The Road to O-town

Sometimes, as I navigated highways and byways last week, I would think about how to present this trip. Should it be a day-by-day diary or a series of impressions? Should I approach it in catagories or just slop up a mess of pictures and let the experience speak for itself? Because, you know, that's what I do. Think about stuff like that.

Turns out, I really want to relive the experience because if I don't I'll forget stuff and when I journal about trips I have a whole other completely different approach to the process which is fun for me but not necessarily illuminating for others.

So to begin with, we drove to California. Once upon a time, when I was much younger and more foolish, I once drove with friends straight from Seattle to San Francisco. That's about a 12 hour trip, assuming you don't stop too much. Our road trip was slightly more civilized than that. The first day we drove from here to southern Oregon, where my much beloved aunt lives. We toddled along, stopping when we wanted, marvelling at the hawks that seemed to follow us down the road, appreciating the fact that the weather was balmy and clear.

I did all the driving, because I like to drive and I'm selfish that way. What I didn't realize (or had forgotten) is that extended periods of driving work muscle groups you don't usually use. By the time we got to Auntie's I was an exhausted, achy mess. Fortunately, The Hat has a way with the massage. That and dinner out (waited on by a charming chap who looked like a young Anthony Hopkins and got all our jokes) and some wine on the deck of Auntie's house, overlooking her calm and peaceful valley began to put me to rights. By the next morning I was fine.

Off we set, stoked sufficiently by coffee and pie, to gain California. It's rather mountainous through the last bit of Oregon and first bit of California and we learned that my car, Fergie, is not a fan of the incline. Without a good running start, the best she could manage on hills was about 40 mph. Strictly speaking there is nothing wrong with that. The fact that we were driving through Oregon made it more complicated. Those Oregonians are, uh, aggressive drivers. Aggressive as in you-are-only-doing-75-in-the-fast-lane-when-the-posted-limit-is-65-so-I'm-going-to-ride-up-your-arse-until-you-move-over-slowpoke sort of way. Needless to say, we spent a lot of time with the semi trucks. Nice folks.

The scenery was, of course, breathtaking. Trees and rolling hills, mountains, water falls and rivers. All very "golly, will you look at that".

As is the way of our people, we played car games like Slug Bug and the License Plate Game. We were very happy that, by trips end, we had collected 29 states.

The Hat was my navigator and she did a superb job. I am a good and fairly confident driver but I do tend to get a little anxious when I'm in new territory. Having The Hat to guide me along was a great comfort. Of course, we had our unplanned detours, but that wasn't her fault. We'd stopped at a very beautiful rest stop right inside the California border and called Sling to let him know our ETA. Then we hit the road again and all a sudden, I was HUNGRY. The delicious but illconsidered pie-for-breakfast had burned off and left mama with low blood sugar. Which isn't pretty. I announced that we'd be pulling over again the second I saw any indication of golden arches or other means of sustenance. Soon enough there were signs to "Yreka/Montague". We made Romeo and Juliet jokes. I took the exit. Signs for lodging pointed to the right, the sign - quite blue and prominent - for food pointed left. I turned left and drove. And drove. And drove. Mt. Shasta loomed closer but there was nothing in the way of food, unless (and I threatened to do it) we were to walk up to someone's door and say "What's for lunch?" There were only farm houses, no town. So we turned around and headed back the opposite direction. There weren't any fast food joints in Yreka either but the market boasted a deli so in we went.

The people there were super, super nice. Almost scary nice. They were having a cake walk in the store. The Child played but thankfully, didn't win. (We had no room in the trunk for a cake, thank you very much). The people were complimentary, helpful and made very fine turkey sandwiches. My mood improved immediately.

Of course, once back on the highway we passed not one but two exits which clearly boasted all manner of fast food but I chose not to concentrate on the fact that one more minute of driving would have saved us a good hour of time and celebrate instead the delicious healthfulness of my sandwich.

The other thing we figured out is that while Google maps are all very well and good, it is a better plan to have The Hat compare same to an actual map of California. Had we done so the first leg of the trip we would have shaved another hour, possibly two, off our arrival in O-Town. But it was ok. Sure, we made Sling wait, but anticipation is half the fun, right? Right?

There was a big ass grass fire burning up half the county as we finally wended our last miles to O-town. It wasn't close enough to O-town to cause major problems, but there was smoke in the sky and the next morning the sun was glowing an eerie shade of orange. That was all very interesting. Point is, after many dusty, sweaty miles, we found ourselves cruising the quaint, tree-lined streets of O-town and pulling up in front of Sling's. Oh, the rejoicing. Oh, the hugs. And then, glasses of champagne in hand, we rested on the front porch and entered into talks and jokes as if we spent every Friday afternoon that way.