Month: March 2025

I drove two hours out of my original planned way to get to these caverns once I read that they are the largest known crystal show cavern in the world.

This means that unlike caves filled with limestone stalactites and stalagmites, this cave system is filled with crystals, composed of varying strains of calcite.  Some of the helictites are of a purity not seen anywhere else.

The caverns were discovered by accident when Stanley Mayfield was out hunting with his dog on his ranch. The dog went off in pursuit of a raccoon, then disappeared down a hole. Mr. Mayfield whistled for the dog to reappear but he didn’t.

He could hear far away yelping so pushed his head down into the hole to have a look. What he saw was the opening to a chamber of connected caves which he’d had no idea was down there.

He rescued his dog, got himself out of there, and hired a professional spelunker who brought in a team to explore. What they discovered amazed them all because it was clear no humans had ever been down there.

There are 7 underground miles discovered so far in this cavern complex, two of which are open to the public via tours. These tours began in 1960 as a way to protect the cave from careless visitors who had begun vandalizing the caverns. The entrance and exits are now locked except during business hours.

In 1965, the National Park Service included the Caverns in the National Register of Natural Landmarks.

I left Truth or Consequences at 7:00 to allow for enough time.  The GPS said 7 1/2 hours.  Of course, the GPS doesn’t factor in road construction or the stop just outside of El Paso for “inspection.”  I thought it was going to be a produce inspection, but no.  This inspection was newly set up to check traveler’s citizenship status.

The border agent, er….”inspector” asked for proof of citizenship. As a white, senior citizen clearly traveling solo, I was not subjected to a vehicle inspection. But several ahead of me were.

I saw buses parked to the side by the temporary offices. I don’t know if people were in them or not.

Back on the road, I passed through mile after mile of dry, flat, desert. Even though it’s spring, there was very little green to be seen.

At one point, I drove through about twenty miles reeking of natural gas. I noticed small, high output looking drills, like mini-oil derricks, here and there amidst the sage brush. Then, lo!  A huge wind farm sharing the land with the natural gas derricks. This went on until just about mid-west Texas.

Closing in on 4:30  I saw a very small sign which said, Caverns of Sonora, next exit, Private Road.

Now, there had been not only spring forward clock change this day, but also change to central time, so two hours later than my earlier calculations I was becoming anxious. What if they closed at 5:00?

I turned onto the private road and twenty minutes later, after meandering through the creosote bush laden landscape, for several mile I arrived.

There were no cars in the parking lot. Uh oh.

I walked past this old dentist’s chair on the front porch.  Yikes! Imagine sitting there while someone drilled on your teeth without anesthesia.

I entered the door.

There were five staff standing around looking like they were ready to wrap up for the day.  Fortunately, no one groaned audibly at my arrival.

The owner greeted me with a smile.

I explained I was from Oregon, that I’d driven two and half hours out of my way to visit the caverns after reading about them on-line.  He appreciated a fellow spelunker at heart so asked a young man named Elizuardo, if he’d be willing to take down one more person.  The usual tour group size is 5-10 apparently, so this was a kind of big ask.  Elizuarado (call me Eli), was very sweet. He said yes.  (Don’t worry, I tipped him generously at the end).

He told me that the temperature inside was 85 with a 98% percent humidity, so suggested I leave my over shirt off and just go in my tee shirt. Bring nothing, except my I-Phone for taking pictures.

We descended. Our first flight of stairs going deep–a total of 185 feet below the surface- over the course of our two miles.  There were many stairs and steps to come, much more primitive than these.

Besides stairs,

there were narrow ledges with sheer drop offs into the dark depths below, arches to crawl under, rocks to clamber over, slippery flowstone to glide across.

There was even one place where it would have been possible to crawl into a side cave and rappel down to a huge chamber on a lower level if I were interested.

Sweet Elizuardo. As if I were capable of that. But had I been, damn, I’d have been on that rope in a heart beat.

These formations are interesting.

Due to the temperature inside the cavern system, with its high humidity, there is a constant slow drip over the centuries as  condensation gathers enough force.

