Nevada photo montage 2
   

Part 3:
13 days & 2657 miles / 4276 kilometers
in Nevada, Southeast Oregon & a Wee Bit of California:

July 2018


Read part one

Day 9, Sunday

We ate some things we had in the room for a very light breakfast - for me, that was peanut butter again - and then left Alamo for Rachel. I felt great - completely back to normal, both temperature wise and tummy wise. We stopped for gas at Ash Springs, because there is NO gas in Rachel, then headed onto Nevada 375 - the Extraterrestrial Highway. It was a surprisingly interesting and pleasant ride. The landscape was varied and the road more curvy than I remembered. Most every road sign is covered by stickers, and that got annoying - it's graffiti. It's ugly. At one point, I even saw a sign with "infowars" on it and it pissed me off. I hate Alex Jones and I hate absolutely everyone who is a fan of his or defends him in any way, shape or form.

But Stefan did take this awesome photo of me. I bet people think my UN sticker is an anti-UN sticker...

A dual sport rider, complete with panniers, passed us - we gave each other a thumb's up, and I was excited that we would meet up in Rachel. But when we got to Rachel, he wasn't there - I guess he just drove on through. And that's a shame, because it's worth stopping in.

Rachel was, believe it or not, smaller than I remember from 22 years ago. For instance, I remembered a building next to the Little A'Le'Inn, but there wasn't such there. The Little A'Le'Inn sign is the same, I think - I didn't take a photo when I was there last. There's lots more "decoration" outside than my first visit.

I used my dwindling Spanish skills to get a group of Italian men to take our photo in front of the Little A'Le'Inn sign, and then we went inside. My gads, it looks exactly the same as 22 years ago with one exception: instead of selling videos, pamphlets books and bumper stickers promoting extremist right wing conspiracy theories and gun use, it was selling lots and lots of very fun alien swag, like decanters and ceramics. I heartily approve of alien swag, and bought a sticker for my panniers and a luggage tag. We also bought breakfast. Guess what I had! Yup, biscuits and gravy. ALIEN BISCUITS AND GRAVY. I skipped coffee though - I was still worried about how it might affect my tummy. We explored inside some more, took photos, admired the bar and talked to the staff a bit. I wish I had asked them what it was like to have the movie Paul filmed there, if Simon Pegg was a nice guy, etc. We watched a mini van of tourists from Vegas come in, take a few photos and then rush out (why come at all?!). Then we went outside, took more photos, and I had an alien encounter. It was nice to dawdle, even in a hot day. I wonder if this is the first time they've had vehicles in the area with stickers supporting the United Nations? I also have a sticker on my bike in Arabic. Yikes, I'm probably in a conspiracy video now...

We finally had to wrap up our visit to Rachel and continue on our way West. I was in the midst of a generally very groovy feeling. This was, believe it or not, my favorite day of the trip, and it made all of the trip up to this point wonderful - even the challenges. When I was in Rachel back in the 1990s, I was a wreck - my father had killed himself in February of the year I visited and I was in a horrible relationship that had made me an emotionally beaten-down mousy thing that was scared to utter an opinion. It was the worst time of my life. I loathed who I was. It was rock bottom. How awesome to come back more than two decades later, at 52, on my motorcycle, with my awesome husband, unafraid to tell anyone exactly what I think (though I did NOT wear my "Texans for Obama" t-shirt here) and oh-so proud of my work and travels over the last two decades. I love riding my motorcycle, as much as I'd hoped and maybe more than I ever expected - it's the joy of my life these days, and has been for years now. This, now, is a good time, despite all my work challenges and fear about the political situation (and the consequences we're paying for such). It was so great to feel that all at once. 

As we left Rachel, we saw cows in the road, but far in the distance up ahead, and they had crossed by the time we got close. I'm glad we never encountered any close up - that always scares me. I did see a long dead calf on the side of the road - I wondered why no one had picked it up. As always when I see something dead on the side of the road, I hope it was a quick death.

We continued on to Warm Springs, Nevada, a former town at the junction of U.S. Route 6 and State Route 375 - there are just three or four abandoned buildings there now. There is still a pool there where, many years ago, people could take a dip in water from the springs that still run down the hill in a man-made channel. I can't believe someone doesn't open some hippy dippy retreat campground here - it's a great spot for such and just 50 miles from Tonapah. We paused for a bit to hydrate, saw some wild goats enjoying the channel for the springs, and then headed on. Later, we stopped again at a rest area that was very obvious in the Nevada desert landscape and talked with some Harley riders from Montreal who didn't really seem to want to talk to us, but I made them. They asked the obligatory how-can-you-ride-in-all-that-gear question. Of course, I can't believe anyone who doesn't do it. We now automatically assume that any Harley riders we see traveling long distances in the USA are foreigners, usually French-speaking, especially if they are decked out in pristine Harley brand t-shirts and other clothes. That's fine - live your dream, ya'll. We paused for a little longer so I could eat two of the mini roast beef sandwiches I'd made that morning.

