Trips & Misadventures
Location: From Guerneville to Willits (Pre-trip)
and from Willits to
Mt. Shasta, California
Shasta Snow Trip Report
Mt. Shasta Snow Trip #6
February 2006
As written by Gene Cornelius
completed 20-Oct-06
You want pics? Go here: Shasta Snow Trip Pics on Backroadbus.com and here: www.shastasnowtrip.com
Somewhere in the middle of February, 2006, the sixth Shasta Trip came and went. By far, it was the most unusual scheduling arrangement for any of the Trips. This was also the longest ... there were extensions on both ends. I'll emphasize the main part of the Trip in this report, but some of the happenings surrounding the event proper are worth remarking on. So ... here we go!
The Preparations
Why, when I was just a Newtlet, back in the days when the Shasta Trip was a pipe dream in some guy's head, and the dates were concise (first weekend in February, starting on Friday), trip prep lasted a whopping day ... maybe day-and-a-half. Tune up the ol' bus, try to make sure nothing's gonna fall off, and pack what spares I had, as well as whatever camping, trip survival stuff I thought I might need, and there we are ... and it turned out great.
Well, now things are different. The Trip is bigger and more complex. People are wrestling with busy lives and money, scheduling, family, and injury issues, and to top it all off, it's becoming somewhat of a several-months-long exponentially-tapering in intensity ritual of engine building, suspension work, transaxle maintenance, wiring replacement, tire-choosing, testing of chains, Rain-Ex application, camera rigging, ancillary lights rigging, shirt, patch and pin making, just all sorts of craziness! Of course everyone's experiences vary in intensity and level of obsession, and they can supply notes as to what they went through if they so choose.
Personally, I know I seem to be taking at least a solid week's worth of packing, fixing, fabricating, installation, etc. Not only do I have the bus to deal with (this year I got to play engine-builder with some funky scary time-consuming problems at the last minute), but I've also gotten myself into this mess of Rube Goldberg-style camera and lights rigging. And next year, I have an idea that's sure to have me up late every night for a week (just another attempt to catch more badass footage!)
Richard Kimbrough went through absolute hell to make it to the Shasta Trip this year. I saw it. I stand witness to the sheer determination that that guy has in the face of unspeakable adversity and countless setbacks of a very serious nature. I'll let him elucidate further, but when your killer science-project super technically perfect engine does what his did (just one major setback after many other frustrations leading up to it, with more to follow), you show your true spirit, and his was astonishing in drive, focus, and take-no-prisoners ability to surmount the worst.
Ok, that's like three more paragraphs than I wanted to write about the preparation ... but I guess it's all part of the Trip, isn't it? Let's get down to business here!
The Pre-Trips
In all fairness, I think it would be worthy to credit Kevin with having successfully initiated and completed the Pre-Pre-Pre-Pre Trip. Huh? What the hell am I talking about? Please, allow me to elucidate (this might take more than a sentence or two ... )
A long time ago, the Shasta Trip was only a three-day affair. This worked for four years, but our Fearless Leader, Brian Piercy, a.k.a. Team Kombisutra, had a great desire to get further into the wilds on the first day, and get more cool adventure driving done before arriving in Mt. Shasta on the first night. To this end, he took the initiative on the fifth year with the Pre-Trip concept. So instead of leaving Guerneville on Friday morning around 4:00 am, going through Willits and onward to Mt. Shasta, we were to leave The Ranch in Guerneville on Thursday, with a target departure time of 2:00 pm, and camp or motel it in Willits, and leave from there at 4:00 am Friday morning, thus freeing up time to venture further north and see more stuff en route to Shasta. Hence: the Pre-Trip.
For Year/Trip#6, the designation "Pre" took on more meaning. At present, I believe the definition of a qualifying Pre(x)-Trip is any planned major travel necessary to undertake before embarking on the Shasta Trip itself. It could be argued that it takes more than one team/bus to qualify for this, but I would disagree. In this case, Kevin made a lengthy journey from Missouri to Mesa, AZ, where he fell in (by design) with Richard Kimbrough, and together they set out across the desert on an adventure challenge that was known as the Pre-Pre-Pre Trip. Things did not work out quite as planned, unfortunately, major stuckage in sand, a broken reverse gear, shredded tires, and a series of snafus in Havasu (where Richard practiced removing his engine and disassembling his tranny several times), so with both gentlemen in a state of extreme exhaustion, Kevin by necessity skipped the planned meeting in Sierra City, which was the starting point of the Pre-Pre Trip. He arrived in Guerneville at the ranch late on Wednesday night ... I'm sure he has stories to tell! Richard finally got a bus that was capable of moving, but not with freeway flyer gearing, so he was sad, but at least he was able to literally drive the night through and somehow find Brian's cabin, where many of the Pre-Trip participants bunked Thursday night before going to the ranch to meet with anyone and all to set forth on the Pre-Trip. From what I understand, he made it there in time to not sleep ... he was hoping to go on Brian's Dead Bus Photo Shoot, which I'll get to in a bit.
