California Baby!

Fully loaded and with a vague destination in mind, we once again headed to Crater Lake but veered off, halfway around, to continue our southward journey. Using the minor roads to lose height and dive in to thick forest, we finally emerge on a flat valley of green grass and golden leafed deciduous trees as Autumn showed its firm grip on the landscape. We stopped for a lunch of cheese and apple, to enjoy the warmth of the sun and admire the golden leaves against the backdrop of Crater Lake in the distance. Life was good. Life was very good!

The afternoon continued our drop in elevation as the Klamath River gave way to the Klamath Lake and Klamath Falls as being our chance to visit Walmart and re-stock the pantry for another night on the floor. As Isi was doing the shopping, I was watching the USAF jets going to and from the local airfield, in displays of formation flight and enough noise to quiet the noisy V8 gas-gusslers that seemed to be the vehicle of choice in this area. The town was flanked by cliffs of bare sandstone coloured rock made all the more vivid by the lowering of the sun bathing the cliffs and the town in a pale orange light.

It was time to make it to the campsite about a mile up the road and get pitched before dark. However, this was not meant to be, as the site was closed - a downside of our lateness in the season. A quick check of iOverlander and a BLM site was identified a few miles further along the same road. 1/2 mile of dirt track led to an empty site except for one trailer hitched behind a truck, in readiness to leave. As we arrived the camp host said the site was closing in about 5 minutes as work was starting on the dammed river running alongside the site. It was deemed too dangerous to have public camping at the same time. Made sense but left us with a problem.

The camp-host said we should go back to the tarmac road, turn left, go over the bridge and take the first paved road on the right. Carry on for 14 miles and on our left would be another BLM site. He was very precise with his instructions and so we thought, what do we have to lose?

Light started fading fast as the road climbed through dense forest on a narrow, barely travelled paved road. We were starting to wonder of the wiseness of following these instructions, checking out possible emergency sites that we could use for a ‘cheap n dirty’ overnight stop. But, true to his word, as the fourteenth mile ticked over, there was Surveyors Campground on our left. Nestled in amongst the dense, towering pines was a campground with just 2 other residents, no water but a very clean pit-toilet. The spring had dried up many weeks prior, so it was lucky we were prepared and carried our own.

As we were pitching the tent, one of the residents left in his beaten up old truck and the sound of a chainsaw followed soon after. On his return, he stopped and asked of we wanted any wood? Seeing us on bikes must have told him we couldn’t carry any and yes, we would love to have some. “Hang on, I’ll go split some for you”. Just as I was settling in to preparing the evening meal, he returned with a massive pile of wood, kindling and starting paper enough to last the evening and the morning. He showed us how best to set a fire with this particular pine and, in the process, built the fire for us. He wasn’t much for talking but he was really keen to make sure we were happy.

As he was about to leave, we passed him $10. “What’s this for?” He said with almost disdain in his voice “I didn’t do this for money”. We really did appreciate that but he had done us a massive service and we had nothing to offer in return. $10 was our way of showing appreciation and once he realised we were not paying for a service, he gladly accepted and left us to it. His face showed a hard life led but his heart had remained warm and caring. He had a story to tell but not one we would be privileged to hear.

That night was the first time we had real concerns for bears as the night sounds contained no hint of civilisation but plenty of the true custodians of the forest it was our privilege to sleep in. As a precaution, we put the kitchen pannier and bear-bag in the pit toilet block. More to ease our minds than anything else. Obviously, we did sleep and we slept well. By morning, it was very cold but the fire soon banished the shivers and it was then OK for Isi to surface and join me for tea and porridge.

Without a phone signal and only a rough idea of where we were, we headed out in search of a signal and civilisation. As we left the forest behind us, the view opened up on a valley floor below us, and the windy, steep road to meet it. Civilisation and phone signal were combined with a Wendy’s burger, fries and the agreement that tonight would be a bed and (hopefully) a launderette.

To make life easier, we used the Freeway to Yreka and the ironically named Relax Inn Motel. Half the motel was being re-roofed by a team of Mexicans with sticks and hammers removing the old felt and smashing in raised nails in preparation for the new felt tiles. Thankfully, our section of the motel was not ‘under destruction’ and, as night threatened, they left for the day and the sound of the passing freeway was all that was left - a long cry from the previous night but no matter, a shower was required but despite repeated scrubbing, Isi could not get her feet as clean as she would have liked and the skin between the toes was splitting and itchy. Hours and hours of wearing heavy motorcycle boots was having its toll.