We pushed on to Tonopah. As we crossed into town, I saw a sign for the Tonopah Animal Shelter, a building on a dusty hill out in the baking sun. It made me immediately sad. When people ask online for the name of a small nonprofit that really needs money - yes, people really ask that - I always suggest local animal shelters, especially in rural areas. Please, if you are looking to donate online, consider the Tonopah Animal Shelter or the Desert Haven Animal Society. And if you are looking to adopt a pet and those are hard to come by in your area, as they are where I live, consider a road trip to Nye County, Nevada.

We had made reservations at the Best Western in Tonopah because it had a pool, and we were needing a swim. Yes, NEEDING a swim. I went right past the hotel initially because the new Best Western logo is boring and not-at-all eye catching nor memorable. We were pleased to see reserved motorcycle parking right out front. I had been joking that it was such a shame that we were in Nye County, Nevada one day too late to be on Live PD. We checked into the hotel and I made a Live PD comment and the front desk clerk said, "Oh, they were here last night!" I was so excited! But it wasn't what I thought - the crew had stayed at the hotel, they hadn't filmed at the hotel. She said they spend most of their time filming in Pahrump.

We unpacked and took a nap - the heat is just so draining. Then we changed into swim suits and headed for the pool, which we had all to ourselves. I'm a large woman and I am terribly body-conscious and hate being seen in a swim suit and it was so hot and I was on vacation and I didn't give a damn, avert your eyes, passing traffic, because I am going in the POOL. Oh, it was heavenly. It was beyond heavenly. We swam and we swam. We swam laps. We played childhood pool games. We told childhood swimming stories. We lamented that we only go swimming when we are on vacation. And we swam and swam. This is privilege, to swim in a rural desert town. I cherish it, I do.

It had gotten smokier and smokier as we got closer to Tonopah, but the smoke was very high in the sky. After our swim, when we came out of the hotel to walk a bit on the main street before supper, the smoke had increased significantly and come lower. The Carr fire and other fires were raging, and the smoke was building up in every valley and canyon even a hundred miles away. But I was able to breathe fine - I was stunned I didn't need my inhaler and my eyes weren't watering. We walked around downtown just a few blocks, peering in the windows of closed shops in historic buildings. Then we walked back near the hotel and ate at Tonopah Brewing Company, because Stefan was in the mood for BBQ. I wasn't, really. I saw that they had chicken on the menu, something very rare to find outside of Kentucky, where the BBQ chicken is AWESOME. What they heck, I ordered it. And it was ROCKIN'. Best BBQ I have had, by FAR, outside of Kentucky - and that includes Texas. Stefan liked his BBQ pork as well. The sauces and the beer was good too - made right onsite. It's a terrific place to eat and drink.

Sadly, there was no Internet in Tonopah. None. We didn't have phone service either. The front desk told us that the fires in California had reeked havoc on all of their communications systems. It's amazing my reservation was received by the hotel earlier. Normally we don't need the Internet on a trip and, in fact, avoid it. But because of those fires and the heat, we needed to plan our route back. And without the Internet, that's difficult: maps often don't show all roads, and maps are often mistaken about what's paved and what isn't. And it was too hot to do gravel for more than just a few miles - heat takes the fun out of everything truly. We both pick up brochures and what not along the way if we think it might help on this or a future trip, and luckily, one of the items we had picked up was a Nevada map that was different than the one we had brought, and it should much more clearly what was paved and what wasn't. It helped us to be able to plan our trip back into Oregon to both avoid fires and find some interesting paved roads. Another problem is that the hotel had Las Vegas local TV stations, which weren't providing much fire information at all - we needed Reno stations instead, but they didn't have those.

We rode just 158 miles this day, but it felt like so much more, and not in a bad way. Yes, it was still hot, but I don't think it was ever over 100, and that made all the difference. We'd overcome so many obstacles on this trip and still managed to have a great trip. And it was a great trip. Yeah, four days before I had thought, screw it, maybe we should just go home. Yes, the flats and the wreck and me getting sick and the disappointment at Great Basin and the heat exhaustion had been drama after drama, but now, they made great stories. I could tell Stefan was feeling very proud about changing TWO motorcycle tires within 48 hours using just hand tools and liquid dish washing soap - how could you NOT walk around proud after that? And I had loved all these little towns. I totally see the appeal of selling everything, buying a pickup and a little camper and moving to some little remote town, working a season as a waitress or maid in a tiny motel, living in my camper, hiking on my days off and just dropping off the map for a while. I won't, however, be doing that any time soon and probably ever.

But I would like a Tonopah Muckers t-shirt.

It was early when I went to bed. But the heat was so draining, and a great night of sleep helped face a very hot day. And we slept oh so well...

