Oregon Trail

Ladies and gentlemen, I did it: I finally got to a different state! California is too damn big. I miss New England, where you could choose a direction at random, drive for an hour, and chances would be damn good that you'd be in a new state (or the Atlantic. Or CANADA! eh?). I left Lassen Volcanic National Park just after noon today, but when I found myself in Weed (more on that later) late in the afternoon and realized that the Oregon border was only an hour's drive away...well, I had to go for it.

And does it ever feel good. I love Oregon. Here's a list:

1. Oregon is more beautiful than California. I attribute this to a phenomena called "rain," which means that the landscape is a beautiful emerald green. As opposed to a hellish, burnt brown.
2. Oregon is more affordable than California. Gas is easily $0.50/gal less, and food/lodging ain't too bad, neither.
3. Oregon has free wireless access at their rest stops. I showed up after the place had closed, so I didn't get to use it, but still...well, it's nice. California rest stops are lucky if they have toilet seats.
4. Oregon grows a hell of a lot of potatoes. I learned this at the rest stop information booth. You know what they make from potatoes? French fries. You know what you can make from french fries? Poutine. Enough said.
5. When I drove into Klamath Falls this evening, everyone was out in the streets dancing and partying. There was a blues band playing for free on the city steps. And apparently there's a rodeo somewhere around here. It was the best possible way to enter the state, especially after over two weeks road tripping in California -- damn, I had gotten tired of that state.

So here I am: on the Oregon Trail.* I had planned to camp out tonight and then take care of my internet needs tomorrow morning in Klamath Falls, but any potential campgrounds would have been about an hour out of my way. So here we are, motel-style. So far, I regret nothing. I'll be up at Crater Lake tomorrow, and I can't wait. It also works out well, because I had a good day and I want to share.

*I loved that game, especially back in grade school when you could actually play it on the library computer because it was educational, or something. The key, of course, was to not buy any food and invest all your money in bullets. I must have killed half the buffalo in the great plains playing that game (but you can only carry 40 pounds of meat!), although everyone on my wagons always seemed to die of dysentery (I am proud to announce that I have not died of dysentery. I did rip a pretty loud fart earlier, though). Maybe it was the all-buffalo meat diet.

Lassen Volcanic National Park is a beautiful little park. I got in the little hikes yesterday, visiting King's Creek Falls and Bumpass Hell (this is a series of volcanic steam vents, mudpots, and boiling hot springs. Although most of the ground in the area is still covered in snow, this particular spot is bare of all snow, exposing orange, yellow, and green-tinged soil. Steam vents reeking of sulfur pour into the air, and boiling springs send gray-green muddy streams running through the sulfur domes. It was other-worldly), finding a nice campground that allowed using nearby fallen wood for firewood (I like making fires. But not in a criminal sort of way. Thanks for reading, Department of Homeland Security!). This morning I hiked up Lassen Peak, the now-dormant volcano that dominates the center of the park. It was a beautiful mountain, and had my favorite sign at the trailhead: "DANGEROUS TERRAIN. HIKING NOT RECOMMENDED."

Good times.

North of the park, in the adjacent Lassen National Forest, lies a curious geological feature: the lava tubes. Called "Subway Caves," the site features a 1300-foot long natural rock pipe formed by a chance lava flow eons ago. A trail allows visitors to walk through the entire length of the tube. It gets dark in there -- really dark. How do I know? My flashlight died almost halfway in. I was able to slowly make my way back out and get some fresh batteries, but the fact remains: it gets damn dark in the Subway Caves.

Driving north, I noticed the town of "Weed, California" on my road atlas. And no, it's not what you think. Apparently, the down was founded by a Mr. Abner Weed (of Penobscot county, Maine) in the late 19th century, when he started the lumber mill that would be the towns primary (if not only) industry. I learned this at the "Weed Logging Museum," where the curator (Sal? I'll just call him Sal. I'm pretty sure that's what he said. I have the rare ability to forget people's names the moment they introduce themselves, and this was no exception) said to me what I like to call, "the best quote ever."

We were discussing the current depressed local economy (the lumber mill had significantly reduced production over the past few decades), and we agreed that the country could use a serious change in the upcoming election -- such as an Obama presidency. Sal mentioned that he liked Obama, but he was concerned that residual racism in the country would prevent him from being elected. I can't remember precisely what he said, but this is damn close:

"You younger kids get it, but I'm afraid the older folks won't vote for him because he's black. They don't see like you do that it doesn't matter what color his skin is. And it's a shame, because I think if he doesn't get elected, those damn slant-eyes are gonna own everything."

Sal continued on a bit on his mistrust of China and its many denizens. I make a noncomittal remark about the significant difference between Chinese and "Western" cultures, while furiously making a mental note to remember this moment. Sal has introduced me to an entirely new form of racism: nationalist racism, where the color of someone's skin doesn't matter...unless they're from another country. Then they become a bunch of shifty slant-eyed bastards.

I don't want to disparage Sal in any way -- this is a man who fought in WWII and lived through the entire Cold War -- a man who spent a lifetime being told that you can't trust Red China. And considering their abominable history in the Human Rights and Envinronmental departments, I would say Sal is dead on to not trust the Chinese government. But if he had specified that, instead of calling them "a bunch of damn slant-eyes," well, it wouldn't have been the best quote ever.

-deuce-