In the meantime, having basically lost all participants of the Pre-Pre Trip to various fates, with the partial exception of Aaron Boice, brother Luke, his son Jordan and a buddy (Tad?), who were able to meet us near Lodoga, Michele and I set out through fresh Sierra snow in the bright and early to meet up with Aaron et al (Emily was in class or something that day) at a place to get fish. Michele and I accessed Lodoga from Hwy 20 on a twisty, hilly, picturesque road that turned out to be more fun than it looked like on the map. Unfortunately, it turned out that the fishing place was closed (how can they close a lake?), but I get ahead of myself. In conceptual form, the Pre-Pre Trip was to leave early Wednesday morning from our place in Sierra City, possibly take a backroad longcut if not snowed in, then cross Central CA on Highway 20, meet others at Williams/I5, and then head to the hilly Lodoga/Indian Valley Reservoir area to traverse Bartlett Springs Road, whereon lies the famed "Rampaging Spot" of Rustybus jumping fame and Freak Westy/frog soup notoriety. Speaking of Michael Wood (he also came from AZ, but he never did name his Pre(x) Trip ... I think he was going to try to hit the Pre-Pre Trip, but I'm not sure. Ask him. Anyway, it would be nice to be able to see the Rampaging Spot in daylight and maybe get some awesome footage, but as it was, the experience with Aaron and friends, Michele, and myself was a nice break from the Shasta Prep frenzy. Ok ... it was a break for some. I decided that it would be a great time to rewire some of my lights with relays I had just purchased. (Don't get me wrong, I was lovin' it!) I was just wrapping up from that endeavor, and everyone else was about ready to leave for Santa Rosa/Guerneville when it started to lightly snow. There are some neat things to relate about the Rampaging Spot having now seen it in daylight, but I think I'll do that when talking about the Post-Post Trip ...
***Bartlett Springs Road side notes: I'm watching Aaron's videotape of their journey over Bartlett Springs Rd. on their way to the Lodoga meetup place, and it's awesome! Aaron's driving like a true Shastian (sideways around corners and aiming at puddles), and the poor guy with the camera is flopping around in the back on a steel folding chair or something oops! He's down. Funny stuff. Also, when we came up the grade at the other end of BSR, I went up the 4x4 shortcut and it was fun…I will soon find out whether they caught any of that action on video ... ***
From the Rampaging Spot, we took Bartlett Springs Road westward to Hwy 20/Nice. BSR was fun (it always is), and we got a little of everything it had to offer: Mud, snow, dust, rocks, sticks, potholes, and more dust. It snowed/rained lightly and intermittently, which was nice, because it offered variety, and kept some of the dust down. I have issues with dust ... maybe I'll tell you about it later. At this time, we were adhering to the Pre-Pre Trip guidelines, which included many optional roads, depending on time considerations. The Nice-Lucerne Cutoff got us over to Hwy. 29, which was most non-Shasta-esque, but ten minutes or so got us to our target road, Hwy 175, which winds up and over a small inland range in a very cool way…pretty, steep, curvy, and, by the time we got to the crest, getting dark. We stopped in Hopland to fuel up and say farewell to our companions of the day. Aaron then noticed that his muffler was hanging by a bolt and a half, so we got that fixed sorta, and taped up his heater tubes, and then headed south on 101---Aaron et al had to get people back to Healdsburg, and I had a meeting with a friend on one of the Pre-Pre Trip-designated roads to give him his crockery back and pick up some CB gear he was being generous with. So it was alone with each other, our thoughts, and Bartholomew for the remainder of the Pre-Pre Trip. We had to skip Geysers Road because it was too late, and pass on Sweetwater Springs Road because it was broken by recent elemental forces. Whatever. We got to Brian's Ranch at 9:30, and spent some time there changing oil and being spaced out, and talking about the trip with (or at, depending on perspective) Team 40-Horse (Nathan Wa-something (I can't read my own writing) and Josh Hesse) who showed up at the ranch with an adorable {color/color?} '56 {model?}. Sometime around midnight we all {who all?} went on a nice little aggressive night drive to Brian's cabin, which I would use too many words to describe fully, so I'll keep it short: Fifty feet of steep uneven stairs climbing up from a sketchy parking area, which, if you make it up without tumbling to certain death amongst the tightly packed buses below, take you to strange multi-faceted old-school pre-building-code hippie vacation tree dwelling Ewok fortress nestled in redwoods, replete with holey walls, wood-burning asphyxiator, and XM radio that played jazz. In short, it was awesome! I think everyone thought it was cool, especially the person who got to sleep in the room with the heart-shaped holes cut through the wall. You'd have had to have been there.