I did wonder something aloud yet again: what do people in Tonopah and Rachel and Alamo and Mina and Luning do? Do most of them work in something related to the mining industry? Or the cattle industry? Or are they all hiding out from the IRS or the mob or something?

Day 10, Monday

While traveling throughout Nevada, and particular in Tonopah, I remembered that, believe it or not, once upon a time, I thought I wanted to live in the desert. I thought I wanted to live near Bishop or Lee Vining, California. I wanted to live in a little cabin and help take care of mules and burros and a B & B - none of which I have ever done. There is a romance about the unique beauty and isolation of the desert, especially the Sierras, that can immediately suck you in. I don't know how long that little romantic notion lasted - I don't have it now at all. I love being in the desert, but I also love coming back home to a tree-covered world.

Once again, we'd set the alarm for 6 a.m. to get up. It wasn't so much that we were in a hurry to leave as much as that we wanted to get good riding in before the worst part of the day. Best Western does a terrific breakfast, included as a part of your room price. I got all the milk I wanted, which was good, because as I wasn't drinking coffee, and juice rips my stomach up, I needed something, and I love milk. I nibbled on some other breakfast items and I took an apple with me for later. Then it was time to head out.

Heading out of Tonopah, I saw the infamous Clown Motel. It is every bit as scary looking as you can imagine. 13 miles Northwest of Tonopah is a rest stop, and we didn't stop there, but I'm noting it because, if you ever need tent camping in the area, this is a great place - yes, it's allowed.

We were going over territory we had been in before, back in 2012, but going in a different direction. And now, the smoke was so thick that we couldn't see the beautiful landscape all around us. That was so disappointing. There weren't even shadows for the mountains. And the ground is so dry that there's very little plant life. I felt like I was in The Road - and I hated that book, so it wasn't a good feeling. Look at this!

Believe it or not, we were going back through Mina (pronounced My - nah), where we had once infamously camped, in the middle of town, right next to the highway, back in 2012. Now, six years later, the restaurant with a boat as an entrance had closed, but the bar across from our campsite looked like it was still doing business every night, and we saw a burger shack that seems to be open for lunch. We stopped just for a second just to remember the craziness of that night, then pushed on to Luning, which I haven't been to since the 1990s. If we had to camp right next to the highway, Luning would have been a far better place, as their dirt center of town, right next to the highway, has public toilets - and they flush.

There's a sign in the center of "town" in Mina that says there are petroglyphs nearby, but offers no info on how to find them. Since returning from our trip, I have spent lots of time searching Google for where to find petroglyphs in or near Mina, Nevada, or Chautauqua County, Nevada (that's where Mina is). I have found people saying they went, but absolutely no information on where they are. Maybe writing the Nevada State Historic Preservation Office would get the info - I'll try that if I am ever planning to be in the area again.

I did find this map of Mina, Luning and Hawthorne, noting ghost towns and dirt roads where ATVs are welcomed.

I hadn't been to Luning since 1996. There's not much to see. Like Mina, it's a really sad town full of shacks and trailers and you wonder who the people are there, why they are there, what they do all day... Luning is a turnoff point for the Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Historic Park, which I highly recommend, but we had both been there, separately, and did I mention it was hot and riding on gravel did not sound appealing to either of us? We had the time to do it, but just didn't have the inclination - the heat had taken its toll on our incentive to see things.

We headed through Hawthorne, and I realized I had been through that town before as well - I realized it as soon as I saw the endless bunkers all over the landscape. There are thousands. Supposedly, these bunkers and other storage hold the reserve munitions to be used by the US military after the first 30 days of a major conflict. The area also hosts desert training for military units. We stopped at the Sinclair gas station in Hawthorne and I had a nice chat with the manager, a man from India who seems to regret moving from the Los Angeles area, and if you have been to Hawthorne, you know why: unlike Tonopah, there's not even that many tourists through the town, the landscape is like the moon, and Walker Lake is not quite the picturesque getaway you might imagine.

We rode on for a bit and stopped for lunch at Dini's Lucky Club Casino in Yerington, Nevada. The casino looked like any other casino, but the restaurant looked like any small town diner, and we got there just before the movers and shakers of town descended for lunch. It was great people-watching, seeing officers of local civic clubs and local elected officials schmooze throughout the room. One of the four business suit clad men behind Stefan was trying to tell the other three about the #metoo movement - all I heard was that it "is a reality now" and "it's changing things," but I didn't get to hear the juicy bits I really wanted to hear. Because there is nothing like hearing a guy explain the #metoo movement to other guys. Stefan was happy that he didn't have to go outside to smoke: he could just go into the casino, sit at a machine and puff away.

