We planned the next leg of the journey in parallel through a thin cubicle wall, and fully relieved, hit the road again bound for Crater Lake. As we approached the famous landmark in the thickening fog, we had flashbacks to Mt Rushmore. With a mere 2 miles to the crater's rim, visibility was reduced to below 20ft. Under normal circumstances we would have stopped to take in the stunning sight of the immensely deep volcanic lake, but with a completely blank scene before us, we resigned ourselves to an early can of beans and drove around the lake's circumference back to the exit.
Feeling empty from another botched landmark viewing attempt, we powered south again until a dramatic sunset signaled our stopping point for the day: Grant's Pass. Cruising slowly down the main strip, we began our usual procedure of searching for a place to safely park the van, accompanied by a good bar. The first candidate, a parking lot behind the slightly suspect 'Wonderbar' was instantly ruled out by an old bearded local intently staring at us from the bar's entrance. With our second effort, the 'Laughing Clam', we struck gold, and by closing time we were embarking on a tour of the town's night spots with one of the waitresses, who, for reasons unknown, had taken a shine to Tom. Ironically, we were taken straight to Wonderbar, the place we had been scared to approach on our arrival. We foolishly shifted from beers to shots of Jack Daniels and stumbled back to the van.
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| Mike Tries to visualise the scene based on the sat-nav readout |
In a role reversal, the next morning Mike found himself chauffeuring a motionless Tom, who was uncharacteristically sluggish in emerging from the dark cosy confines of the back of the van. When Tom finally broke from cover, Spot was racing over the state border into California. The change was instantly noticeable as a procession of pristine shiny hot rods raced past us. We had arrived.
Getting caught up in the young, free spirited vibe of the state, we really let ourselves go and did some laundry, followed by a supermarket shop. With housekeeping out of the way, we pushed on down a stunning stretch of route 101: The Avenue of the Giants, where enormous redwood pines line the road. These majestic trees held us in a state of silenced awe and we had no choice but to get out and explore the supersized forest. Several hours and hundreds of photos later, we re-emerged from the woods.
No sooner had we jumped back in the car and navigated the next corner, than we were faced with the jaw dropping sight of the Pacific. The road alternated between dense dark forest and misty cliff-top coast for miles, creating a road that neither of us wanted to leave. Only one thing could tease us away from such a perfect highway: a drive-thru tree. We dropped some money in the honesty box, and eased Spot through the tree's crudely cut archway. It was a tight squeeze, and when Spot hit the road again he was sporting a brand new redwood scar on his flank.
Our route south continued to take us through stunning forests, dotted with vast patches of giant sequoia. Just as the scale of the enormous trees zipping past became normal, a real giant would loom out of the darkness, dwarfing the surrounding trunks. One such example is simply named 'Big Tree'. With such a brutally to the point name we couldn't resist and pulled off the main road to check it out. As we approached the solitary giant, a lone traveller appeared out of the gathering mist. Sarah gave us a chirpy greeting and before long we were exchanging traveling stories.
She was on her way up the coast, having spent a few weeks picking the season's harvest on a Californian cannabis plantation. With daylight fading rapidly, we decided to camp together and headed in convoy to the nearest RV park.
As we rolled into the neat and picturesque site, a pair of headlights suddenly lit up right in front of us. Dazzled, we slammed to a halt and watched as the park's warden, already poised for action in his golf buggy, trundled over to greet us. He led us to a spot right next to a vast river, picked out in the moonlight. With a bundle of firewood purchased, delivered by golf buggy, and crafted into a roaring fire, we settled in for a night of drinking, chatting and laughing. Sarah opened our small rookie-traveler minds to a lot of brilliant things, the most crucial being nutrition. She is on a personal crusade to educate people about good food and upon seeing our primitive diets, proceded to feed us with as much organic produce as we could take, the highlight being an American children's classic: ants on a log (a celery stick smothered in almond butter and dotted with raisins).
When we woke up next morning we were greeted with the full majesty of our surroundings. Herons glided over the river's glassy surface and distant mountain peaks were now visible, lining the horizon. The onslaught of good eating continued with avocado on freshly baked sourdough bread, coffee brewed over a morning fire, followed by a cocktail of vitamins and supplements all courtesy of our newly adopted mother. After a sun drenched frisbee session we exchanged details and parted ways with Sarah, with an invitation to stay at her place in Kansas.
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