The drip down of calcium creates the stalactite.  It then bounces up to create the stalagmite. When enough time has passed, the two form one great pillar, or stagnate.

There are myriad pillars at varying levels and colors of the cavern system as the calcite pressure changes.

This is called Cavern Bacon.  It is an interesting phenomenon where the crystals, instead of dripping straight down, slide into tendrils. It only happens in one part of the cave system.

This face just appeared out of nowhere. If you look closely, you can see that it is, in fact, mirror image flows that merged.

And a little way on, this fossil of a jawbone in the ceiling caught my eye. But it’s actually another rare calcite formation.

This white stuff is called cavern chalk. Here it is again, only this time with a somewhat rare phenomenon, small pillars that grow sideways, then raise upward.

These embedded round things are actually geodes.

There is an entire gigantic hall in the cavern system where geodes grow out of the surface.

And look here, the wall of elephants

Both the geodes and the elephants are comprised of flowstone. Flowstone is a form of naturally de-gassed calcite which flows along the walls of the cave instead of dripping. Eventually, the flow hardens. Of course, we’re talking thousands of years.  Amazing.

What you are seeing here is a pool of water. It is about ten feet deep, shaped like a horseshoe of about 30 feet length.

Look closely. You can see a ripple spreading across the pool. The ripple is made from drops falling from the ceiling above. We are looking down about 20 feet, by the way. Distances are hard to gauge.

There are several pools of water in the cavern system.  They are formed when the condensation has enough force to wear through the flowstone or surface, creating a pool. The water is ancient. Nothing grows in it. No one is allowed to touch it in order to preserve its purity. It comes from inside the earth, where it will remain.

This red is rather impressive. It comes from the flashlight bouncing off a vein of calcite which is able to amplify the hue.

At 185 feet down, before we began climbing our way up a different route, we came upon this

Another pool of water can be seen down there with what look like anemones but are faux vents.

And thiscurious, sensuous formation.

This next collection of helictites is world famous for its complexity, abundance, and purity.  Elizuardo called it “the snake’s nest.”

By this time, nearly two miles into our journey, the humidity and heat, combined with all that climbing and clambering, was really taking its toll. I felt like my legs might give out.

I asked Elizuardo if we could  rest.  He was embarrassed not to have thought of that sooner.  He said,  “I’m so sorry. You are just so interested in it all.”

Here’s where we stopped. Before the lights went out.

I asked if we might turn off the flashlight, just be in the darkness in silence for a few minutes.

He loved that idea, said no one had yet asked him that.

So we stood together in the pitch black, surrounded by the drips, plips, and ploops of millennia old water, the lifeblood of our planet, doing its magical work inside our Mother Earth.

I felt very small, yet oddly, very much part of it all.

Spirit exists in so many forms, in so many places.

 

 

 

 

 

In the desert outside of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, basically in the middle of nowhere, sits Spaceport America. It is the only spaceport in the world built for the purpose of accommodating commercial spaceflights.

While it is technically owned by the State of New Mexico, thus allowing it to be sited on 18,000 acres of Public Trust Land, Virgin Galactic, owned by Sir Richard Branson, is the tenant. Of equal interest to me is that fact that the 18,000 acres hosting Spaceport America, sit in the middle of a 350,000-acre old Spanish land grant now owned by Ted Turner.  Best buds in commerce?

Another interesting fact is that the location is just to the east of the White Sands Missile Testing Range, which is ideal for the spaceport because the missile range has restricted air space, thus protecting the Spaceport from curious aviators or “bad actors.”

Also, the Spaceport sits at 4600 feet above sea level in the high desert which means that much larger payloads can be launched using the same amount of fuel as would be used at lower levels.  Gosh, it’s environmentally friendly. Though the terminal was built to mimic the desert surrounds and nearly disappears from view at higher altitudes. 

The runway is currently 10,000 feet long and 43 inches of poured concrete thick (so environmentally friendly), with another 2000 in length being added to accommodate the safe landing of spacecraft with full rockets.

So, this spaceport, sitting on public land, owned by the State of Mexico, subsidized by public dollars and tax subsidies is NOT open to the public.