We pushed on through the smokey, gray landscape, which wasn't at all nice to look at - although, at one point, we dropped into a river valley, with trees, and the temperature immediately dropped 10 degrees, not kidding. We were on the lookout for Fort Churchill State Park, where I hoped we could camp for the night. We had picked up a brochure somewhere that said it had adobe ruins of the early army fort, a beautiful restored building, Buckland Station, an important way station in the 1800s for pioneer travelers that we could tour, a working ranch we could visit and a campground along the Carson River. "An idyllic place for campers, hikers, bird watchers, canoeists and equestrians," the pitch told us. Well... it's a beautiful site, it is, but Buckland Station is open only on weekends (neither we nor the praying mantis were aware of this), the Carson River was all but dry, and that working ranch is long gone or private now and hidden away (though we did see an Amish-looking guy watering a little garden). But worst of all... IT WAS SO HOT. We drove through the grounds and we loved the look of the site, very much, but it probably wouldn't get below 85 Fahrenheit (30 Celsius) that night, and we just couldn't do it. We just couldn't. I would love to go back and spend two nights there so I could spend a day exploring the site on foot, truly. But not today.

We headed back out to alternative 95, and then for reasons I don't know, we went West on Highway 50. I finally pulled over at a convenience store to get a drink and pour ice water down my back. Stefan said it would be better to go back the other way, back to Alt 50, head North, and hope to find a hotel in a bigger town. I agreed. While we were there talking, a very old man, probably in his 90s, came out of the store, looked at our bikes, and began to tell us about the Indian he used to ride. "It was an Indian. Had a kickstart. I'd leave the bar, go out, try to get it started, jump and jump on that kick start, give up and go back in the bar for a drink."

Back we went, ultimately heading to Fernley and landing at a Super 8 near the Interstate. It was right next to the Silverado Casino and Ranch House restaurant. We unpacked and, once again, took a nap - heat is exhausting. Then we headed over to the Silverado for supper. Stefan said he wasn't hungry, so I ordered a quesadilla appetizer - and he ate half of it. I should have ordered another, because I was still hungry, but I decided not to, because I have never weighed more on a motorcycle trip that I did on this one. I weigh as much now as I did in 2011, when I was at my heaviest.  I have gained a huge amount of weight in the last year, and I don't know why - nothing has changed in my life in the last three years. But the weight has made the trip way, way more uncomfortable than it had to be. It's bothered me every day - I just didn't want to blog about it every day.

We had a laugh over the misspelling of Hefeweizen in the restaurant menu. I took a photo and tweeted it, tagging the Casino. No response...

We rode 242 miles this day.

Day 11, Tuesday

Once again, we set the alarm for 6 a.m. The sky looked beautiful in a really eerie way. There was ash on our motorcycle seats. We went next door to the restaurant for breakfast. Even though it was early, I finally had an appetite again, and so, I was back to my favorite vacation breakfast meal: biscuits and gravy. I had half a cup of coffee, with a lot of cream. I missed coffee SO MUCH. We got gas at the gas station next door - once again, encountering super friendly convenience store staff (thank you again, Nevada). We had to be on Highway 80 for not even a mile, then got off at the next exit, for Nevada State Highway 447. It would take us North and then into California. We were aiming for Klamath Falls that evening.

Highway 447 the highway is now the primary route to access the Black Rock Desert, the site of the annual Burning Man festival, so when that's happening, it's probably good to  avoid. But otherwise, it's a fantastic motorcycle route: it's paved, it's a bit curvy at times, it's scenic and it's beautiful. Unfortunately, the smoke blocked much of the scenery, but we still found this really amazing part of it where stones rose up out of the landscape like something built by humans. This was one of our best rides of the trip - it was in the 90s rather the 100s, and at this point, yes, that made a huge difference. I was stunned that we saw no motorcycle travelers at all on this excellent road. Not one. We had seen motorcyclists even on the most hot days, but so many - too many - stick to interstates.

One thing we did see on the sparsely used road, something we saw almost every day on this trip: a semi truck owned by Sherman Williams, the paint company. I mentioned to Stefan that I had seen one or two of those trucks EVERY day, no matter what road we were on, except gravel roads, and I was surprised when he said he'd noticed them too. CONSPIRACY! CONSPIRACY!

We also saw a lot of fire trucks. We saw a group of BLM fire trucks staging to watch for fire. We saw fire trucks from different areas parked at a local rural fire station. We saw fire trucks going the opposite direction of us, including the truck for the Navajo Hotshots (aside from the hotshots' superintendent, all personnel on the Navajo Hotshots are enrolled members of the Navajo Tribe). We saw more fire trucks from different agencies staging at a local school. The smoke already made us aware of the fires all around us - the fire trucks reminded us of just how quickly the situation could change and the danger local settlements were facing.

We also passed, early on in Nixon, the Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribe Museum and Visitor Center. It has an eye-catching design and, indeed, and it caught our eye, but it was barely at 9 a.m., and I had a feeling it wasn't open yet (it wasn't).