The next morning we all went to Guerneville, but before going to the ranch, we delved deeply into Armstrong Redwoods State Park, defying the insistence of the various signs and tollbooths that we pay up ... but it was merely a phantom tollbooth ... no angry rangers with long arms were present to enforce anything, and besides, they should pay us for beautifying their park for them ... redwoods look really nice augmented by a stream of old Volkswagen Type 2's, right? So we meander between the trees until we seem to be leaving the park on a one-lane track along a creek in a shady canyon. And then we stop. It would seem that a sturdy steel gate with a hefty lockbox has insinuated itself across our path in a stubborn and somewhat pugnacious manner. Our piteous attempts to pick the lock were in vain, and Brian was not happy…his uglybus or whatever it was photoshoot plans were sundered in a most grievous manner. Geez, we had like ten buses nose to decklid strung along a single-lane slanted curving dirt track with a chasm on one side and a ferny bluff rising up on the other. Well, there was nothing for it but to back each bus down one at a time to the wide spot where they could make a one-hundred and eighty-degree trajectory change ...
***Potential Shasta Cameraman sighted! Aaron and Luke's friend Tad was just inspecting carved, painted gourds at the store in Stonyford, and he has located the big salami…and is now fixated on a ceiling fan ... plus he doesn't seem to be able to stop shooting!***
Back to the Armstrong Woods Adventure ... so, instead of limping back to the ranch in defeat, Brian led us on a merry drive back through the redwoods and left! Up to Bullfrog Pond. The redwoods gave way to oaks, and the narrow but well-kept asphalt roadway snaked its way steeply uphill, giving us occasional views of the valley. Next thing we hear, though, is that they had closed the pond, too! Foiled again! That's three times so far on this trip that we had been turned away from our destination by gates. Someone was out to get us, that's for sure. So back down to the Ranch we went.
Meanwhile, Roscoe, (Team OVP), Michael Wood/Ely , etc, all as a separate group heading towards Willits via Tomki Road were having a splashing good time going through the creek in the daylight, screwing around in the mud puddles and sandbars that presented themselves in an inviting manner to the adventurers ... and extricating Roscoe from said sandbars and mud puddles.
Back at the ranch, we had a couple hours to kill, which everyone spent adjusting their loads, dealing with funky hatch hinges, screwed-up accelerator pedals and linkages, and last-minute tune-ups. Finally, at 3:45, we formally embarked on the Pre-Trip itself by heading out through Guerneville and westward on Hwy 116. Funny that our first goal was to see the ocean before dark, this being a Shasta Trip, but that's part of the joy of this whole endeavor: Re-inventing the word "circuitous"!
Down Austin Creek Road we plunged, then took the back way to Cazadero, where we stopped for a moment to do something, I'm not sure what. We blasted our way up King Ridge Road, and then onto and down some bumpity dirt road that got us to Seaview Road ... and we DID view the sea, but mainly as we descended from the hills by way of Fort Ross Road.
Evening was well advanced as our little cohort paralleled the Pacific on Highway 1, through Salt Point, and at Gualala, where we stopped for a break, fuel, and to be entertained by Brian exhibiting his skills with a diminutive freestyle bike, it was fully dark. At 7:45, we clambered back into our buses and headed back over the coastal range…this time I'm not really sure exactly what roads we took, and I don't really care ... (actually, it's a secret!) ... but with a few stops for servicing of ailing buses, (John Kolak: When do I get my wire brush back ... is it still holding your gas pedal and floor together?) we made it over to Hwy 101 at 10:00 or so, and then up to Hwy 20, and the final bit of fun before Willits: Tomki Road!