This is as close as you can get. There are armed “security personnel” to help redirect you should you want to visit your public facility.

In the meantime, should you successfully find a way to follow along, the 7^th Galactic Research and Commercial Launch is scheduled for June 8, 2025.

Tickets to ride begin at $450,000 for four chosen passengers who will board the Unity, the small aircraft attached to spacecraft Eve until she blasts off into deeper space. At the time, Unity disengages and resumes normal super jet flight until landing.

These four will apparently experience a few moments of weightlessness.

Get your tickets now!

The research crew’s names are not made public. They are referred to as Astronauts 027, 028, 029, and 030.  Virgin Galactic’s crew names have been released. VSS Unity Commander Nicola Pecile and pilot Jameel Janjua will be joined by VMS Eve Commander Andy Edgell and pilot C.J. Sturckow. Also of note, Axiom Space is a financial partner.

Apparently, an alignment pin detached from Galactic 06 mission on January 06, 2024, sending Unity and those aboard, into a freefall flight. No one was injured.

The FAA investigation into why this happened just concluded, findings not available to the public. Still, mission 07, the twelfth total galactic flight thus far of Branson’s dream, has been cleared for take off.

There is a very small visitor’s center at the north end of T of C with limited hours. It recently relocated from this larger one due to “finances.”  Not very reassuring.

Here’s the old center.

It’s much cooler to look at than the tiny new one sharing space with other tourist shops.

In any case,  I missed out on the limited guided PR tours available at certain times for folks who sign up. The center does sell expensive merch for those who still want a taste, tour or no.

I thought perhaps, since it’s a publicly owned enterprise, the public would get a free tee-shirt ($30) if we asked nicely.

Naw.

“This cup makes a more budget friendly gift”, I was told.

I opted out.

I’m waiting to use up my hella lot of frequent flyer miles. Maybe Virgin Galactic will become a partner airline.

As a member of the public, therefore a co-owner of the publicly owned Spaceport, I expect a discount.

Almost eight hours of driving again but for much of this day, instead of fighting traffic,  I was mesmerized by landforms and taking in interesting details.

Such as, supply trains that are longer than anything I’ve ever seen streak across the wide open spaces with great frequency.

First, I noticed that the freight cars were double stacked necessitating a tow by two engines. I counted 144 cars.

Then, there was a second train behind the first,  three engines pulling. After 100 cars there were two more engines inserted, followed by another 100 plus cars.

I stopped counting the cars on the other trains I passed, but marveled at the power of those locomotives as they power through the vast desert, bringing things to us, useful or not.

This place,

is named Texas Canyon though it’s in Arizona. It was another one of those power places that just draw me to them. I went into this one, not deep, because the access road was chained due to weather. But deep enough to walk a bit, to contemplate  aeons.

A couple of hours driving later, I felt the need to get out and walk again so  just turned off at an exit with nothing really to call attention to it. Sometimes those are the most interesting.

As I came off the freeway, I spied a home painted sign on the corner that said, Shakespeare Ghost Town ahead. I laughed. Of course. I now knew why that exit called,  and where I was headed.

Turns out Shakespeare was a major mining community that began life as an overland stage stop in the 1850’s.  There was a reliable spring there, giving fresh water in the midst of the desert, so people began putting down roots.

Silver was discovered in the hills and the rush was on.

William Ralston, the President of the Bank of California, got wind of some small prospecting going on there, so bought up most of the land, which was then named Ralston in his honor. He (and a group of his financier friends) poured resources into building up a town capable of supporting the mineral mining boom that was exploding. They then announced that diamonds had been discovered in the hills and the rush was on.

Several years of corruption and crime and lawlessness came with their style of management, which included hired guns to keep regular miners away from the land. Billy the Kid, Johnny Ringo, Curly Bill, the Clanton Brothers, Jim Hughes, and Sandy King were frequent visitors of the saloons and may or may not have served occasionally as some of those hired guns.

But the diamond find was soon exposed as the hoax it was, the rich investors fled, and the town emptied.

