…back in the saddle again…
Shasta would be riding on my shoulder for much of the week’s adventure. (Four days later, I would be gazing at her when my cell phone pinged to alert me about a highly anticipated jury verdict. I’ll always know the answer to the question “Where were you when you heard about…” It’ll be Mount Shasta.)
Whenever possible, I overnight in McCloud at the historic McCloud Hotel. Brother Randy from the Pacific Northwest and I meet up there for a stroll around the business district and the company town housing.
Sadly, the Sage Restaurant was unable to open for dinner dining this year for lack of staffing. We were looking forward to a nice bottle of wine and a perfectly cooked filet. Breakfast, however, was nicely turned out, setting up a pleasant second day on the road.
The Volcanic Legacy highway crosses Lake Britton near the train trestle from that frightening scene in the movie “Stand by Me” and leads us to Burney Falls State Park.
The entrance station ranger offered to let me in for free if I’d allow him to take a spin on the Guzzi. He’d recently given up riding his Gold Wing. I handed him my key but, ultimately, he shrugged and soon I was out nine bucks. I couldn’t help but admire his giddy appreciation for the Guzzi.
There’s a glorious rest stop / scenic overlook just off State Route 44 east of Old Station. Situated halfway between Shasta and Lassen, it is always a go to. Both summits seem close almost enough to touch.
This day, two sojourners from Austria were making their way from Mexico to Canada on the Pacific Crest Trail. Brother Randy engaged with them as they shared details of their thus-far adventure.
My pal talked about his daughter’s semester in Austria and asked the kids to please feel free to call when they made Snoqualmie or Stevens Pass in Washington – still months away for them – tempting the hikers with hot showers, comfortable accommodations, and good food and wine. I’ve bedded down many a night at Randy’s hostelry when riding up that way and can attest to the quality of the goods and services there offered. Ahhh… The people you meet on the road. Hopefully the couple will take advantage.
Our route to Quincy took us along the east shore of Lake Almanor, where I lived for a couple of years when serving at the principal of the local elementary school. Here, a favorite turnout with a view of Lassen in the distance…
An hour further south we took a side trip to visit the old Paxton Hotel. That waystop is recounted in a previous post. https://thechurchoftheopenroad.blogspot.com/2024/06/old-haunt.html
The cozy and rustic VRBO cabin selected outside of Quincy would serve as a good layover spot. A robust creek serenaded all day and all night.
The layover day allowed a trip to Bucks Lake passing the cabin (well, grand chalet) of a childhood chum. The place looks just as I remember from back in the early 60s. Well preserved. Nice work! Down the road a piece is the dam ~ a spot worthy of a portrait of the bike ~ but what caught my eye was the proliferation of Dogwood blossoms.
Harbingers of lovely mountain summers and always among my favorites!
Afternoon would find me riding solo up the Quincy/LaPorte Highway into snow country with the road only plowed the day before.
Geographers tell us that there is a distinct difference in the geomorphology of Sierra Nevada and the Cascades. That granitic uplift to basaltic outflow shift is somewhere in the Feather River watershed.
Sucker for a picture of an old steel bridge that I am, this one span crosses the Middle Fork of the Feather. This might be that place. If not, there's a nice swimming hole below.
Heading north the following day, we pass through the historic northern mine town of Greenville, devastated by the horrendous Dixie Fire of 2021.
That visit is also shared in a previous post.
https://thechurchoftheopenroad.blogspot.com/2024/06/lessons-from-fire-footprint.html
Retracing our steps back to McCloud and beyond, we are reminded that any road taken in the other direction is, essentially, a different ride. The mountains, the meadows, the forests – all stunning and fresh, leading us to our final night in Dunsmuir. The little berg nestled along the upper reaches of the Sacramento River is an historic whistle stop on the old California Northern (later Southern Pacific; currently Union Pacific) route.
Café Maddalena is a favored restaurant there. I stumbled in several years back to sit at the only seat available and enjoy perhaps the best meal on the road I’d ever had. The café has become a must-stop treat anytime I’m in that neck of the woods.
Unfortunately, the economics in this itty-bitty mountain town could not support the business. Apparently, we were only a week or so late as its doors had closed permanently though the website was still up. Such a disappointment. Hopefully Café Maddalena will rise again. We’ll keep checking back.
Three or four years ago, I thought I’d tired of multi-day tours on the motorcycle. I gave up a substantial model to downsize, but the urge never fully went away. Does it ever? A year ago, I upgraded to this 850cc Moto Guzzi V85tt touring model. Distinctive and good looking. Powerful enough. Light. And it eats both sweeping curves and twisting ones. This past week’s ride makes me happy I’ve gotten back in the saddle.
See you on the road.
Footnote
Around lunch time on the first day, I rolled into Willows. In a bit of a rush, I fell back on a habit I’d developed long ago when my between-teaching summers were spent delivering local freight. In fact, that first summer, I earned nearly as much driving truck as I did as a teacher for the year. Almost made me turn my back on a career in education. Then one of the old-timers (52 years old) didn’t make it to the dock on Monday. Died the Saturday before on the sixth green. Heart failure.
I was reminded of this as I parked the Moto Guzzi next to a bobtail like the one I’d driven. Upon receiving my order (two Burrito Supremes and a small soft drink, speaking of asking for heart failure), I spied the driver: a lanky young red headed man with a full beard. Probably weighed in at about 135 pounds. As he stuffed his face, I thought, My God! That was me fifty years ago!
I ate my lunch and didn’t talk to the kid but about five miles up the freeway it occurred to me that I might have suggested: “The money is good right now, but the lifespan is short. Go for big dreams.” But I didn’t.
The least I could have done was offer to pay for his taco.
© 2024
Church of the Open Road Press
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