Tomki Road is a semi-rough dirt track that stretches from Hwy 20 near 101 north to the hills just east of Willits. It is a curvaceous little thing, and it is crossed by the slithering passage of Tomki Creek ... several times. Perhaps seven creek crossings all told, and each one presented us with the opportunity to become stuck, bash our bumpers against rocks, aquire footage of dimly-lit buses splashing through the water, and in general, have a bunch of fun, despite our exhaustion. Unfortunately for me, a breakdown had occurred somewhere in the wiring for my floodlights, and I was forced to revert to using headlights and a handheld camera to get what video I could. The crossings went well, however, and we finally made it to the end of the Pre-Trip: Willits. It was from there that the braver teams continued on to the meeting place north of Willits to camp, and others headed for the motels around 12:30.
The Shasta Snow Trip-Friday, the 17th of February, 2006:
The point of meeting and consequent departure for this day's adventures was at a large, flat dirt area about a quarter mile from 101 on Hwy 162. The official departure time was set at 5:00am, and we got there at 4:57 to find an amazing amount of teams already there, with their buses lined up side-to-side in anticipation of the day. After the line was complete (20 buses worth!), Sergeant Brian called us all out for an instructional pep talk, which was quite rousing in its drill-sergeant fashion. I sure hope somebody shot all of that on video! He had us toe the line on the edge of the road, facing our line of buses, and after his speech was delivered, ready-set-goaded us back to our buses, to set out onto 101 north to Laytonville.
It is known that the Shasta Trip is all about back roads, and we do try to keep to them, but in many instances we are forced to use the major arteries to get from one back road to another. Our destination for this twenty-minute leg was a gravel/dirt road that went from Laytonville to Dos Rios, and then Poonkinney Road, aptly named Dos Rios Road. It turned out to be a sweet road…hilly, dusty, bumpy….all the things you'd want on a trip of this nature. There was one thing it was not, however, and that was ... you guessed it…open. At least in this case there wasn't a gate, but whoever (or whatever) had it in for us caused a major slide to completely block the road several miles in. The pile-up of buses was interesting to say the least. Because of the miracle of CB radio, some of us were warned and able to stop before becoming part of a lengthy ordeal to turn around, but many were caught, and had to wait for each bus to about-face on yet another narrow, cliff-defined road. Eventually, everyone got in motion again…back to 101, south to Hwy 162, where we headed east, towards Poonkinny Road (and the other end of Dos Rios Road). This was certainly an annoying setback, but, well, that's the way it goes sometimes. Well, maybe more than sometimes!
Poonkinney Road always was a fun one. A great way to get to Covelo from 162, which goes to Covelo anyway. This year (again) it was mostly quite dry, which was surprising. One year it was quite muddy; it had snow for year #2, but it's fun any which way (snow and mud preferred, of course). I feel that I'm neglecting details, but there wasn't much to report. Everyone drove, and we got to Covelo. The killer hill/turn that always catches people off guard because of its sudden steep part did it again this year, and the sun came up in golden glory as we crested the hills.
Covelo was ... well, Covelo. I can hear it now: "I am, and always will be…Covelo" And then they shoot it out into space bundled up in a photon torpedo casing. Just kidding. It really is a nice area, especially if you travel to the eastern part of the valley….quite pastoral farm and ranchland with some rather large hills, over which is strewn a multitude of gnarly roads branching off of 162, which had degraded to gravel and dirt as it heads up and over Mendocino Pass…the same pass which inspired Brian Piercy to start the Shasta Trip after he conquered the snowy pass alone with his singlecab, some chains, and a rusty bucket or something one fine day long ago.
After Covelo, Mina Road. Again, we were hoping for snow, but puffy clouds, blue skies, and dry dirt and old asphalt to drive on were the order of the day. Long, winding hill climbs with great views and plenty of opportunity to get sideways, followed by rollercoaster-like ridgetop running and a fast descent to a tall green bridge where we stopped for a break. After twenty minutes or so we remounted and blazed off for another series of switchbacks, some exhilarating moments with bovines as we left dust clouds floating over the meadowlands, and then more up.