In 1879, Colonel William G. Boyle, a great lover of the writings of Shakespeare, got his hands on most of the good claims, renamed the town Shakespeare, opened up Shakespeares Gold and Silver Mining Company.  Which flourished until the railroad laid down tracks at Lordsburg, three miles away, instead of Shakespeare.  That was the death knoll for the town and it slowly fell into its role as a ghostly memory until 1970, when it was declared a National Historic Site, albeit one not well known. It is also privately funded by the donations they ask for if you take the tour.  It’s a modest, but rather major, piece of the history of the west.

What a great place to stretch my legs!

Back on the road, pushing ever onward toward Truth or Consequences, remembered fondly from my Antique Festival Theatre tour of 1977.

I booked two nights based on that memory, strengthened by a bit of research.  As I was getting closer, I found myself hoping the little casita would be comfortable and a good little home on the way.  I decided that I would love it no matter what because of the mineral waters in the area, the hikes through that powerful geology, and the history.

I arrived to this gate.

I went inside. It is even better than I remembered!

This is the garden you walk through to get to the casita.

Here is the communal area next to the hot mineral bath soaking tubs I will be sitting in soon.

And here is the little casita I will snuggle into with gratitude.

The doves are cooing right outside my open door as the day winds down.  The air is clean and fragrant from desert trees and flowers.

Oh, I am at peace.

 

Today I drove 531 miles.  235 of those miles twice.

Twice, you ask. How so?

Well, I started my day with  a wonderful breakfast at 7:00 am at Cahoots, where the working Cowboys go to eat. These two are the real thing.

You can tell by the boots. They were wearing get to work boots, not show off boots. And they were discussing the deluge which happened overnight and the impact it would have on their crops.

Anyway, a nice little senior cheese, tomato and avocado omelette, strong coffee and I hit the road in excellent spirits despite the thunderstorms and lightening which woke me up several times during the night.  The morning skies were clear and doves were cooing. I gave thanks.

Two hours later I stopped in a very cute little town called Kingsburg.  A tidy little Swedish village,  I was excited to stretch my legs, maybe find a Swedish treat, then get back on the road.

I found a juice bar and ordered a green shot with ginger juice. It was at that moment I realized my purse was back at Cahoots in Oakdale.

I had my phone, which has cash in it, so was able to pay for my juice, but the purse itself was nowhere to be found.

The little horse out front of the juice bar on Main Street, Kingsburg

I called Cahoots. Yep, they had it.

I almost cried.  Then I told myself to get a grip. I was going to be backtracking, so might as well make the most of it rather than  catastrophize the experience.  Reality options abound. I selected a new one.  I was going to  enjoy seeing the scenery from the other side of the freeway.

Two hours later, I was back where I’d begun, only this time with purse in hand.  Is this like a new beginning, I wondered?

I filled my gas tank-again- at the same gas station I’d discovered in the Hispanic part of town. 40 cents a gallon cheaper. Amazing. I gave thanks.

Began driving, thought about what I’d learned.:

Let go of expectations.  A big cosmic lesson, that one.  Things just don’t always turn out the way you imagine.

Yes, life does include suffering–but it also includes joy and celebration. I was joyful that the kind girl who’d served me my breakfast had held onto my purse (and glad I’d tipped her really well).

Where friendly people are also trustworthy.

I celebrated the reality of honesty in our world.  I gave thanks.

Life truly is about the journey, not the destination. If this little experience didn’t drive that home, nothing would.  If I approach every moment mindfully, taking in all that is, I will enjoy it much more.

I can choose to see the things that happen to me as “a trial” or bad luck, or as things to regret OR I can choose to see things as part of the adventure.  Life experiences, life lessons.

Once I accepted that I was going to be retracing my route and adding 4 hours of drive time to my day, I began to look at the scenery closely, noticing things I’d missed the first time. Like the mural with the dancing mastodons on an overpass near Merced.  Or the billboard across from a temple with golden spires which read, Please report violence against Sikhs, near Bakersfield.

I drove awhile in silence, then chanting. Then I turned on some music and really rocked out. I even sort of butt danced in my seat to ease the kinks and back pain.