As we got further north, the landscape was turning gray and white - gray and white land and sand. The smoke blocking out the faraway scenery and sky, and vast fields of what looked like salt beds, made it look like we were on the moon. We stopped in tiny, tiny Empire and its store that has a little bit of everything: canned goods, liquor - including pre-mixed Long Island Tea from Chi Chi's, made in Owensboro, Kentucky - dusty bicycle helmets, a two-person tent, some camping chairs, homemade sandwiches, t-shirts, wine and more. I bought a t-shirt. I usually buy one t-shirt on a trip, and I had already bought one, but I wanted another one. I considered buying a Gerlach High School Rocket Club t-shirt - Gerlach is the town next door. I asked the teen tidying up the shelves, "Is that for real?" And he said yes. I asked him if he had been in the rocket club and he said, "It's a really small school. Everyone is in the rocket club." But I bought an Empire store t-shirt instead. We also bought something cold to drink - I was determined to stay hydrated. The staff was very happy when I left, because I had felt the need to sing along with "You're So Vain" and "Hopelessly Devoted to You" when they came on the store stereo.

As we left Empire, we passed a vast RV storage yard and, in the middle of it, we saw part of a 747 airplane. I found an article from 2016 about a Burning Man project and here's the final result in 2016. It has to be the same plane. Because the Empire-Gerlach area has just over 200 people, with no airport where a 747 can land, really, could there be two? I guess most of the RVs stored at the storage yard here outside of Gerlach are for Burning Man.

Later, at one stop for a rest, we found rocks that looked like coral, the skeletal remains of an animal. And, yet, I was really enjoying the ride. It was still an interesting, beautiful road, even got to ride through some little canyons. We pushed on, into California. I was really disappointed that there was no Welcome to California sign. I realized we were in a different state when I saw the roads leading away all started with CA and a number. It was also much greener than the landscape we'd had for the last few days.

We drove through tiny, charming Eagleville, California, population 59 in 2010. Sorry we missed their annual BBQ, held on the last Saturday of July, which attracts about 1000 people and benefits their volunteer fire station. We passed through a recently burned area along the road - I think it's this fire from July 13, which burned 2,100 acres. It came so dangerously close to farms and ranches outside of Cedarville. We ate at the first restaurant we saw, Woody's, on the right side of the road as we entered the town. I had a damn good burger. And the waitress gave us a free, very large cup of ice for our cooler. The only downside were the two cowboys who came in and sat behind us. The day was now baking hot and one of the cowboys had no problem leaving his horse trailer, with his horse in it, still with saddle on, out in the mid-day sun while he dined. Another cowboy joined him. I don't know which was talking, but here is what I overheard, mostly while Stefan was out having a smoke and I was done with my meal, all said with the most smug tone:

You know, I'm just trying to live my life like Trump. You know? He gets it done. He says he's going to do something and he does it, no hesitation. I want to be that way. That's the way to be. But it's hard. It's hard to do. I'm doing my best. I work hard. I can barely keep up, you know? And I work all day with these cows, all day, and I get home, and my wife is like, 'Talk to me, spend time with me!', and man, I am just not in the mood. I am tired. I just want to be alone. She just won't shut up. We've been together since high school. I married her right out of high school. But, you know, I've changed. I'm different now. I need my time. I need my space. I just want her to leave me alone.

blah blah (I zoned out) and then

Well, you know, I have all this paperwork because of these cows, man. All this paperwork for accounting and taxes. The wife does it. I can't do nothing with it, she does it all. It's always a mess. Then I have to be all nice to her. Maybe bring her some flowers. Because I need her to do it all.

There was a lot of "fucking" and "fucks" in there too. Stefan came in, sat down, looked at the expression on my face as I said, "Get. Me. Out. Of. Here" through clenched teeth and out we got. He did stop to note the rocks that are all around the doorway of the cafe. They look like coral. And probably are coral from when this area was under the sea once upon a time.  

We took California 299 and we turned North onto US Highway 395, a road we have been on in different parts of Oregon and California but I'm not sure we've been on it specifically here. Soon, we were back in Oregon. And I confess now that, this entire day, we had an apple in our luggage. And that's a no-no when passing through California borders. Sorry, Cali, I forgot. I found the apple that night and realized what I had done. And then I ate it.

We stopped at Lakeview, Oregon at a Burger Queen - I knew they would have ice cream. They had only soft serve. But they had milkshakes, and that's what we ordered and enjoyed. They were magic. Lakeview is actually a cute little town with a fair number of historic buildings. The city bills itself as the "Tallest Town in Oregon" because of its elevation. A shame that their sheriff's department that is headquartered there insists on putting "In God We Trust" on their cars, in big letters you absolutely won't miss. If you think that's okay, then when a city puts "In Allah We Trust" on its police cars, or "Satan is Our Savior," you cannot complain about it. How much more wonderful and appropriate it would be to put the original USA motto on these cars: E pluribus unum. It means out of many, one. It originally alluded to the states - out of many individual states, one nation. But its evolved meaning - out of many different people, one nation - would mean so much more now, and mean something to all of us, across belief and values.