Up up into the hills we sped (OK, sometimes it wasn't quite speeding), and as we came to the top of the ridge, where some really cool cliffs are, we found a nice little open area off the road with a mud puddle. This was a one-bus puddle, and it was more mud than puddle. Almost the entire contingent of buses had a go at it, and nobody crashed into anybody else, which is sort of amazing (wait 'till you see the video). I think I should mention that before this point the main group had broken off from the rest, and sped ahead. Later, it was discovered that they just had to pee really bad, (are we there yet?) and Kettenpom had the first bathroom for miles. (Musta been city-folk!) Anyway, it should be noted (and here's as good of a time to do so as any) that this year's trip was not to be plagued by the stress and potential disappointment of having to wait for either slower or broken buses. Brian has always wanted the trip to be more of a gung-ho backroad rally than a meandering, lollygagging caravan, and has historically had the greatest of problems making it so…..but this year was as close to a good balance between everyone sticking together and being totally individualistic as we've had. By necessity, of course. There are many times that getting 20 buses moving all at once could be pretty difficult to do with any alacrity, and the buddy system hashed out by Brian proved to be a workable idea, although a couple times this year there some problems with that. You see, formerly, when a bus broke down or had a problem, everyone stayed with that team until their issue was resolved, which was unfair to those not directly involved with the rectification of the aforementioned issues. It makes more sense to have only one or two other buses stay with the afflicted, while everyone else continued on the route, after making certain that they weren't leaving with the spare part or tool necessary to get the afflicted mobile again. Working out this kind of detail within the parameters of an organized event can be a complex challenge ... indeed, this Snow Trip is comprised of complex challenges, and would be severely lessened were it otherwise. In fact, the whole point of the trip is to test your mettle, the metal of your bus, your driving skills, stamina, patience, imagination, fortitude, presence of mind, and how you deal with others, all in a surprisingly rewarding environment of uncertainty and stress. It is truly an outstanding experience ... you realize that the most just after the trip, when you are forced to return to your previous life in another mind-another time.
Kettenpom:
At 9:45 that day, all twenty buses were together once again ... for a brief time. As this particular town outpost, there is but one gas station. With one pump. And a dead bear. (A big dead bear) The facilities are outhouses with running water (in most years, anyway…this year the sinks and toilets were frozen). The requisite burly backwoods-type dude was on hand to loiter on our behalf in the store for a more complete theme effect, and it turned out that he was the one who made the bear dead. It is hard to tell a burly guy with a gun that he sucks, so I held my tongue and lived to tell the tale. A fenced area adjacent to the house behind the store contained a baker's dozen baying and yapping hounddogs who were doubtless party to the murder, and were convinced that everyone who ventured towards the bathrooms needed a fanfare.
Leaving Kettenpom at about 10:30, we made for Zenia. I'd like to put in a few words about Zenia. Quaint ol' place ... Ok, that's pretty much got it ... I wanted to express the Zenia experience in prose and now I've done it. Hmm ... maybe a haiku would be more appropriate:
Zenia
A strange-looking store
Sign says closed, windows tilted
We pass through again.
Zenia Bluffs road to Alderpoint Road: A stunning drive down the face of a series of cliffs. Sheer drops down which you do not want to be doing any dropping fall away on the left, and on the right, the precipice is inverted; the sheer, grassy and rocky cliff on whose shoulder you pass rising to dizzying heights ... a mere tick of a ledge with a road on it ... with the occasional rocks, washout or small slide to remind us of the impermanence of roads---indeed, of mankind's works…and of ourselves…and knowing we're experiencing a unique moment within Natures's immense workings, we plummet down the winding road enjoying tantalizing glimpses of the world beyond the cliffs many miles away and far below, until at last, swooping around yet another hairpin curve, a bridge crossing over a steep-sided creek indicates that we're once again a part of that world below.
Blocksburg Road this year was quite picturesque, as long as I didn't switch to the rear-facing camera too often. Puffy clouds of bodacious definition rendered in dazzling white with subtle hints of gray against a cerulean sky provided an exquisite backdrop for the verdant grasslands and treed hills through which we now traveled: Northward, towards the old country, where the superstore is a myth used to frighten small children and the stop sign is run with impunity. Homesteads, corrals, and small communities were nestled in these hills, and the occasional shiny SUV amongst the ramshackle barns, rusting tractors and eccentric fences gave lie to the strangeness of the times we take part in. Add a VW bus or twenty, and the equation is balanced. It was pretty, and fun in a "nothing happened…we drove along and there were some funny moments on the CB" way, and then we found ourselves at Bridgeville, where somebody peed. About time, too.
Where the Van Duzen River amd Hwy 36 intersect, the highway, out of respect for the watercourse, lifts itself up and out of the water's way by means of a large angle-arched bridge, over which we passed. This bridge is so significant that someone built a town of no significance near to it, named it "Bridgeville", and then sold it on eBay. I'm not sure I remember any signs of habitation in Bridgeville as we passed through….maybe Stephen King wrote the place, but since we were just passing through, it is of no consequence and you're probably wondering why I wrote of it. Me too.