With washed feet and sockless Crocs, it was time for the 15 minute walk to pay attention to the mundane but necessary task of laundry. As the smalls were being revived, we sat down to our sumptuous evening meal of boiled eggs, cheese and an apple. We know how to live the glamorous lifestyle…

On the way back to the motel, we passed a drugstore and, since we needed to replenish some of our many pills and potions, we perused the shelves and found something of similar equivalence. At the checkout and hearing our accents, the cashier gleefully shouted out “We whooped your arses in 1776!”. A period of silence followed and the cashier started justifying his outburst with some lame excuse that he had promised a friend he would say this at his earliest opportunity. “Right…..” Said Isi, “can we pay now?” The cashier mumbled something that was nothing like a proper apology, we paid and we left. As we laughed about the interaction, we joked the audit (on how the Americans had done since we allowed them to self-govern) really was not going well and this young man would feature in our report as a perfect example of how not to welcome strangers or show effective customer service whilst in employment.

That night, as Isi was downloading the days footage, she suddenly lost the last months worth of saved video. When Danny, of the Million Dollar Bogan YouTube channel, did similar, we laughed at how pathetic he seemed with his overboard reaction on losing footage on a damaged hard drive. It is not until it happens to you that you fully appreciate how devastating it can feel - such a feeling of loss and despair, similar to a bereavement. At the click of a button, our mood had changed and shouts of “why bother with the trip now” were mixed with the real tears.

Whilst Isi checked hard drives and files to see if the files could be retrieved, I started Googling and trying different things. It would seem that deleted files from an external hard drive are not recoverable from the Mac ‘bin’ as they do not appear in this bin. After a frantic few hours, I established that the accidentally deleted video files were retained in the external hard drive ‘bin’ and would only appear when the external hard drive was attached. With this knowledge, I left the Mac running overnight in the hope to recover the files while Isi vowed to hold copies in multiple places for the future - I too set about doing a “time machine” for my Mac, before I too would make a simple mistake.

The following morning we awoke to the elation of recovered video files and the sounds of a Mexican celebrity belting his tunes out of the radio on top of the roof. We assume the celebrity status as the roofing crew joined in the chorus in various tones of flatness that was almost tuneful in a “I give up” kinda way. The hotel manager was trying to make himself known, walking back and forth and calling up to the roof but he eventually gave up and slunk indoors, defeated. However, the radio was quickly turned down when the manager’s wife came out and read the riot act. It was obvious who wore the trousers around here!

All packed, we headed North for a few miles before turning West on the 96 and our first taste of windy roads in California. As the road carved its way through the desert like hills, they gave way to more mountainous terrain and accompanied a fast flowing stream that became a small river. This was a great introduction to California, albeit the traffic was heavier than we were used to on this type of road. However, the lorries and cars would find the first place they could pull over and allow us to pass, as overtaking opportunities were limited and infrequent.

After numerous miles of fun, Isi went quiet and needed a break. It was time for a nanna-nap and a suitable pull-off was found in the crook of a hill, with a waterfall plunging in to a manmade pool with a concrete channel carrying the runoff. It seemed over-engineered for a simple waterfall and a run-off. However, as Isi fell asleep astride her bike, a roadworks water bowser backed up to the pool and started to fill up. The pool had been created for this very reason - water was needed in the building and maintenance of the road, so this waterfall was a perfect place to collect from. All the noise and dust didn’t cause Isi to stir - she was out for the count!

The bowser left and soon after, Isi stirred, relocated to the shade, ate some banana chips and as the fogginess of sleep withdrew, it was time to go enjoy more of the twisty landscape this road had to offer.

Whilst we were fully enjoying the road and great weather, we were both suffering with bad backs and general tiredness. For this reason, we discounted the option of camping and settled on a Travelodge motel in Eureka. The name of the town sounds more promising than it actually was. The car-parks around the fenced in compound of the motel were home to a number of tents and the homeless occupants that resided there. The place had a bad feel about it but this was more to do with our pre-conceptions and nervousness of a new place than from any real concerns. The people that would ask for change would do so politely and thanked us even though we had nothing to give. (We don’t carry much cash in the US as it’s generally not needed).

We had nothing to fear but fear itself and one of my daily challenges is confronting the fear of the unknown and ‘what-ifs’. The exhilaration of an adventure is conquering your fears in any way you can.

