Day Two: Mt. Shasta to Oakdale

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.