West 2002
 
 

Day 08

August 1

 
 

Knowing this is our last chance to see Crater Lake, we walk outside and are pleasantly surprised to see the surrounding mountains.

“Reckon when they put those up?” I ask Coop with a grin.

We figure we'll give it a whirl and the three of us mount up. With our route mapped out the night before, we head for Dead Indian Memorial Road. This already has the feel of a great day as the haze begins to lift. We find the roads we are looking for and really enjoy seeing the countryside without so much smoke. Rural Oregon reminds me of East Tennessee around the Smokies and I remember just how far from home I really am. I've talked to folks all over, and like Dorothy told Toto, ‘There's no place like home' - whether it's Downtown Manhattan, Los Angeles, Dallas or Nashville. We arrive at the park and begin the ascent to the rim. What a feast for the eyes – the water is an unbelievable blue.
 
 
 
 

Of course with my sunglasses on it looks hunter green! We pull off at the first major stop to snap some photos. Out come some chipmunks who have definitely had time to polish their routine. One stands up right in front of me on his hind haunches, stretches out his little paws and says –

“Hey Mister, got anything for a poor starving monk?”

At least that's what I thought I heard him say.

“I'm real sorry buddy, I didn't bring nothing from that foofoo breakfast this morning” I tell him.
 
 
 
 

Disappointed, he runs over to the next prospect, hoping for better luck. I look over and a little girl is petting one of them – what a photo-op for her parents. We mount up, and continue our ride around the rim, admiring the view from the various overlooks. It's hard to get a real idea just how big the lake is until we spy a tour boat out on the water. It's crammed with people we can tell from our post and looks about like toy boat from where we stand. We also find out that there is an old log called the ‘Old Man' that's been floating in the lake for many years but we don't get the privilege of meeting him. At the last stop, we run into a group of firefighters on the way home for a break.

“Whereabouts you boys from?” I asked the one closest.

“Down from California. We've made a full scrip on this trip” he replies with a laugh.

“Well, I reckon you earned it, fighting fires in this rough terrain. The heat and smoke must be a real killer” I add.

“Yep, it was pretty tough most days, but now we get to take a break. We wanted to see the lake before we headed home” he replies.

It's time for us to move on so that we're not late for the big banquet back at WeSToc tonight. I wish them well and walk up the hill for one more lake shot.
 
 
 
 

Before we mount, up, we check our gas and figure we'd better stop at the next opportunity. Looks like there's gas in the park so we head for the pumps on down the road. When we get there, there's a bit of confusion on the operation. An older man is operating the prepay pumps and he's having a bit of trouble. Doug and Coop finally get their bikes filled up and it comes to my turn. I can see the old gentleman is pretty frazzled dealing with irate customers.

“Where you from originally?” I ask him.

“Illinois” he replies shortly.

“Well, I'm from Tennessee and I talk slow and walk slow and I ain't in no hurry at all” so I manage to get a grin out of him and some of his tension eases away.

“Those pumps can be awfully aggravating to work with” I add.

“Yes, and they've really been giving me trouble today” he says.

He gets me fixed up, and we finally head on down the highway 62 toward Klamath Falls. My stomach tells me it's about lunchtime, so I start looking. I see a little place called the Cattle Crossing Cafe on the left in a nameless little town. It's got a few local pickup trucks parked outside and across the street so I figure we'll give it a try. We place our orders and they come fairly quickly. The food's good and the service fair and the waitress is pleasant. I pick up the tab and we are on our way. As we walk out the door, I notice this blob of molten metal encased in concrete right at the front door. Ever the curious one, I stick my head back in the door, figuring there's a good story with this one.

“What's this blob out here from?” I ask.

“They had a fire a few years back in town and it's the remains of a melted phone booth” the lady running the place tells me.

It seems a bit of a strange tale, but I thank her and wander back outside to take a picture of it. One of the locals overhears our conversation and comes up to me.

“Actually, it's the front bumper of a semi that wrecked and burned a few years ago” he states. I thank him and realize that nobody probably really knows. You can look at the picture and figure it out for yourself.

 
 
 
 

Doug is in a bit of a hurry, so he heads on out. Coop and I just sort of slow down and enjoy the scenery. It's relaxing as we pass the little communities, farmhouses and lakes. As we ease along the highway, I suddenly wake up and realize I have drifted over to the left side of the road. Thankfully, there's no cars coming and I quickly recover. I look for the first pull off, and get off to clear the cobwebs from my head. I realize just how close I came to making the final mistake and it aggravates me for being so stupid. Sleep is a funny thing – you need it but it can get you killed if you are not careful.

 
 
 
 

Satisfied that I am fully awake, Coop and I make our way on into Klamath Falls. Then we run highway 66 back to Ashland and I again enjoy the scenery and the curves. We get back in plenty of time for the banquet. It's a pretty good feed with the usual awards and some pretty neat door prizes. I manage to get the Honda Common Service Manual on CD as a doorprize. Then they announce - “Who has license plate ZB0307 from Tennessee?”

That sounds right and I don't figure there's a whole bunch of folks from there besides me. They present me with the GoldWing Wannabe Award and snap the customary picture.
 
 
 
 

I guess if you have driver's backrest, a European top Trunk, and a CB that qualifies you. I smile and graciously accept the award. I don't say it but I'm sure thinking it –

“Boys, why don't y'all come to Tennessee and see if I ride it like a GoldWing!”

But some things are better left unsaid, so I wander back to my seat. The ceremonies are finally over and we get to go back to the room. Coop is running out of time and has a friend he grew up with vacationing in Colorado. He decides to hightail it to meet him instead of riding to California with us. I understand completely, but I sure will miss his company. But tomorrow we get to finally hook up with the folks from Hotel California. And I will get to fulfill another riding goal that's been on my list for a long time.