Perfectly relaxing, wine drinking cheese and salami munching sendoff for our neighbor hosts, Will and Ken at Rock Creek. Next begins the arduous task of stuffing our whole nine yards back into LilyPad and the commencement of our journey back to Texas.
The wedding party campers stayed one overnight, leaving early and skirting the rain that was due on their departing morning. With three campsites used out of eleven, our final tasks, on our last working morning of the Lone Pine Group Campground host volunteer position experience, were few. Rake fire pits, empty trash, sanitize vaults, mow both lawns, strip our golf cart bare, store tools, lock wood shed, swing shut and lock our huge heavy metal gate. Lone Pine is immaculately clean and tucked in for the winter.
A heavy misted fog crept along the tree tops as we pulled out of Lone Pine for the last time. The brilliant yellow leaves of our Big Leaf Maple had dropped from their branches even before turning full color but the tantalizing fragrance of the Pine and Sequoyah that dominate the peaceful Umpqua National Forest more than made up for the loss.
Hundreds of times we have traversed this winding road, passing less than two vehicles coming or going. This morning, three semi’s, six pick-em-ups and seven cars whizzed by, causing an avoidance of vehicles around nearly every turn. John and I had our travels over curvy Rock Creek’s one-plus-a-smidge logging road down to a science. The 20 minutes it takes to get from Lone Pine to its tee into Rt. 38 is driven with me at the lead, walkie-talkie in hand, far enough ahead to let John know something’s on its way. On my notice, he pulls over until it passes and I stop until I see him in my rear view mirror again. For our departure, we stopped nearly three times per mile so it took double the time.
A return visit to an overnight at Seven Feathers Resort RV Park in Canyonville, Oregon. One of the few true Resort RV Parks and a very enjoyable stay. In the morning we leave for Redding CA to visit an old friend from our youthfully wild days in Chico, CA.
Long road trips require exploring ways to keep us both entertained and new boredom killers are the job requirements of the one sitting in the passenger seat. Along with keeping an eye on the GPS directions, I take this task seriously. It is always a relief to find something of interest to discuss while rolling along. Passing “Jump Off Joe Creek” led to exploring how it got its name. Entering the town of Weed with its entrance sign stating “Weed like to welcome you!” produced a few chuckles.
The scenery was rocky and straw colored with puffs of dark green stuck into the ground with dark brown sticks. They speckled the barren pasture lands as we made our way to Redding and what I believe to be the hottest part of California. In the distance, Mount Shasta.
California has been in the news for several years affirming the drought that befell the land over the last few years. I was unprepared for the shocking loss of water in one of California’s largest reservoirs, Shasta Lake. The blue has receded from the Lakes fingers, replaced by barely moist mud. There are more absent water lines than there is water.
Our overnight was the Redding Elks Lodge RV Park and the friendliest Lodge in California. After settling, we threw back a few at the bar. Next to us sat a gentleman that graduated in 1953 from John’s alma mater, Chico State University. Meeting up with our friends in the Elks Lodge bar, the five of us chatted up old times before our dinner reservation.
Jack’s Grill was our destination for dinner. Housed in the Morrison Building, its décor offers a peak into the off colored era that has long disappeared.
Built by Bill Morrison in 1935, the building was used as a mercantile with living quarters above until 1938. Leased to John “Jack” Young, a WWII fighter pilot that flew for the Lafayette Escadrille in France, he opened Jack’s Grill and a brothel upstairs. In 1941, Fat Woolf purchased Jack’s and maintained the “soiled doves”. Morrison, furious over the use of the 2nd floor, padlocked the upstairs in 1943. The Stanley’s, Morrison’s daughter and son-in-law, bought Jack’s and ran it until her death in 1991. Her husband, an accomplished pianist, played for the customers until his death in 1962. Bill Morrison Jr. managed Jack’s from 1960-1977. Don Conley became manager, purchasing the business and property in 1992.
Jack’s continues to be a link to the wild days of the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s and an historic site offering a window into the “heydays” of Redding, CA.
Void of flamboyance but still retaining original bathroom fixtures and lighting fixtures, foodie wise, steaks are their specialty. You enter into a dark, cramped, overflowing with humanity room, one side bordered by a vintage bar and friendly bar patrons politely crowding in with dinner guests. Without much stretch of the imagination, you could envision ladies-of-the-night strolling up to the bar.
To our surprise, our Waitress Extraordinaire was Denise, mother of Megan Rapinoe, US women’s national soccer team. She posed with Lew providing me with an excellent Kodak Moment.
While we slept, Charlotte had constructed a colossal web and hung around all night waiting for dinner. In the morning, John moved her to the chain link fence where she stayed until we left Redding.
Next day’s adventure with friends Lew and Sue took us to Whiskeyville Lake with a lunch stop at Millhouse Deli, a delightfully eclectic diner serving a variety of home-made noon meal delights. Sun tea sat brewing in a jar on the rail as John and Lew waited for me to do my picture taking thing. We sat on the back enclosed porch and chatted long after our comfort food was consumed.