Leaving Eureka on the anniversary of Isi’s Dad’s passing, Isi was starting to feel rather depressed about America and California in particular. It seemed that every street corner would house another homeless person trying to make the best of a poor situation and every car park would have a tent-corner where they could feel safe and create their own sense of community. It didn’t matter what others may think or say, these people did not choose to be there. They were victims of a society that could not provide the resources to help these people with housing or access to mental health treatment (in my opinion a higher priority). It also seemed that every car we passed, was followed by a cloud of weed smoke - the sweet smell covering any other smells and warning us of the probable intoxication of the drivers sharing our road. Whether you agree or not with the legalisation of weed, the fact they smoke and drive cannot be a good combination (and is still illegal but rarely bothered with).

With the promise of rain for the next few days, we headed to the Avenue of the Giants and specifically the “Avenue of the Giants Stafford RV Park and Campground” hitherto referred to as the “shed” or “shed site”. We rode through fields and past small farmsteads that had seen better days with various farm machinery in different states of rust consumption. We tried to avoid the main road but eventually we had no choice.

We reached the shed site and hung around waiting for the site owner to appear, not the friendliest and try as I might, I could not garner any sense of a smile or humour. We asked where the tent sites were and followed him in his golf-cart to a patch of uneven, barely mown area of grass underneath the pine trees already dripping with the days moisture, Remembering the forecast for the next few days, we asked about the huts. Back to the golf-cart and a tour of the site to a shed underneath pine trees, on the boundary fence, near to the toilet block and next to permanent residents in their RV’s in different states of repair. $50 per night was steep but we agreed on two nights.

As we settled in, we found the double mattress was bigger than the sloping base it was sat on, with overhangs of 6 inches on 3 sides. The mattress was also covered in a plastic cover that could not be removed. We knew we would need to provide our own bedding and, to be quite honest, we would have preferred to do so, even if bedding was provided. The shed was a normal, small shed size. One chair took up most of the available floor space, between an old chest of drawers on one side and a fridge beneath dodgy shelves on the other. One of the residents did turn up with a fan heater for us to use. That was it…

The water on site was not potable (drinking water) and when I asked, I was told they buy water in the next town. Some people boil it and it is probably safe but they couldn’t be bothered with the regular tests (and costs) that would be required as the water was sourced from a borehole. We used our water filters before boiling as we had no confidence in ‘probably’ and ‘maybe’.

I then pushed my luck even further by asking if we could have a table and chairs provided as every other pitch had them, including RV specific sites. I suggested I help myself to the chairs and table from one of these sites as the campground was virtually empty except for the permanent residents. “No, you can’t do that. I’ll find something.” And with that, the glass window was shut forcibly as an obvious sign the conversation was over. I have yet to meet another person so unsuitably suited to the task of front-of-house!

With no good news to offer Isi and no sign of a table, we figured it would be best to go for a ride through the Avenue of Giants. Isi was not in the best of places as this was the anniversary of her Dad’s death and she felt alone and distant from her family. Things like this affect you more when so far away from familiar surroundings. This feeling had been brewing for a few days and the shed was not really helping. I was hopeful a ride out would help as I too was not in the best of places, but for different reasons.

Having looked at the map previously, the Avenue of the Giants route was a there-and-back and I wanted to add some variety. When I asked Calimoto, it did introduce a loop in to the mountain before returning to the there-and-back. On paper, it would double the distance and time. I was insistent that we follow the Calimoto route I had planned, even though Isi wanted to keep it simple and just ride the Avenue.

The start of the route was OK - narrowish lanes, steep hills and potholes that was just so much like being at home. That is, until you look at the spread of ‘pompous’ (Pampas) grass that grows like a weed in every crack in the tarmac and all along the verges where the light broke through the tree cover. No traffic and virtually no houses, this was a great little road that led up the side of the mountain for many miles.

As we were about 2/3rds of the way through this loop, the route took us off the paved, through an open gate and past all the signs warning of logging lorries. This was the first time Calimoto had taken us off paved roads with no warning and, I suspect, a locked gate - most of the time. We stopped and looked at the maps but the turn to our right and the continuation of the paved, led down in to the valley but didn’t show a way to get across the river and on to the main road the other side. Our options were to turn around and retrace our steps, or take the dirt road and hope it met paved pretty soon.

Once again, I did not listen to Isi and my cajoling and assurances of ‘how bad can it be?’ led to us taking the option of dirt.