I also am sick of the neo-Fascists bumper stickers and signs for sale in so many gas stations. The messages are as bad as alt Right memes on Facebook. No, I'm not going to post examples, because that just furthers that hate speech, and I'm not going to do it.

We jumped on state road 140 going West and headed to Klamath Falls. The road about 15 miles out of the city was paved recently and it was NOT paved properly. It is uneven right in the middle of the lane - something very dangerous for motorcycles. It was terrifying to hit that little shelf created by the uneven pavement. What the hell, ODOT? I'm putting this here and I hope that, if some motorcyclist gets hurt because of this, a lawyer finds this blog.

The day had cooled off a lot, and we realized just outside of Klamath Falls that we could have camped that night - it would have gotten cool enough that night for that. But the smoke was still rather thick, though very high up. I hadn't had any respiratory problems at all because of the smoke, but I wasn't convinced I wouldn't. We already had made a non-refundable hotel reservation via Booking.com at the Motel 6 in Klamath Falls. Super friendly staff checked us in, and we were very happy to see there was a pool - not as nice as the Best Western in Tonopah and, sure, it wasn't nearly as hot, but, yeah, we were going to definitely get in it. Vacation! The staff said that they had gotten a couple of calls from people fleeing the Carr Fire, to see if there were rooms. So sad...

We had a little swim and then went to have pizza at a place across the street. I was walking around in my Texans for Obama t-shirt, which I don't remember packing on purpose - I usually don't pack white t-shirts, but I must have thought, "oh, maybe we'll go hiking or walk around somewhere and, if we do, I'll need a white t-shirt" and packed it, without really thinking about the potential consequences. By then, particularly after hearing dumb asses in Cedarville, I didn't care. Bring it, rednecks. But no one said anything. Hope there wasn't spit on my pizza.

We talked about going back to our home the next day. We had booked the dog sitter until Saturday but had told her before we left that we might come home early, like on Friday. And here we were, talking about being home on Wednesday. It made me so sad. I had hated the heat, but I also was feeling really sad not to camp just one more night - just ONE MORE NIGHT. We'd camped in a national park, a BLM-managed site and a state park - we were missing the national forest camping experience, always my favorite. But, well, okay, we'd go home tomorrow, Wednesday... I texted our dog sitter and told her we MIGHT be home Wednesday, that I would text her confirmation on that day.

Back in the room, we could hear people below us, a very large, trashy-looking family, being very loud and seeming to be gearing up to party well into the night. But at some point, not sure when, we realized they were quiet. We suspect someone complained - wasn't me (and it often is me, but not this time).

One thing that was driving me crazy on this trip, as it does on even a day trip around Tillamook County, that I want to vent about: men who shoot signs are assholes and should have their guns taken away and should not be allowed to be within 10 feet of a gun. Oh, sure, I'm sure there are a few women that do it, but I'm sure the vast majority of men. Men who voted for Trump. It's not only dangerous (you have no idea what is beyond that sign), it's not only illegal, it's not only vandalism and disrespectful, it also takes away information road travelers need. We have missed turnoffs and notices about sharp turns because some asshole with a gun thought it would be fun to shoot up and destroy a road sign. There is no middle ground on this issue: if you shoot signs, you are an asshole and be banned from using guns for LIFE, period. And I should get to throw things at you.

Day 12, Wednesday

Once again, we set the alarm for 6 a.m. Probably didn't really need to, but we weren't sure how hot it would be. We had breakfast at the Black Bear Diner (Oregon franchise), which was right next door. Stefan got served not-at-all-fully cooked hashbrowns and was ticked off, but the waitress took it off our ticket and was immediately apologetic, and it turned out she'd really wanted to ask him where he was from, because she wants to learn German. I just couldn't be mean to her.

US 97 North was boring. But I wasn't too bored. We stopped for a break and to pee on a turnoff that turned out not to be packed white gravel but, in fact, fech fech - pronounced fesh fesh. It's dirt that is now powder. It's like riding in powder. It was mostly packed down where we turned off, but I stopped almost immediately and told Stefan that, once we were done, he was going to have to turn my motorcycle around for me. I was stunned when I went into the woods for a pee and even the ground where there was ground cover - trees and bushes - was fech fech: I sunk a few inches every step I took. I walked back to the bike and we looked down the road that went into the forest, and slowly coming towards us was a large forest service truck, with a cloud of dust behind it that looked like smoke. Or a haboob. We rushed to put on our helmets, Stefan jumped on my bike and turned it around as quickly as he could, I jumped on my bike and we got the heck out of there before the truck reached us and we were absolutely buried in dust. The truck obviously was going slowly to give us time to get out of there, and we very much appreciate that.