Another lesson?  Become much more mindful about my things. Pay attention to the purse

I thought about my dear friend, M, who has been diagnosed with early onset dementia. I imagine it feeling like forgetting your purse and retracing three hours every day. the anxiety.

I am fortunate to still have the ability to pay attention. Now I must exercise that ability more.

And the final day’s lesson?

Yes, I can drive a 550 miles a day. But I’d rather not. I prefer the journey allow time for explorations.

Also, when you hit monsoon rain, then snowfall in a mountain pass, it’s preferable to do so by the light of day rather than as the sun sinks in the West.

A day of lessons along the pilgrimage toward seventy….

 

 

 

323 miles, 8 hours of travel including a hike at Castle Crags and a visit to the Gateway Peace Garden.

I stopped in Redding to get gas. $4.69 per gallon.

Then, driven by a primal need I hadn’t expected, I sought out the land where I spent every summer of my young life: my Grandmother’s house.

Some kind of muscle memory led me down the back roads of south Redding, until I found the once country lane we drove from town.

This old teepee burner is all that’s left of the once thriving mill where my uncle Jimmy worked.

I remember stopping in front of it many evenings on the way home from watching Uncles Jimmy and Louis play softball, mesmerized by the sparks and orange flames pouring out of its top, feeling the heat blast of the thing from across the road.

I finally found the turn off leading past the old construction site where I was kicked in the head when we rode trespassing through it to encounter a yapping chihuahua who attacked my horse’s feet. I jumped off intending to grab the bridle before he really erupted. I mis-timed my leap.  It was a freak accident and the resulting brain injury changed my life.

I drove down that lane which dead ends. No more fields of lush grass and cattle on the north side, now just more construction yards.

I pulled up in front of the asphalt sided tiny blue house which had once been my Grandmothers. I was struck dumb by the absolute poverty of the place.

I remember frogs crawling up out of the pipe from the septic into the shower but as a child I just never thought of ourselves as that poor. I knew my clothes were always hand me downs but I didn’t care. They were new to me.

Today, I watched two small children swing on an old rope tied under the massive oak, just like I used to do. Their mother came out of the house concerned about who this stranger was who was driving down their private alley. I smiled, waved, then left. I felt haunted.

I didn’t have the heart to take a single picture.. It seemed too voyeuristic.

About a mile away, I did capture this one shot from a place I remembered riding past on Star during  long summer afternoon rides with my Aunt Linda.

Such a long time ago.

After Redding, it was freeway freeway freeway, trucks again owning the road.

I made good time, holding to 73 so as to avoid a ticket, but was passed constantly for going too slow. I witnessed some of the most dangerous driving I’ve seen in a long time today by California drivers.

The miles into, through, and out of Sacramento were hell. A massive cloud which had been hanging overhead since Anderson finally broke open. The downpour made visibility challenging. People still wanted to go too fast until it became impossible and we crept through the miles.

The sky stayed black and the rain was joined by some wind through Stockton, a sad place where feedlot after feedlot packed with cattle awaiting their grim destiny give the city its name.

Then I cut east off I-5, then south again through miles of agricultural miracle. Irrigated land blooming already in orchard after orchard. I caught thousands of geese alight on what was clearly the remnants of their natural flyway somewhere in there. They were backlit by a few rays of sun peeking through the clouds.

Oakdale is a quiet little western town where Cowboy murals line the Main Street.

Which is why I chose it.  Tomorrow the Cowboy Museum.

 

The Peace Garden was brought into existence for the benefit of all by followers of Amma, known by some as “the hugging and ecology Saint”

These followers prayed for guidance as to how to fulfill their higher purpose and were given the message to create a gateway for peace at the base of Mt. Shasta. In August of 2002, the land was consecrated and the garden begun.

Over the years it has expanded again and again, driven by the love and the kind hearts of those who find their way there.

The grounds are beautiful, situated amidst naturally fragrant manzanita and cedar, infused by powerful oak. There are multiple small grottoes formed by copses of trees and shrubs, each one dedicated to a different manifestation of spirit. St. Francis of Assissi

Amma

Kwan Yin

The Goddess Mother

Buddha

The Rainbow of Healing

Ganesha

are just some of the copses I discovered as I strolled through on a cool, early spring morning.