Toured Whiskeyville Lake area and stopped to check out the host site for future reference. Winter might be a nice time for us to consider hosting at this peaceful lake RV park when we return in a few years but only if the water stays.
On the way back to the Lodge we stopped to watch vintage cars with couples dressed in vintage clothing wander the area.
Leaving this a.m. for San Jose. Travels today were hot, hot, hot. How hot was it, you ask? It was so hot, the birds had to use potholders to pull worms out of the ground.
Arrived at San Jose Elks Lodge RV park, second drink free in the lounge, In-and-Out Burger for dinner, fussy 50 amp fuse box that thought 102 degree heat was to exhausting for it to oblige. After popping fuses and trying numerous ideas, the 2 a.m. solution was to plug into the outlet of the empty site behind us. Success!
Memory fades and negative over-the-road driving conditions are forgotten until you pass that way again. California highways are ill marked, notices of closed entrances are not reported to GPS programs resulting in our GPS claiming “off route!” repeatedly. Broiling sun, numerous dips in the roads, constant cracks and continual unleveled breaks in the road, a spine hammering ride that would make even the multi-million dollar Prevost yelp with frustration and exclaim OMG, what are California road taxes going towards? We couldn’t have jostled, bounced, rattled and shook more had we been in a covered wagon on dirt roads. Sorry home state of California but your roads SUCK!
Next morning, On the Road Again, Willies melodic Southern croon awakens us to greet another day of extensively high heat travel. A slight reprieve from the heat while passing through forests of Eucalyptus trees, uphill and down, with MPG oscillating between 3 uphill and 52 downhill for the next 100 miles.
Diesel stop, stuck behind a trucker with a Christian remark posted on his back door, blocking pump 22 at Pilot for over a half hour.
This guy is nowhere to be found and his rudeness at parking at the pump was an understatement. Still boiling outside, uncomfortable sitting and not feeling forgiving for the outrageously lengthy wait, I dialed the number on the back of the truck and let loose! Inconsiderate, un-Christian, explained that we were unable to back up without detaching our car, unhappy about the extremely long wait, I got my pain induced, heat exhausted frustration out of my system as I politely pounced on the young man that answered. He promised he would pass on the info to the Christian owner. Still waiting, the driver came out, opened up his truck hood and began pouring in additives! Grrrr! A giant Russian, 6 foot plus, I approached him and told him it was time for him to move as we had waited long enough. John reiterated. Grumbling, he moved. Kept our fingers crossed that he wasn’t part of the Russian Mafia and kept a watchful eye on our rear as we drove on down the road.
Salinas Valley and Gonzales, the area that borders the long stretch of El Camino Real Hwy 101, is in constant motion with tractors busting up dirt clods and causing dusty dirt devils to spin-out across open fields. Intermittent fields are green and ready for harvest, crews bent over crops behind machines that move their pickings into boxes, carrying fresh produce to be delivered to local stores so we can make a selection, pay, drive home and enjoy the fruits of their hard labor.
When I was young, workers weren’t given water breaks, they lived in tents or cars and no facilities were provided. Conditions only slightly improved as the owners now provide shacks for their workers, give water breaks and have port-a-potties in the fields. The job of migrant farm worker is far down my list of employment druthers, miles further down than the distasteful task of cleaning vault toilets.
Pismo Beach Elks Lodge, one block from the beach, a re-visit from last year and our overnight. After checking in, Ribbit decided to pitch a fit about the heat and sprung a leak in the radiator. Water dripping, we drove with a full gallon of radiator fluid to our dinner destination.
Clouds behind the sun provided us with a spectacular good night Sunset on Oceano Beach. Cane and camera in hand, I marched over the sand to the water’s edge, took pictures and marched back. Long treks across sand are never a good decision with my ankle but an hour in my cryo-cuff and getting awesome pictures make it totally worthwhile.
Next morning Ribbit’s radiator level was only slightly down so we topped off the fluid, drove to a Laundromat to do the wash and paused at the monarch Butterfly Park on the way back. The expansive flocks of Monarch’s are not due back until November but a few sat lazily on the gigantic Eucalyptus trees. Leaves and branches twitched with orange color while we relaxed on a bench inhaling the soothing vapors from the trees and watching butterflies float through the air.
We awoke to the sound of small aircraft overhead and strolled outside for a breath of fresh sea air. Parked at the Elks Lodge back entrance was the Sheriff Department’s Viper Cop Car. Ceasing the Kodak Moment, I asked him to pose for my blog and he politely agreed. Now I know where all that California road repair money is going! Actually, it was a drug bust seizure and he was lucky enough to regularly have access to the car.
Football, Dinner, more football and the day was gone. Sunset picture of LilyPad in the Oceano Elks Lodge RV Park,
sunset picture of Oceano Beach,
sundown picture of Pismo Beach from the docks and another day slipped into night.