We had talked about going around Crater Lake - our National Park Pass is good through August, so it would have been free - but with all the smoke, there wouldn't have been a view. We've been before - we'll go again some day. We also passed on the Collier Logging Museum.

We turned onto state road 58 to head to Oakridge. It wasn't even noon yet. The trees got thicker, the ground more lush with grass and bushes, and the hill far more steep. By the time we got to the pass near Odell Lake, it had cooled off significantly, even though the sky was mostly clear - yes, we were seeing blue sky at long last. It was absolutely the best weather we had experienced on the entire trip. It was even cool at times on the ride this day. When we got to the overlook for Diamond Peak and pulled over to take a break, and were about to descend into Oakridge, it was perfect weather. I don't know why I didn't say it then, but I was thinking, let's camp here. Let's camp! Let's not go back yet. But I didn't. I idiotically waited until we'd gone another 30 miles down into Oakridge and stopped at the official rest stop to announce my bright idea. Stefan agreed, but first we now had to get gas and supplies, and we decided to have lunch as well.

We ate a Mexican restaurant behind the Dairy Queen in Oakridge and it was quite yummy, for Oregon, anyway. Rather than retrace 30 miles back up to the pass, we decided to try to go to a closer campsite - the map showed some sites along a river, near a lake. Big mistake - what we thought would be wooded campsites right on the water was a desert-like sandy landscape far above Hill Creek Lake, which is actually a reservoir. It was well more than 15 degrees warmer here, in contrast to the Odell Lake area. We'd wasted about 30 miles of driving, over an hour, in heat again, and I was cranky as could be. It still wasn't 3 p.m., and Stefan said it was worth it to drive back up the hill and try a site there.

Up we went, hoping against hope we would find an open campground and a decent campsite on Odell Lake. I turned into the Princess Creek Campground, and as we drove the broken, narrow road through the campsites, I wasn't feeling optimistic: though the campsites were were passing were all available, they were very close to the road. We went around to complete the loop through the campground and saw that the campsites on the water were occupied. As we neared the end of the loop, I found an open spot next to the water and suggested we take it. Once we unpacked and set up the tent, we realized we had found the VERY best campsite in the entire campground: we had our own private little rock beach looking out onto the lake. We were in a perfect site. The PERFECT SITE. There's no running water, but that's okay - we brought plenty.

Princess Creek Campground has seen better days: the campsites need a thorough grooming, tent pads need to be built or reclaimed from the weeds, and the road is becoming impassible. I wish they would restrict the size of RVs that can be in the sites - the sites are not built at all to accommodate massive RVs. We also spotted hog weed on one side of our campsite - that's not good, as this invasive, non-native weed has a sap that can burn your skin. 

Once we'd put the tent up and settled in and waded out into the water and enjoyed the quiet - no one was running their generators - I almost started crying. It was beautiful - our first blue sky, a cool evening, a night cold enough to snuggle down in our sleeping bags... it was beyond perfect. I so wanted a last night camping, and we were not only getting that, we were getting a perfect night camping. We couldn't believe the bugs weren't even that bad. We learned from someone else that, the days before, the campground had a ceiling of thick smoke and all the landscape was hidden. Not so today and tonight! It was the perfect last night - we finally got our stars and our Milky Way sighting. Glorious. This camp site is worth reserving, most definitely (probably always possible to find a site during the week). 

Worth noting that there are signs on all the info boards noting two important things: (1) fires are NOT allowed at Princess Creek Campground until further notice, not even in fire pits. That didn't stop some assholes from having one anyway - I so wish someone had come through to nail them for it. (2) Cyanobacteria (harmful algae) bloom has been found in the lake. The toxins they produce cannot be removed by boiling, filtering or treating water with camping-style filters. And ingesting the toxins can be deadly, especially to dogs - I have a dear friend whose dog died after spending some time playing in a lake that turned out to have this algae bloom. We were fine, as we'd just waded into the water up to our waists. But no way dogs should be allowed to swim in the lake - and, yes, I saw some people doing it and, yes, I warned them it was not a good idea. I tried to be nice about it, but people do not like being told what to do with their animals.

