"Once more into the fray, into the last good fight I'll ever know. Live and die on this day. Live and die on this day"
John Ottway's unnamed father
Truth be told we are a long, long way from fighting giant Alaskan wolves with our bare hands. But it's a good reminder that 'longevity' is not a goal.
Long distances with the distracting glow of the gas reserve light on, no longer forces me into constant mental DTE calculations. Following a thin black line to a minuscule dot on an untrustworthy map is now the norm. The sun diving towards the mountain tops much too soon to be anywhere before dark is completely acceptable. We have now officially hit the sweet spot of the journey, and rumbling along quite nicely!
Bubbles and I are prepared just enough to be comfortable anywhere, we have enough supplies for a night or two, and we've been on the road long enough that our setup and tear down nightly ritual is refined and fast so theres really no daily destination at all anymore. Just wait 'till dusk and start looking for somewhere with a view. The sweet spot.
Since her call to make the right turn from Lassen park into the unknown, it's been a little quiet on the comms, but now theres a bit of chatter from Bubbles when she see's the first sign of anything for many miles now and it looks like a gas station! Nope. The pumps are just displays. From the 1930's. In front of the Old Station RV park. Luckily on the other side of town (pretty much the other side of the RV park) there is a real gas station set into the pines and easily 100 miles from anything at all, besides the RV park of the same name. Our range may only be about 200 miles between fill-ups but I'll never get tired of topping both bikes to the brim for less than a $20 bill. The Old Station's uh... old station, is predictably full of trinkets and happily well stocked for travelers. Not many people live permanently in this splendid forest. It's one thing to stare out the window of a climate controlled car, another to ride through on a motorcycle, and yet quite another to live in such a place.
By now we are crystal clear that all State campgrounds are closed 'for our safety', and private campgrounds are open (because capitalism trumps safety), but they are all predictably full to capacity. We will be tossing the tent in a random field tonight. Gassed up and snacked up, we are both donning our leather exoskeletons again, ready to hunt for the perfect spot when Bubbles pipes up. "Hey, maybe that guy knows a place? He's my kinda people." Of course he is. A shovel in one hand, a beer in the other (Ok, ok, so he's my kind of people too). She comes back in a couple minutes with the confident strut of a woman who just killed a giant Alaskan wolf with her bare hands.
"See that bench way under those beautiful trees?" Yup. "He owns the place and said help yourself, anywhere you want, free of charge". Ok then! Grab an extra beer from their cooler, we're setting up the dice game tonight!
Happily set up camp and it got dark really quickly. The station had closed for the night, and no traffic to speak of on that tiny road so we really had the place to ourselves.
Tree hugger!
See? Not bad at all:)
Turkey approved.
Ready for dice!
Just enough time to look at tomorrows roads
Dang Turkey can't hold his beer.
A pretty cool and restful night, we got to watch the big bright moon cross the sky through the net roof again and only had a few critters rustling in the leaves, curious about their new field mates, left us both ready to rip up through this barren part of California heading into Oregon. Just a quick re-stock in the morning, some trinket purchases and a hearty thank you and g'bye to the owner for a fantastic night in a really awesome place. The back yard of a gas station.
So, if you're counting our homeless sleepover destination list, bar (check), gas station (check). So whats next? Under a bridge?
North of Old Station all the way to the Oregon border is pretty barren and uninhabited. Odd, considering the land is rich and the weathers nice. The 89 had provided a scenic rambling way north up to this point but we were at a crossroads, literally. Option one is to stay on 89 and it would run into the dreaded Interstate 5 right at Weed, Ca. Option 2 is instant death. Well, option 2 wasn't really instant death (but we would have picked it anyway), it was the 299 running even further into no mans land towards the large dot of Canby, Ca and the Modoc Nat'l Forest. The valley roads are arrow straight for miles and the mountain passes are tree lined and groomed but almost boring. Right about the time we thought we'd seen all this place had to offer, a tiny little detour into a 'viewpoint' showed us how wrong we were.
Stunning waterfall, river, mountain, what else do you need?
Don't jump!
Almost bored of the majesty we had just ridden through and it just goes to show ya what you could miss if you're not looking. Over that pass and back down to a valley and it looks like theres an artist/farmer that lives here too.
Whats more Americana than skeletons on bikes?
So close to the Oregon border now, and what a milestone that will be! We had bypassed the tiny dots of towns that had fuel on our way to the large dot on the map of Canby, Ca for a last fill up, a turn on to the 139, so we can make it all the way through the nothingness to Klamath Lake, Or. Theres one gas station in Canby.
And the wasps hadn't found us. Yet.
