Day 13 - Truckee to Wolf Creek

It rained off and on throughout the night, but I was nice and dry inside my tent, aside from the beer I knocked over.  Unlike most campsites, where you put your money in an envelope and drop it in a box, this one instructed me to pay the host when they came around.  Nobody had come by the tent during the evening, and I sure didn't feel like making a fuss about the oversight, so I got up early.  I wasn't rushing to get out of there, but I wasn't lackadaisical either. I had my coffee and tried to catch rays of sunshine where I could.

Trying to dry out in the morning (I didn't get a chance to take a picture the night before.)

I got everything packed up, and literally as I was just about to cinch down one of my bags, I see a suspiciously brown pickup truck driving slowly through the campground.  Balls.  He stopped by a couple sites along the way, and then stopped by mine.  He was an older white guy (surprise, surprise) and he walked over and said hi.  He asked me about my bike and where I was headed.  Then he asked me how I liked the stay.  I didn't know what to say, so I just tried to be polite.

"Oh, it was all right, you know, I just hung out in my tent and caught up on..."

"Bahhh, it sucked." he said succintly. "How about I don't charge you for last night, and you just do me a favor and stay here if you ever come through way again."  Sounded like a deal.  I told him as much and thanked him.  I wish I could recall the name of the campground, but I can't even definitively find it on Google Maps. It's somewhere between Tahoe and Truckee, is all I know.

Maybe it's sacrilegious to say so, but as I get towards the end of a roadtrip, I start to really pine for home.  I see where others will stretch their trips out to the absolute limits, but I personally get enamored with the thought of my bed and shower at my disposal.  Particularly with a return to work looming in the near future.

I was a bit dismayed at the amount of progress I'd made the day before, with all the relentless twisties.  I opted for Route 89, which turned out to be a great choice.  It wasn't a major interstate, but it was fast moving and had plenty of turns and scenery.  It was cool out, and I felt like I was just in front of rain for most of the time.  I hit a few sprinkles along the way, but nothing to fret over.

High plains drifter...

I was getting great gas mileage at elevation, 51 and change compared to my normal average of about 45 mpg.  Doesn't sound like that much of a difference, but it was definitely noticeable over the range of a tank.

An unplanned bonus of the route was that it led through Lassen Volcanic National Park.  I only knew the park by name, but was certainly game to ride through it.  I didn't realize it would cost me money to take the road through Lassen, but the $5 motorcycle fee was well worth it.  I realized that each of my motorcycle trips in the past had involved national parks, Crater Lake my first trip, and Glacier my second.  The national parks are one thing that our country has done right.  Sure, people will complain that they could be run better, but the fact that they exist in the first place is something to celebrate.  I made a snap decision to involve a national park in each future trip if I could help it.  And also to check out the Ken Burns series when I got a chance.

Lassen was reminiscent of Crater Lake for me, but it seemed like it was older, geologically speaking.  The scenery was beautiful and the park, while not empty, wasn't crowded, nothing like Crater Lake and Glacier. The road had been freshly chip sealed, and there were lots of oily patches.  I tried to snap pictures as I could along the way while still keeping an eye on the road.

I liked these knobby spires left by erosion.

Tried to capture how epic this road would be if traffic and speed limits weren't factors

Lassen Peak

Chaos Crags?

As is the case with all National Parks, I really wish I'd spent more time to hike around and explore, but the ride through was nice nonetheless.  I was pretty hungry by the time I left though, so decided to stop in Burney for lunch.  It was a little bit out of the way, but it looked like it'd be the only opportunity for food for a while.

The road got far less interesting outside of Lassen. And rain hung in the air ominously.

Burney was depressingly depressed.  There weren't many choices for restaurants in the town, a McDonald's being the sole fast food joint, and one of the only businesses that looked prosperous.  I briefly considered stopping there, but decided instead to check out a pizza place.  But, as luck would have it, the pizza place was out of business, so I decided on the neighboring greasy spoon diner.  All of the staff and patrons looked like they had been runner ups for the Jerry Springer Show, but the burger wasn't bad, I'll give them that.