It was a perfect night. We had a nice dinner of something out of a can, drank our beer, watched the sunset and were feeling very groovy. But before nightfall, I got a text from a friend that rarely texts me, asking me if I'd heard about a mutual friend of ours. And my brain just suddenly went into overdrive: my roommate from university had also sent me an instant message on Facebook earlier, something he never does either, but I don't have Facebook IM on my phone - I had seen the notice via email. I had just shrugged that off when I saw it, but seeing this text now, from someone else - I knew there had been a death. My friend, Gary Marlin, was just 51 when he passed away in Chicago, where he'd flown from his home in New York City to help with the load-in for the pre-Broadway run of Tootsie. Gary and I went to high school and Western Kentucky University together - he was in the same drama geek "gang" as me. Such a huge part of high school and WKU days. And recently, Gary was my political rant buddy on instant messenger - we loved to rant. For those of you who are my Facebook friends: if you think my posts are provocative, you should have seen what Gary and I were saying to each other. But my favorite memory of Gary is when he chose a play I wrote my junior year at university, I Don't Believe in Fairy Tales, to direct as a part of WKU's Children's theater season. I was so incredibly honored - and he did a fantastic job. I saw it four times and was astounded by how he made it even funnier and more lively than I ever imagined. As one of my professors wrote, "You didn’t see him on stage, but I assure you he was on stage for days and days before you got there, making the magic that the director and the designers had envisioned actually happen on that Broadway stage. For the past 14 years he has had a Broadway contract, well, with the exception of from 5 to 5:30 pm between The Color Purple and Jersey Boys. He recently went straight from (Escape to) Margaritaville to Tootsie without skipping a beat!"

So I cried and Stefan patiently listened as I told stories about Gary and our theater gang.

70 miles of our mileage that day was just wasted back and forth on roads as we tried to camp. I'm so glad the day turned out well, because that wasted time had really ticked me off.

Day 13, Thursday

This was our view from our tent. I was mostly very happy when I woke up. It had been a beautiful last night camping. It had been all but silent. It was a little chilly in the night and in the morning. We had the most beautiful view out of our tent that we had ever had. We'd gotten that one more night out that I had wanted so badly. And I would, hopefully, be home with my dog and cat that evening, after 12 days out. We had just 180 or so miles to go, and I was hoping we could make it enjoyable. There was a tinge of sadness, however, thinking about Gary.

We hadn't set an alarm. It was our last day, and there was no reason to rush at all. I sat out on our private beach and looked at the water. I like the ocean okay, but I just don't quite get the appeal of sitting on an ocean beach and watching the water. I so much prefer a beautiful, natural lake or, even better, a creek or river. I love the sound of the water and the look of the water. I could sit there for hours. I appreciate that Stefan let me do that. If I could do it every day, I would be a different, better person.

We packed up and I gave lots of dirty looks to the campers over by the pit toilets that, once again, thought the burn ban didn't apply to them.

We headed back through Oakridge and saw the turnoff for the road that, once upon a time, would have taken us to Eric and Gail Haws' wonderful home outside of Westfir. We miss Eric very much and remember fondly his Burning Moto Man motorcycle gatherings. Here's a blog tribute I wrote about Eric's passing that gives some background on this pioneering motorcycle traveler and wonderful travel host.

We stopped at Dexter Reservoir for a break and to look out over the water. Clouds had rolled in and the temperature had dropped, and it was wonderful to be cold. We left and passed a sign and it suddenly dawned on me that the Dexter Lake we had just looked at was the very same Dexter Lake referred to in Animal House. I laughed in my helmet.

We pushed on to Eugene and jumped on I 5 North. I got off at the sign for 99 and we headed North. I thought we were in downtown/central Eugene, and there was a lot of businesses, but no restaurants. We went right by the University of Oregon and so I thought we would start seeing restaurants, but we didn't, or if we did, they obviously didn't serve breakfast. I really didn't want to get off of 99, but I was beginning to think I should make a right and another right and head back the direction we had come, but on a different road, and maybe we would have better luck. Just when I was beginning to get really frustrated - I was damn hungry and getting angry/hangry - I saw tiny GJ's Restaurant on the right side of the road. I know a breakfast diner when I see one. We had to go around the block and come back to get into the parking lot. Holy moly, by pure chance, in a food desert, we had ended up at the best breakfast diner in a hundred mile radius, I am not kidding. The biscuits and gravy were AMAZING. Maybe the very best of the entire trip. I love this place! I knew this was our last meal of our trip, and I really wanted to enjoy it. How awesome that it was at GJ's.

After our meal, while Stefan was having a smoke, I checked Facebook, to see what was being said about my friend, Gary Marlin. And I cried a bit. Still do.

Once we were out of Eugene, 99, and then 99 West, turned out to be a decently interesting road to ride. We saw a few bicyclists on the road and I couldn't tell if they were bicycle travelers or homeless people riding bicycles - it's hard to tell. And I thought about the difference, and how that difference results in someone being treated oh-so-differently...

University of Oregon, Oregon State and Western Oregon University are all really close to each other on this road - U of O is just 41 miles from Oregon State, which is just 22 miles from WOU. I so wish WOU was closer to Forest Grove, so I could try to work there... but I digress...

But, eventually, it was back through McMinnville, and Carlton, and Yamhill, and Gaston, and to home. To download photos, to review notes, and to write the travelogue you are reading now. Hope you enjoyed it!

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