Farewell to Reno

Goodbye, Reno house.  Here's Kim and our rental car ready to roll on the final day (that started so well and ended so badly).  Turns out that I wasn't the only one to get sick and have to skip the final day.  By all accounts several people, including two I know well, had a problem.  I think it was the fruit cup served for hospitality on the Saturday evening.   Below is a view from the house earlier in the week.  You can see that there is still a fair bit of snow on the mountains to the southwest (Mt. Rose and its more northerly lieutenants, I believe).  Directly behind Mt. Rose and about the same distance beyond is the northern shore of Lake Tahoe.

The tournament itself was excellent.  No complaints (other than the smoke in the casino).  And the fact that it's impossible to walk anywhere from the casino (if you want to eat out, for example and don't have a car and don't want to take the bus).

But the tournament was well run and attracted a surprisingly large attendance.

So to mark what may well be my last ever visit to Reno, I offer the following rather bad limerick (stop reading here if you're squeamish):


There's a big little city called Reno,
That was host to the bridge players' beano.

Young Robin was given a fruit cup,
Which was unceremoniously thrown up,

That was the last time he was seen.  Oh.