But it is the gateway to Kneeland Road, a long lonely ribbon of dust meandering through livestock-infested open range ... one of the last such in North America. How do you tell if the range is open? When the forward motion of one of your pod's members (in this case Cindy and John Kolak) is thwarted by goats (a herd thereof) ... and then cows (moo?) Other than the animals trying their hand at bus-herding, Kneeland Road waxed more and more ruggedly beautiful the further north we traveled. Bucolic is a good word. Sprawling open ranches nestled in dells with rickety old fences crouched as if in anticipation of imminent collapse lined the road. Through the dust of the buses ahead, a dense front of cumulo-nimbus lined the horizon, which was defined by a set of imposing hills around through and upon which the road we traveled wound with increasing vertical variations in addition to those on the horizontal axes.....in other words, it was hilly and curvy with a pretty, neat-looking sky. The absence of asphalt makes this road an excellent choice for negotiating turns at speed, practicing opposite lock and the fine art of 'floating' over gravel with rampaging horses as escort.
One of the most notable instances in the few failures this year to keep everyone with a pod or team was the unfortunate loss of Teams Kolak and Cannabus (Jon Robere with his co-pilot Jay). Many of us passed Jon as he was stopped in the little triangle of dirt that marked the intersection of Kneeland Road and Maple Creek Road. Innocent-looking enough, he was pouring gas into his bus from a spare can, and waved us on cheerfully. However, unbeknownst to us, but painfully apparent as we headed up the latter part of Bald Hills Road and Snow Camp Road, something had gone horribly awry.
I never did really get the whole story, as when it was being told, I was in a coma or stupor, or maybe just not all there, but something went more wrong than it should have, and they were unable to catch up. Our last communication with them was via Mike W. and Richard K., (who both came all the way from Arizona, and therefore had fancy CB's) who related that they were under way and were having no problems, and that we should continue on. Well, it would seem that they were mistaken, for they ended up staying the night in Willow Creek instead of Mt. Shasta!
While this situation was just beginning to develop, our little pod did manage to overshoot our turn ... many of us missed the import of the little sign that read: "Hwy 299, 5 miles" with an arrow to the left. One sharp-eyed Newt pondered this sign for a few miles, and then finally mentioned it in a casual way to the rest ... long and short of it, we all had to turn back and head the proper direction: Towards 299 and Willow Creek.
Remember when I mentioned that there were, by necessity, a few instances requiring us to travel on major highways? Well, this is one of them: Highway 299 east to Willow Creek, where pizza is not gourmet, and the locals never travel, possibly contributing to the dearth of lifted 4x4 trucks with Blue Healers lolling about in the back. Needless to say, we didn't stop long, but for fuel, a brief respite, and a quick photo shoot in front of a rather gigantic Sasquatch. Brian and his team were just leaving as we rolled into Willow Creek ... by the time we had done what we came here to do, there was a 40-minute gap between the two pods. Based on the infamous logbook, which has inconvenient holes in it wherever a piece of information is truly important, we were leaving Willow Creek this year a good TWO? hours earlier than last, which gave us a fighting chance to see the Cliffs of Insanity and the Forks of Salmon before night fell.
To get to the northernmost reaches of the Shasta Snow Trip, we had to take Highway 96 north from Willow Creek, through Hoopa, and towards Weitchpec ... a truly stunning driver's road, even though it is paved, its long sections of swooping cliff-hugging with tantalizing glimpses of the Trinity River, and then, before Weitchpec, the confluence of the Trinity and Klamath Rivers. Just south of Weitchpec it was, as we swapped rivers and followed the Klamath upstream to the east on Highway 96. During this time the light was becoming liquid amber, and the stony faces of the cliffs over the jubilant emerald river chuckled as the light danced over their age-seamed visages. Some of this stony mirth, apparently, had destructive effects, for not only could we see damage to the road caused by falling rock, but road crews and occasional rough road under repair slowed us somewhat. But this was the Shasta Trip, and these little annoyances did little to allay our enthusiasm and appreciation for the fine time we were sharing.
