03 May 2010

the trip home part deux: the second part of day deux. The Hurricane's Wake, Dusting off the Thai & A Little Brown Trout Affair.

The rest of day two was not to be outdone by the beginning and, with bullheaded persistence it left the Hurricane to munch on the Troutmobile's dust.

The boogie along the 99 was at a leisurely pace as secondary highway driving tends to be, but me & the Troutmobile relished in the scenery and ease of it all. The roadside blossomed with fresh fruit stands. A pleasant change from the skipping record repetition of malls and Crapbucks' & McDs & the plethora of other vacuous attractions along the 5. (did I mention that I don't like the 5?)
Soon enough though, I was back on it and boogieing to a much faster beat. I decided that Redding would be the place for the brunchy-type meal I needed as all's I had til now was a smoothie, several coffees and an interaction with a hurricane. Redding it was. I had been wanting to stop at Panda Express. I was quite done with burgers & PEx is pretty much the best fast food you can get. It's always pretty decent and you can order vegetables. Well, I couldn't find one. Actually, I didn't look too long as I bumped into a little Thai place early on in my Redding venture & opted for it. I brushed off the few Thai phrases I could remember from my trip to Thailand a couple of years ago and was able to garner a couple of patronizing giggles. 'Oh, that silly caucasian!' The food was pretty good and the green tea was perfect. I felt the electrolytes flicking some neglected switches in my immune system and illuminating the hell out of it. Brief as it was.

Then I went our back to look at their bird sanctuary. It seemed to be as much a sanctuary as solitary confinement would be in Alcatraz.

Then it was back into the Troutmobile and I was off! (after finding a coffee shop)

Boogie boogie boogie.

I had some interesting conversations with some cars on the highway. Some relationships were formed while doing the automobile leap frog routine with several cars over several hundred miles. Read some bumper-stickers that made me want to get home quicker. Read some bumper-stickers that made me feel a bit better about it all.
Coffee ran out and I was in the process of deciding between Dunsmuir CA & Weed CA when a sign caught my eye: The Brown Trout Cafe.
Dunsmuir it was.
Somewhere high in the California section of the Cascades Mountain Range is a fantastic looking little town called Dunsmuir. Now, I know, you're all thinking that I favor it for the name of the cafe. Well, that's partially true, but it really was a cool place. The old buildings were built over running streams (they claim it to be the best water in the world) and the cafe had a hole in the floor to see it flow by. If the coffee was any indication of the water quality, it's a pretty spot on claim. Wandered around town and took some shots.

look closely... there's a truck in there.

Then it was back in the Troutmobile and I was off!
Boogieing to see if I could hit Portland there was no more time for lallygaggin. Dinner consisted of me pulling off the highway in some military town (easily distinguished by the even greater saturation of patriotism. if that's possible.) driving in circles (as seems to be my habit) until frustration led me to a KFC/A&W. The best part of the meal happened several hours later and I'll leave it at that. No, wait, the root beer was good.
Hopped back in the Troutmobile and after a sharp salute, I was off!
As though cliche were my co-pilot, the further into the north-west I got, the cloudier it became. Soon, it was raining and dark. The conspiracy between rain and my windshield wipers turned the bug guts on the windshield from individual monuments to the fallen into a brown-gray film that told me Salem was the stop for the night. (with a 'note to self' to clean the windshield in the morning).
Hunted around once again for the cheapest digs which ended up being another Motel 6. David, the deskman, was very helpful and knew more about Bozo than me despite the fact that I was wearing the Bozo shirt. It was a sketchy motel with a surly looking bald security guard and a lot of motorcycles in the parking lot. A lot of speed bikes and not many harleys so I figured it couldn't be all that bad. David let me park the Troutmobile directly infront of the lobby where he said the night guy stares, chin in hands, elbows on desk, all night long. My anti-theft device was working pretty good up until then, but the extra security was nice. (My anti-theft device was sheets of paper with 'Dear Criminals: Not worth the effort. The car is full of art that the artist himself has a hard time selling.' written in black felt marker.)
Packed it in for the night, turned on all the fans in the room to white-noise out the rowdies outside & fell the heck asleep...

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