Reconsiderations
From Carson City, U.S.-395 continues on to Sin City, Jr.,
Reno. Not being a gambler and wanting to
avoid unprofitable ventures, I am glad the highway breezes around the downtown
area on elevated roadway. The route then
veers northwest in a beeline back to California. The desert soon falls away
behind and the climate zone soon turns alpine.
This is lumber country, so grab your axe and swing along.
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| Susanville., CA |
What serves as a metropolis in this part of the state is
Susanville which seems to be named for the Susan River (
Oh, those explorers are known for their ability to make connections
like that).
There are two industries
of note:
Logging and tourism. As I had
arrived in Susanville during the breakfast hour, I opted to try my luck at a
local eatery named (wait for it…) The Lumberjack.
While clean and efficient, the décor harkens
back to an era before IHOP and Denny’s cornered the corner on corner diners and
restaurant owners felt obligated to contribute to the local cultural ethos.
In this case it was a gigantic lumberjack
seemingly poised to smite with his mighty axe any wanderer who attempted to
sneak by unfed.
As a bonus, the
waitresses wore red and black flannel shirts and black slacks held judiciously
in place by suspenders: Corny? Yes! Entertaining? Immensely!
 |
| Story of My Life |
The after-breakfast plan was a trip to Lassen Volcanic Nat’l
Park.
The park is a side trip of about
ninety miles west of Susanville on CA-44.
It is a pleasant drive initially, but soon all of the trees began to
look alike.
Pressure was beginning to
assert itself against my bladder walls, so arrival was extremely timely.
Unfortunately, the park had not yet opened
for the spring.
Thank heavens the visitor
center was open.
There was a self-pay
notice at the unmanned entry gate.
For
those unfamiliar with the U.S.P.S fee pay honor system, it consists of
dispensing empty envelopes which the tourist will then fill with cash and
deposit into a locked receptacle.
I walked
into the visitor center and seeing nary a ranger in sight, used the restroom
and left, stiffing the government for $20.
These fees have ballooned in recent years. Crest fallen that I had
missed yet another chance to throw myself into a gurgling cauldron of lava, I
headed back to Susanville.
I secured lodging for the night (bug free I was assured) at
the Best Western. It seemed a bit of
local reconnaissance was in order. Susanville is one of those towns that is
just big enough to have spawned the de
rigor national chains and I eventually ended up at the Target store. I recall needing something but cannot bring to
mind what it was. I reckoned it was time
to do some strategic review and plan assessment and where better than
Starbucks. I dialed up the computer
guidance system of my vehicle and initiated a search for the nearest location.
After all, I had just paid $200 to update the map set in my five-year-old
Yukon. Much to my embarrassment, it was
one driveway away from my current location.
My original plan was to tour the length of U.S. 395 then
swing back southeast and visit Yellowstone National Park. As I sat on the hard, wooden seat at
Starbucks, tracing the distance from Susanville to the Canadian border, I began
to have doubts that I retained the stamina to pilot that route. The primary event of this odyssey would be
refocused to the first jewel in the crown of The National Park System,
Yellowstone. (Mr. Sulu, lay in a course for Old Faithful.)
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