Our biggest concern at this point, besides the welfare and whereabouts of our lost pod-mates, was that we made it to the Terrifying Cliffs of Insanity and Certain Death before dark, when the roadway would instantly ice over, slinging us helplessly into the yawning chasm thousands of feet below to be smashed and tumbled against the jagged boulders as we fell, bouncing and screaming towards the merciless Salmon River, which was hell-bent on pushing all debris seaward in its fury. OK, maybe I overstated the uneasiness we were feeling as well as the danger: We really wanted to see the cliffs, the river, and the tiny strip of asphalt that kept us on one, and out of the other. Last year, the brief stop we made to shine a ten-billion candlepower light downward was just not satisfying enough, so we made our best efforts to see it in natural light. As it was (an is), the curving, single-lane path held suspended by seamless rock was hewn into the cliff in such a manner as to call to mind once again the temporary nature of our very existence. Indeed, where it wasn't crumbled away off a several hundred foot vertical cliff, the white line depicted the precise location of the edge of the road. And one lane it was, at that!
Later, in the picturesque centurian hamlet of Sawyers Bar (I think), as the snow started coming down for real Kevin McLeod determined that a better place for attending to the problem his bus was developing in the brakes department. So there we were, on the side of one of the few straight and level spots on the entire road, all hands available for assistance, and Kevin hopped to it: A quick bleed and adjustment check seemed to do the trick! Meanwhile, the rest of the Pod milled about aimlessly, pointed cameras at each other in the snowflake-filled dusk, and huddled in the cooling Volkswagens. At one point, a husky fellow of a decidedly convivial nature stepped out of his front door to see what the ruckus was. That ruckus was us: We had parked in his front yard, basically. He paid the implied trespass no mind, and asked us about our mission, who we were, and did we really think we were gonna make it over the pass without chains? Well, after he was convinced of our intent and determination to forge ahead through the increasingly dense snowfall, and some of us flatlanders were veritably quaking in our boots, and not just from the cold, as his words carried the weight of the real mountains as he warned us of our potential doom in the passes.
What it ended up coming down to was that he advised that we chain up, and pointed us down the road a couple miles to a campground where ample space to chain up safely was to be found. Bidding him well, we took off into the night, snowflakes piling up in the corners of our windows and reflecting and amplifying the beams of our headlamps into an ethereal luminosity. The campsite located at last, we failed miserably at mounting our various traction devices with quickness and efficiency, but we eventually got it done, and straggled onto the road and toward the pass.
Now I remember this pass from a trip not too many years ago in a snow-free season. Not too easy! I distinctly recall hairpin turns, unfathomable precipices, and a 2nd-gear incline that was not to be scoffed at even by a mid-loaded bus with a healthy 1776. So how was it to be now, with a good 8" of fresh snow on top of some that was a day or so older, and packed by earlier traffic? As it turned out, Nick with his cable chains and lightly-packed bus was the only one that had any real issues, but he soon got his snow-legs, and with the added traction from a helpful hippie on his bumper, he made it over the worst bit almost totally unscathed, but for some bruising. I'll let him tell that story!
Before we got to the pass itself, we were met by some folks just over the pass from the other side. They reported that our friends weren't faring so well, and were stuck, attempting to install chains, and having a general hell of a time. Well good! We'll show those guys up yet! A little fantasy shared by the Pod was that we would be showing up somewhere on the pass just in time to rescue the forward FastBrianPod from their own carelessness in not having chains on before the ascent. However, when we got to the top, and not seen hide nor hair of them, we assumed quite correctly that they and their buses had been dragged off into the woods by savage non-vegetarian Yeti and eaten, while their buses got systematically lowered before their eyes using all aftermarket parts with lots of chrome. Horrible. Anyway, later we found out that they were in fact alive, and that they had successfully navigated the new appendage of the Northern Route of the Shasta Trip: One "Scarface Rd." which eventually drops down onto Old Highway 99 just north of Gazelle.
Our Pod, because of the fatigue that generally follows darkness and lateness, opted for the straightforward route that was deemed safer, but in fact, was possibly more hazardous due to the evil-minded snowplow operators and their love of spewing "gravel" the size of small asteroids across Interstate 5 and into the grimacing faces of our buses as they sped by in a blinding haze. Whoops. We had taken our Shasta Shirts, Pins, Medallions, and Badges off in shame as we opted to avoid another pass in the name of prudence and safety. You know: So no-one who saw us with our tails between our legs would recognize us! At any rate, the route we ended up taking was probably worse for our buses, our sanity and our enjoyment, but hell, we made it, didn't we?
Late, road-weary (exhausted), and in piss-poor moods, we pulled into the Cold Creek Inn one more time. Just enough time to catch a Z or two, freshen up and make the most of another day!