The track started dry and hard-packed with little to worry about. I started to enjoy the ride as we passed through thick forest climbing on one side and descending on the other. The smells of damp, thick, dark pine forests filled the nose as the easy track gave way to slightly deeper wheel tracks and the sound of chainsaws grew ever louder. We broke through to a clearing where a team of 3 or 4 were clearing the side of the track, cutting small wood to be burned on the smoking fires. The sights and smells cast smiles across my face as we continued up and down as the track tried desperately to keep to the gradients of the numerous small, dark gullies.

The quiet comms were being replaced with the sounds of gasping air and expletives as Isi started to make her discomfort very apparent. After a number of stops to regain breath and composure, we came across a narrow, mud-caked, damp and inclined bridge that dropped away further toward a sharp corner where the track then took to a steep incline. Water pooled in the sharp corner where the wheel-tracks were deeper as the previous vehicles had powered on to rise the climb. It looked a challenge and my fears and anxiety raised their voices to shout in my head, whilst I was trying to remain outwardly calm and convince Isi it wasn’t too bad.

We parked the bikes mid-track and walked the section to see how it could be managed. Within moments and with a number of choice words, Isi threw her keys at me and walked off. It was up to me to get the bikes out of the mess I had got us both in to. I have to say, I was not looking forward to the ride through the mud, round the corner and up the hill in to goodness knows what around the next corner!

With a ‘fuck-it’, I put on my big-girl-pants, started the bike, selected 1st gear and stood on the pegs as I committed all to the next few minutes. The bike slipped around the corner but stayed true to the track and I climbed out of the gully and around the corner, passing Isi as she removed her helmet and continued the walk uphill. Thankfully, the track dried out as the sun cast through the thin undergrowth clinging on to the steep slope leading out to the valley below. I didn’t have time to enjoy the view and suspected Isi wasn’t in a what-a-lovely-view mood, as I finally reached the top and parked next to a rusting but serviceable road-grader. Keys out and down the hill I went to get Isi’s bike. We passed without acknowledgement as Isi continued up and I focused on my task to get both bikes to the top, unscathed.

As I parked Isi’s bike beside mine and I tried to regain my nervous breath, Isi appeared with a face streaked with tears and shouting further accusations, to which I had no answers and comfort for. I was wondering if the trip was now in jeopardy, particularly as Isi swung her helmet toward the valley but, thankfully, retained a grip of the strap. This trail had proved too much for Isi’s emotional state around her Dad’s anniversary and I’m not surprised. I had been blind to the emotional circumstances and had been too insistent in a desire to escape the gloominess of the shed, weather and general feeling of malaise that had overtaken my headspace.

After a few minutes and a short walk further down the track, it was time to give it a go. The road-grader had done a good job and the sun had worked, as the track remained less rutted and drier than the previous sections. A few miles later, and we appeared on the valley floor and the bridge. I use that word loosely as the first part of the bridge was a raised concrete strip, and the second part a bare ribbon with wooden boards over the water that runs all year. It was wide enough for one vehicle but it was obvious the logging lorries use the exit we had entered in as this was a ‘light vehicle only’ crossing. The fear of retracing our tracks was far greater than the fear of the wooden crossing and whilst unspoken, I believe Isi felt the same way.

After a few corners of the now paved road, the comms started to come to life as Isi came back from her dark place and I uttered the apologies I wanted to offer, while trying to be upbeat about the adversity we had faced and beaten. I suspect my attempt at cheerfulness was just prolonging the recovery to normality - but normality did return, however thinly veiled it was…

As we turned on to the Avenue of the Giants road, we saw a sign and just had to park up to take the obligatory photos. The road had sporadic traffic so we made sure to minimise any impact on others whilst getting the shot we wanted. After the last hour or so and trying to find a way back to normal communication, the last thing we needed was to include a police car in the equation but yes, a Sheriff pulled up, switched on his lights and proceeded to ask what we were doing and no it was not OK to park there as it was dangerous.

Anyone who knows me knows I struggle with the condescension and arrogance that exudes from some of those in a position of authority. My risk assessment concluded that it was both desirable and safe, so why would this person half my age consider their assessment was better than mine and their assessment trumps mine! I did the only thing I could possibly do and that was say “yes Sir”, jump on the bikes and ride off - we had the photos we wanted anyway…

What can I say about the Avenue of Giants? It is a forest full of really big and tall trees with a ribbon of road barely wide enough for 2 cars weaving its way through trees exhibiting the scars of numerous wing mirrors. An area protected by law to stop the continuation of the felling of such magnificent giants renowned for their Redwood timber being straight, true and very hard. As we meandered down the avenue, we stopped numerous times to change the camera locations for the videos to come later (check out our YouTube channel, Episode 19), trying different locations and angles to add a change to the standard views we had been favouring.

