Getting to Oregon

 I know I’m supposed to be talking about South America but being that I'm not there yet this will have to do. The excitement is mounting.  I awoke at 6am and left Palm Desert with the rising sun on my back.  Cigarettes, beef jerky and Dr. Pepper kept me company.  The drive to Mt. Shasta was neither memorable nor note worthy but a journal, no matter how small or insignificant is so alluring to me, I can’t help but write it all down.  I am just outside Mt. Shasta National Recreation Park.  I finally got the sense to pull off he road and find a place to camp.   After driving along a forest service road for about a mile I got down near a river.  I’m not sure what river it was but it was pleasant to hear and drown out the faint sound of trucks from the interstate.  It did not however drown out the railway tracks that were about 30 feet from my camp sight.  That is the drawback of picking a place to sleep in the middle of the night.  Inevitably one wakes up to find the surrounding area completely different than what they imagined when they lay down.  I didn’t have to wait long before the trains started rumbling down the tracks.  It started right after I had set everything out and got snug in my sleeping bag.  Exhaustion overtook me and I hardly cared enough to watch the freight trains barreling by.  The moon was just two days past full and blanketed the ground enough to make it appear mysterious and tranquil. The river, whatever river it was, ambled by and barely took notice of me sleeping on the ground in front of my car.  Soon enough the train passed and I was back to the babble of the brook and dreaming of South America with its cloud forests and ruined ancient empires.  I dreamt that I was on the shore of the mighty Amazon River washing my clothes with the villagers who depended on it for so much of their resources.

            I woke before the sun crept into my narrow valley, packed my gear and had a couple smokes while I walked around to survey the area around me.  There was an old bridge that led across the river; I was still forty or so feet above the shore.  Adjacent to that was a fairly large stone bridge that arced across the small ravine where I had found myself.  Not that one ever really finds himself, but rather where I found myself on this particular morning.  Between the two bridges were the railway tracks.  They stretched as far as I could see in either direction, which wasn’t really that far.  They wound into the distance on both sides following the river until both were out of sight.  I must have driven over the tracks to get to my camp but in my dreariness I had completely failed to notice.  On the other side, where my car was parked, there was the usual white railroad crossing sign.  Again I had totally failed to notice.

            I snapped a few photos and then turned the car around to climb out of my little valley and back to the highway.  One last look around and I was gone.  Just the way I liked it.  Next stop, Bend Oregon.  Here are some photos I took.