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Published: August 23rd 2009
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Along Hwy 395
Volcanic terrain between Alturas and Susanville in California I had intended when I first planned my trip to return home from Canada via Highway 395, which begins at the Canadian border and ends on the south end of the Mojave Desert, not far from where I live. I’ve always loved the road as it borders the eastern Sierras through much of California, then cuts starkly, beautifully, through the desert. But other plans interfered. Robin agreed to go camping with me a few days the week of August 23. (It’s her 24th birthday on August 28, and this is part of her celebration.) In order to meet up with her on time to spend those days I had to leave Canada two days earlier than I had planned.
So I took a more direct route. I headed south from Kootenay pretty much on Highway 95, which put me across the border at Eastport, Idaho. Just like the young man who checked my passport after I disembarked the ferry at Sidney, BC three weeks ago, the young man at the US border tried to look stern as he asked me suspicious questions about myself and my plans. Rather than seeming a stalwart guard of national security, he seemed like a young man trying too hard.
From Hwy 95 at Sandpoint I turned west on Hwy 2 toward Spokane. Second growth forests line the road, trees all the same size and evenly spaced, flatness, a dull haze—not a beautiful drive in my humble opinion. Then in Spokane I hooked up with Hwy 195 south. (I could have gone onto 395 here, but it joins Interstate 90 for a while, and I wanted to travel the REAL American roads, the relatively dinky, usually redneck ones.) This route took me through the Palouse hills which grew more and more golden and convoluted as I headed south. I went west at Colfax, heading for Walla Walla. “No services for 50 miles,” a sign declared. Since I was low on gas, my proceeding was a stab at adventure. This country is remote and little travelled. I was often the only car for miles and miles. It’s a surprise to suddenly come to a bridge across the grand Snake River. As we entered Dayton, my gas light came on just as a Shell station appeared.
I stayed in Walla Walla Thursday night then went south again, connecting up with Hwy 395 at last in Pendleton. From Pendleton south, this is a magnificent highway. Takkakaw as the Cree would say. I took no pictures yesterday as I drove from Walla Walla, Washington to Lakeview, Oregon. Country highways do not have many pullouts, and you never know when another car or a truck will come speeding around a corner, though it isn’t very often. And Molly always gets her hopes up when I pull over and stop—she thinks she’ll get to walk around. Though I drove the speed limit and lower, 35-55 usually, and I stopped at the few rest areas for Molly’s and my sake, I really was trying to make time. So no photos, though I saw beauty and splendor and loveliness around every swerve in the road.
It’s mostly a golden, dry beauty, hills south of Pendleton, then crags, then real mountains and forest around Battle Mountain, a few rivers to cross into John Day. (I bought a Dairy Queen Blizzard in John Day, also a stunning experience.) South of there, increasingly desert, sagebrush, pines, stark Divine Ridge Summit just north of Burns. From Burns it’s all high desert, very wide expanses, you think you’re on the flatland until suddenly the earth opens up and you begin a descent into canyons, volcanic outcrops on every horizon. Along Lake Abert, which is mostly a dry salt plain, the highway clings to the cliffs along the eastern shore, no fencing, abrupt drop-offs, and across the salt plain and shimmer of shallow water, sand dunes. It’s eerie, a moonscape in the late afternoon sun.
I stayed the night in Lakeview, then drove from there to Carson City today. Except for Reno, the only real city along the length of 395 besides Spokane, once again the road goes through wild high desert with a few ranches, farms, and tiny towns. I took the one photo here from a rest area between Alturas and Susanville. It must represent Hwy 395 for my blog.
Driving through such country is a ride more pleasing than a roller coaster. It lasts all day. And the thrills are not describable. I hope you all will drive this road sometime yourselves.
A word about radio: in Canada, you can get a CBC station, which is similar to NPR in content, pretty much anywhere you can get anything on the radio. The last stretch through Canada though I could not find any stations so I turned the radio off. After I crossed the US border, I tried again. On the first station I hit, a male country singer was blaring his aggressive love for “the red, white, and blue.” On the next station, the preacher declared, “The wages of sin is death, but JE-sus paid the price for you and me.” On the third station, I learned, “You can teach your baby to read!” Unexpectedly I heard on a station from Alturas, pure ranch country, the great classic rocker Chrissie Hynes singing, “I went to Ohio, my city was gone…. Oh oh where’d you go, O-hi-o?” And after I listened awhile to a Bible professor from some Baptist college explore the theology of birth control pills—they are really abortifacients, he says—I was happy to switch the channel and find David Sedaris reading a very funny story about his homosexual experiences at summer camp. Oh, America.
Tomorrow I am meeting Robin at Grover Hot Springs State Park near Markleesville. I shall report on that too.
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dee
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Happy Birthday, Robin!!!