Too early in the season for the blooming which must make the garden breathtaking, it was still captivating.

A labyrinth infused by all kinds of powerful crystals, stones, shells, and petrified wood lies at the center of the garden.  I found myself alone on the grounds today so was able to take my time walking this labyrinth.

It was deeply moving; when I reached the purple prayer ribbon someone had tied to a branch which overhangs one of the outer rings, I found myself overcome with tears.

The message reads,  “The Truth of You–You are more powerful than any circumstance, situation, Believe and it will be true. I love you, the Universe.”

These tears were soon replaced by a sense of peace and joy as I retraced my steps, seeing each stone, each holy fragment from the reverse angle.

This garden is free to everyone.  Sincere light workers and devotees of peace find their way, share their intentions, absorb the love and hope which the garden amplifies. As I was leaving, a doe stepped out from behind an oak to meet me. We looked at one another for several long moments before I continued on my way, leaving her to her sanctuary.

The Gateway is open from sunrise to sunset.

 

 

When I was a. young child, I was in awe of Castle Crags. We passed it coming and going every year on the way to Redding to spend Thanksgiving with my Grandmother and I once overheard my mother call the area the Devils Castle.

I passed the Castle again, coming and going, every summer when I went to live with my Grandmother.  I always thought it did look kind of scary, certainly formidable.

Turns out the crags were regarded with awe and superstition by generations of native people, who rarely, if ever, ventured into the wilderness.

Early European fur traders, explorers, then a bit later, gold miners, did not have the same spiritual connection to the land. In quick succession. over barely more than a hundred years, the Crags (and the healing mineral waters discovered at the base) were harvested and exploited to their full potential.

Thanks to activists who work tirelessly to protect our wild lands, the Wilderness Act of 1964 was passed. Castle Crags entered the National Wilderness Preservation System that year.

I decided that finally, on this pilgrimage, I would visit the Crags.  I drove into the park to find myself the only person. The rains let up and I was able to hike the Vista Trail to the overlook with only my down vest for warmth.

I did see some bear scat along a spur trail but no sign of any ursine brothers or sisters, who are likely just waking from their long winter’s nap.

The clouds lifted for me at the top where I was able to see Mt. Shasta to  the north, the Crags to my immediate west. and much of the ancient Siskiyou Range to the south.

 Mt. Shasta made her appearance The Crags dead ahead

A bit of interesting geology. Most of the Siskiyou range are volcanic or sedimentary. The Crags are one of the few large granite bodies called Plutons which managed to push their way through during the Jurassic Period, 65 million years ago.  Then, during the ever evolving glaciation periods, the Crags were buried under ice, the pressure of which help shape and form their distinctive castle like shape.

As close as I could get.

Mt. Shasta, all 14,200 feet of her, is a lot younger than the Crags.  She was formed on what remained from an even larger, older volcano that collapsed a mere 300-500,00 years ago.

Many spiritualist believe that the lay lines and vortexes which result from them, tie Mt. Shasta and the Castle Crags together. I certainly felt an immense sense of peace and power as I sat in the cross section of the two meditating.

 

 

357 miles.

Left Portland at 830, arrived at this little cabin on Old Stage Coach Rd at 4:04.

Stopped for gas at the Flying J in Rice Hill. $3.69 per gallon.

Lunch at Heaven on Earth.  A very nice, crispy salad and a chicken pot pie which ended up being more like cream of chicken soup in bread bowl. I did not eat the bowl.

I’m waiting to get gas in Redding tomorrow. Weed, the nearest town posted $4.89 which was cheaper than anywhere prior.

As for Weed, the town: I stopped to get some fruit and something for dinner at the only grocery store, Ray’s. Prices in this town are very high, which is more than sad because the entire downtown is shuttered with broken glass windows, only the two dispensaries and a thrift store showing signs of patronage.

Eight years ago I stopped in Weed and ate a wonderful lunch at a cool little bistro under a hip looking hotel. I thought, “Well, Weed is finally happening. Glad to see it. The timber industry needs a challenge.”  The bistro is no more. The hotel seems to be residential housing for the denizens of downtown.  And from the look of things, the timber industry isn’t doing too well right now, either.