I backtracked to 89, and followed it into Mt. Shasta, and past the eponymous mountain.  Mt. Shasta did indeed look like Mt. Rainier's sibling.  Before I knew it I was connecting with I-5.  This was officially the farthest south I'd been on I-5.  I've heard horror stories, or more accurately, boredom stories of the southern parts of I-5, where the only positive thing people have to say about it is that you can drive fast.  Fortunately, this area and north still proved to be interesting, even for interstate travel.

I somehow managed to miss taking a picture of Mt. Shasta, but got a picture of nearby Black Butte.

I stopped in Weed to get gas, and mainly say that I'd been to Weed.  I wanted to take advantage of California's cheap, free market liquor while I had the chance.  Washington recently shut the doors on the state liquor stores and allowed hard alcohol to be sold in grocery stores, but at an exorbitant tax rate.  Liquor in California can be literally half the price of what you'd find in Washington, so I wanted to pick up a bottle or two of good whiskey while I had the chance.  It turned out I'd taken the wrong exit, and found gas stations and little else.  I considered stopping in Yreka down the road, but saw billboards for Liquor Expo, which proclaimed itself to be "Worth the Stop."  Well, can't argue with that slogan.

I found Liquor Expo easily enough.  In the parking lot I saw an attractive young lady wearing a dress that left little to the imagination, and I was reminded of how lonely and caveman one can get on a motorcycle trip.  The place was indeed worth the stop.  It was like Beverages and More, but without the corporate overtone.  I picked up a bottle of Bulleit Rye for $19--it's apparently considered "cheap" whiskey in these parts, but it's upper-middle shelf in Washington (at least by my standards).  I also picked up a bottle of Eagle Rare, I'd never heard of it, but one of the employees recommended it to me, and it was competitive with Knob Creek.

From there, I pretty much just ticked away miles as I headed into Oregon.  I stopped in Grants Pass to get bearings and realized that I'd already overshot one campground I had considered.  Looking at the map, I wasn't sure what the next opportunity would be, but I saw a couple places that were contenders, and figured that if all else failed, I'd get a motel in Eugene.

The hills of southern Orygun

I saw that there was a park in Wolf Creek on the map, so I decided to give it a look see.  When I pulled off the highway, I saw signs for the historic Wolf Creek Inn, but followed the less prominent signs to Wolf Creek Park.  I pulled into the park and looked at the kiosk, and yes, they had camping.  Score.  Not only that, but they also had a 9 hole disc golf course.  Double score.

The campground turned out to be pretty cool, it was obviously built in the '70s and though had been well maintained, had not been renovated.  Everything had a distinctly retro feel and I dug it.  I would have felt at home in short shorts and tall socks.

I rode around the campground more than I meant to.  I was incredibly indecisive about which site to pick, and in scouting out spaces, I found myself on a dead end path and did some inadvertent dual sporting through the woods to get back on track.  I finally settled on a relatively private site by the creek.  The creek was mostly dry, but there was a bit of water in pools, and I figured it'd do a little something to cool off my beers.  I wasn't sure about the water, so I made sure to prop them up with the necks out of the water.

While I was dropping off the envelope, the camp host came out to chat with me.  He was friendly, and seemed glad to have someone stopping by.  He told me that I'd just missed a big biker rally the weekend before.  They'd set up a stage and everything, and had wet t-shirt and booty shaking contests.  And of course lots of beer.  I wasn't sure if I was glad that I'd missed it or not.

The host told me to enjoy my stay and just asked that I keep an eye on my fire if I decided to have one.  I scrounged some deadfall and chopped up the wood as it got dark out.  My desire for a secluded spot turned out not to matter, as I was the only one in the campground.  I worked on finishing my beer (trying hard not to think about the composition of the creek after a biker rally), and had a pleasant, but somber evening by the fire.  This would be my last night camping.  I was ready to head back to the comforts of home, but I also didn't relish the trip coming to an end.