The road would open up in to small towns geared up for the seasonal masses that would invariably choke the towns and back up in to the avenue in either direction. Yet another example of why we are travelling at the end of the season as we passed through, admiring the buildings unhindered and with the occasional wave back to those that noticed our passage. However, a downside is that some things are closed - including the road to the end. This decision was easy, electing to return the way we had come, rather than take the main freeway.

One small town was called Miranda and, having a Miranda of my own, we could not go past without the photo-op. Rather apt that it includes the emergency contact number…

So, back to the shed…

Yes, a small table and one chair had been provided. Not what we had expected or desired but, having packed our own, we would have seats for two and enough space to cook outside the shed. And so it was for a couple of days, cramped inside the shed when the heavens opened and cooking on the outside table, when the breaks would allow.

This was not a highlight of the trip and both of us were feeling very down. I was starting to wonder what we were doing and if it was worth carrying on. We would invariably have worse roads to navigate, worse places to stay and worse weather, and if we couldn’t manage the relative ease of Northern California, then we were doomed. Before we left, some experienced travellers had warned us about a point (normally around 3 months in) when we would question what we were doing, not enjoy it and pine for the life we left behind. Was this my moment? It did feel like the Gods had stacked the deck against me and, crawling in to the sleeping bed, trying not to slide off the side of the mattress and sleeping like a crooked banana as the platform was neither big enough or flat, it did feel as if l should give in.

However, with an old-mans bladder shouting at me in the early hours, I sleepily arose to answer the call and stepped out of the shed shielding my eyes from the toilet block lights that seemed to be on 24hrs a day. As I did, I saw 4 adult and 1 juvenile deer, eating the apples that had fallen from the tree just 20 feet in front of me. Forgetting my bladder needs, I just stood and watched as the deer realised I was no threat and continued to graze on the windfall. After just a few minutes, they turned and melted in to the wet morning mist taking with them my desire to jack it all. I had not recovered from my malaise but had managed to allocate a box and file it in the distant reaches of my tired brain.

The next morning, we packed and left the shed in our tyre tracks, never to be returned to again…

Taking the main freeway South, we left the Avenue of the Giants behind us but not before visiting the Chandelier Tree at Leggett; a giant Redwood tree with a single lane tunnel carved through its trunk. Having paid the $10 per bike/car and failing to negotiate a discount for two, we rode the potholed single lane through the tree, stopping for the obligatory photos.

With nothing much else to see, we stopped to eat our bananas whilst looking across a meadow and lake, with deciduous trees in a blaze of oranges and yellows. An Asian family of three generations were also enjoying the area, with Granny taking so, so many photos of a totally disengaged boy of around 5 years old, no stranger to the instruction and cajoling of Granny to get that perfect picture, never satisfied with the results and straight in to the pursuit of another. As we kitted up and left, the boy was being asked to pose for yet more photos, both stuck in this automatic routine that both will probably regret as the years pass. But, who am I to judge? Hmmm…

Having left the freeway and filling up the tanks with some of the most expensive fuel we had had since we left Alaska, the road became fun and twisty as it carved its way to the coast and, just like a curtain had been pulled back, we were riding along the Pacific Ocean. We pulled in to a lay-by to prepare and eat cheese bagels, whilst watching the pounding surf break against the rocks and high cliffs; the sea spray rising hundreds of feet to shroud the distant cliff faces in an ethereal mist of muted blues, greens and greys; and the gulls crowding and calling for a crumb from our table.

Then we saw our first pelicans in flight, wingtips clipping the waves as they cruised the airstream above the mounting surf, in their pursuit of fish. They looked like a prehistoric throwback to the times when pterodactyls must have flocked this same coast with similar wishes to fill their stomachs with whatever fishy feasts they could find.

After a short ride down the coast, our road took us back inland, away from the traffic and back to twisty, empty roads that left us feeling exhausted and ready for a proper bed, a warm shower and food…

Tired, beaten and with our mood and enthusiasm fully restored, we got to our bed for the night - another motel, having given up on the availability of campsites, or at least those at a cost that is cheaper than the motels!

The next day we were headed for a new experience. California was proving to have it all and we had hardly scratched the surface!

Bunk-a-Biker

The Girl Loves Diamonds.