So of course there are Trump signs everywhere–here in “the State of Jefferson.”  Hope dies hard in Red country despite how he’s tanking the economy even as I write this with the markets tumbling. Oh, I think the blowhard is making a speech about now. I can’t bear to look at him or listen to him. I’ll read the text later.

As for the day’s drive, yes!  Everything fit.  My packing template paid off and I managed to cozy the things together while still maintaining my sight lines.

Here’s a view from the back looking inside      tidy, eh?

Now, when we get to the driver’s side, which opens onto my clothing box and hanging things,  it ain’t so purty

But if we look back inside from the driver’s seat

Then, if we just look to our right at the passenger seat area

Crowded. Still, there’s a system and it works.

Speaking of systems, I bought an inexpensive black shower curtain to use as a cover for the things in the back. When you glance through the window you just see darkness. I’m hoping to dissuade any lookie-lou’s with sticky fingers.

Okay, where was I?

Right. It took two hours to haul everything out into the car, pack it up, then cover it.  I needed a cleansing shower afterward, which I’d planned on taking anyway as part of my ritual of leaving on pilgrimage.

31 minutes just to get from my driveway to the Terwilliger Curves.  Another 45 to get through them, then pretty good speed despite the torrential rain all the way to Salem.

A peak of blue sky carried me to Lebanon area, where the wind made itself known with a roaring gust which almost made me swerve out of my lane.

Wind continued through Brownsville area where it let up just in time to see squadrons of geese filling the sky on their way north.

A huge red tail hawk swooped overhead as I caromed along through Eugene, and the rain descended again. The sight of a pure white ARK sitting in a field just north of Goshen  didn’t seem so out of place.

Through the valley  into the Flying J for gas.

Truck stops are a whole other world, one which I will have a chance to experience in more depth once Pearl is in tow.  Suffice to say, the place was hopping.

Back on the road and back into heavy rain.  All the way through Roseburg and into the hills. Over the hill, so choked with trucks in both lanes that extra caution was necessary.

Leg stretch in Talent, where I also sneaked into the locked bathroom of the McDonalds for a friendly wee.  Had a bit of walk around the huge outdoor mall parking lot fringe to stretch my body.

Over the Siskiyou Range, snow still on the ground on the side of the road. Trucks still owning the road.

Down the loooong stretch into The State of Jefferson, where the border fruit checking station was unstaffed and closed. We know why.

Finally, Mt. Shasta broke through the clouds past Yreka and the sky cleared for a gorgeous view.

I made that stop at Ray’s in Weed for dinner items, then found my way into this gorgeous place in the woods at the base of Mt. Shasta.  The mountain feels huge and powerful.  Here’s the view out my window:

I chose this little lodging because of its proximity to vortex energy.  The owner has been here a long time and takes it all quite seriously. Which I appreciate. He put together this detailed information guide which is packed with the kind of information you don’t find in the tourist shops of Shasta Town.

I’m going to step outside and breathe some of the cold, clean air which I hear whooshing through the trees, eat my humble traveler’s grub, then read this manual in preparation for my outing tomorrow.

 

I’m looking at all of the stuff I’ve carried into the front room for loading into my car early tomorrow morning. I was going to pack it up tonight so I could hit the road early,  then that certain someone who decided they needed my things more than me broke into my car during the night last week and emptied it. So now I’m thinking it wiser to wait for morning.

I have really narrowed things down to necessities but it still looks like a lot. Three months and two seasons worth of living.

I went out and measured the back of Durga with her seats down. Measured the larger items I’m packing: the cooler, the solar panels, the storage boxes holding the cookware and dishes, the mattress topper, my clothing bin.  A long box holding the mirror extensions, That small pop up mosquito tent.

I’ve even created a hanging shoe holder for the back of the driver’s seat to use that usually empty space and a small cloth bag portable library for the passenger footwell. Because books.

I’ve drawn a little diagram on a sheet of paper to see if it will all fit.

I sure hope so.

I guess I’ll find out early tomorrow morning…