paulette, all members of the Sierra Watercolor Society. The club's purpose, as I understand it, is to travel to beautiful places and, time permitting, paint. After a dinner of vegetable lasagna, roast chicken, and coconut crème brûlée--all prepared by Mitzi--the watercolor women invite us for cocktails in their house. Tired from the previous night's escapades, we gracefully decline and borrow some old issues of The New Yorker from the library. By 10 p.m., I'm out cold.

Lodging