The Shasta Snow Trip-Saturday, the 18th of February, 2006:
Saturday broke too soon, as it always does, but for once, we got right up and wasted no time ... um ... no, strike that, different reality, sorry! Everyone dilly-dallied as usual, and we got just enough time to do whatever it was that we do ... drive up Castle Lake Road getting all silly sliding around on the snow, scaring all the fish to the other side of the lake while giving worms acute hypothermia, sledding down icy inclines to possible death (or at least crippling back injury--how long do you watch someone who wants to be writhing in pain after a particularly nasty landing but can't because it hurts too much before you run screaming for a medic?), and rashly driving out onto deeply rutted snow roads to get stuck and unstuck with a little help from our friends while seeking a good Rampaging Spot ... it was a good day!
(The previous paragraph was used in the Shasta Snow Trip #6 Condensed Report ... got a problem with that? Good. It describes the day perfectly! Akshully, much of the following was written succinctly enough in the condensed report (NEATO Newsletter) to bear the weight of Truth and be complete with just a few minor embellishments, so here you go.)
If you'd like to see some cool video of some of the events I speak of here, just go to www.shastasnowtrip.com , Year 2006, Video Clips. Enjoy! There will be a couple more there eventually ...
The Bunny Flat dinner was held at a record low: 4 degrees F. Hang out in that kind of weather for long and you might lose your appetite. I don't really know what went on for the most part, since I was making sushi in the doublecab during most of it, but it sure was fun seeing what happens to a whole platter of sushi rolls when you ask a passing drunk to hold it for a second ... I'll always remember that with a smile ... and hold dear the knowledge that every last piece of that cold, crunchy sushi got eaten. Whatever. Next year, it's chocolate mousse, made on a camp stove at the Sierra Club cabin, which a contingent of adventurers will be snowshoeing to on Saturday ... and why not? If you're gonna be cold, do it with style, and make sure you have something pretty to look at as hypothermia steals your life.
I don't really remember what happened after dinner on Saturday. Maybe the wine worked, or maybe we just went to bed. Maybe we watched Shasta videos. Whatever. Sunday rolled around, and many of us headed back north to the Siskiyous, aiming to take the North Fork of Salmon Road (we took the South Fork on the way up), and then back down to Willow Creek and back to our homes or places of staying. Shortly after we got into the foothills was when Team 40 Horse lost their engine. And that ends the main Shasta Trip report, since most of the others continued on after the diagnosis, and apparently had some fun with each others' tempers in Willow Creek, while Rachel and Brent stayed for a bit to help with the engine situation, and then departed their own way after it was discovered that they were no longer needed, since there was no help to be had from any of us, except those involved in the towing, and it was down to Richard in the Rustybus, and Michele and myself in the doublecab.
Leaving Yreka, I had some oil incontinence issues which slowed us down considerably, and we ended up staying in Mt. Shasta yet another night. We started back the way we were turned away from on Sunday, and had a really nice drive through the mountains, down through Weaverville, Hayfork, past Ruth Lake, back to Zenia, and finally to Hwy. 101 via Bell Springs Road. Our destination was the "Rampaging Spot" on Bartlett Springs Road, where we were to rendezvous with Brian and Kevin to have a bit of a relaxing camp-out (why disassemble a pallet to burn it?) and wake up to a pre-breakfast Rampage and then go to wherever it was that we could begin to pick up the threads of our "other" lives.
We got to the Rampaging Spot late, but were able to have a bit of fun ... and another story which is best told elsewhere ensued the following morning. Let us just say that some plans went awry, some rolling with punches happened, a brave and extremely generous rescue by Britt, and a really long, arduous wrenching session took place, all capped off by a bit more driving against the clock and another engine pull in Healdsburg. Let your imagination run rampant ...
Or something ...
Until next year! Yes. Until next year ... the final year that video will be shot for use other than quick little clips for web viewing and the inevitable Flyby. Shasta Trip #7 will be the final inclusion for the Great Shastian Adventure Bus Video, which really needs a new name: I'm all ears if you have any suggestions, but as it is, this project needs to come to a close of sorts so I can get on with the rest of my life.
But it certainly doesn't get any better than this, so if you want to share the insanity and have proof, be there this February, officially the 9th through 11th, and you'll make your ancestors bewildered and your descendants wear a fake mustache ... even the girls.
Bring a video camera and an operator! We need footage of people in buses, people doing things to buses, people doing things to other people's buses, and of course, people dining on other people! As long as it looks good, and/or is funny, we can use it.
News and updates to show up sporadically here and 
