It's been hard to step away from this thing long enough to see what is really going on, but I had myself a little clarity during this last Shasta Trip that allowed me to become aware of just how much of a big deal it really has become.
For one thing, I have realized to what extent "tradition" can foil adventurous spirit and stymie spontenaity. With so many participants, no single activity can possibly suit or entertain all involved, and each "pod", if you will allow, needs to have diverse experiences simultaneously, occasionally juxtaposing with the other pods and contributes mightily to the overall event, forging new alliances and partnerships and taking the Trip in new directions.
The Shasta Snow Trip can be a life-changing experience, as well as a bit of an addiction. Once you go, and once you "get it" you suddenly find yourself jonesing for the yearly injections--but at least this high enriches your life, makes you stronger, and your friends will more than likely thank you for turning them onto it, rather than you suffering "interventions" at the hands of their estranged families ...
For years now, the SST has been experiencing growing pains as more and more people found means and reason to escape their other reality for a few days. However, this ninth year, the biggest in participation to date, showed that a certain level of maturity had been reached, and the key, as it appears to me, is not so much disparity but unity through diversity. Help get everyone pointed in the correct direction, say "GO!" and watch as twenty-some-odd Volkswagens roar off through different stories towards a most singular destination: Mt. Shasta!
Here is my story:
Having spent the weeks immediately prior to the trip watching the weather (always changing) and attempting to forge a solid route plan with as many new roads as possible, (here) I was actually surprised to find Bartlett Springs Road in the state it was in on the evening of the 29th. Dusty. Despicably dessicated. Well, except for one or two little damp areas and a muddy puddle at the Rampaging Spot. At least the dry weather made for much more pleasant camping, and the roadside maintenance scenes to come were a little easier to enjoy due to the lack of mud! But I digress ... (call it foreshadowing if you will)
Three days before, I had blasted Bart across the meadow and up the hill to our driveway, re-rigged all my cameras and lights, (video here) and packed for a week, although I knew it would be too much. My brother Logan was to be my copilot this year, and I wanted to make sure I had all my systems ready and the apropriate space in the bus for him and his gear. On the morning of Thursday the 19th, I headed out from Happy Camp, picked up Logan in Arcata, shopped for trip food in Eureka, where we were joined by Team Oregon, and by early afternoon, we were headed out on the highway towards our destiny with dirt.
We had a fun break a couple hours into the journey. Somewhere south of Leggett, there's a little hill climb opportunity that I'd tested out a few years ago, and thought it might be nice with other buses in view. Apparently Lance thought it would be cool (you've got to see this little side road from southbound 101) and so up we went for a legstretcher. It was a classic "road on the right" even though it was on the left.
Sometime near Willits, I got a call from some fellow Newts that bore the horrendous news that one of our teams, Team Piratebus (Aaron and Emily) were turning back towards home with a seriously ailing transmission, and they were unsure of whether they would be able to make the Trip after all. But they would try, Emily told me, and for the rest of that day I kept my fingers crossed for them.
After the hillclimb, an uneventful but pleasant highway journey down 101 and then east on Hwy 20, taking us to the western end of Bartlett Springs Road, just outside of Nice. At long last, as twilight was falling, we broke free of the smooth and easy pavement onto a steep and rugged dirt/gravel track that would take us to the Rampaging Spot. But first, many miles of unholy dust. I was a bit dismayed, to say the least, and stated that it would probably be a little better on the other side of the mountain, but alas, I was only partially right - a few damp spots here and there, but mostly just a little over an hour of unrelenting dust from the buses ahead.
We arrived at the Rampaging Spot at 7:25, gently rampaged a bit (stymied by the presence of "other" campers in the hollow on the other side of the road) and settled in to meet and greet the growing pile of buses and bussers around a comforting fire, and prepared for the next day's adventure. First and foremost on the list? Brew coffee for the morning, which in this case was to be 3:45 am, for an attempted time of departure: 4:30. Here's a little video (the first of my SST#9 videos) to show a bit of what went down that Thursday: SST 9 Thursday
Friday came too early, given the amount of sleep I got. Finally rising from my half-slumber on Bart's front seat after several hours listening to others arriving, hanging out and partying, it was suddenly that moment when the predawn was filled with doors slamming, engines coughing to life and everyone scurrying around, breaking camp. Within moments, most of the buses were up on the road, lining up for the launch. Brian gave his yearly informative pep-talk, and finally, around 4:40, we were poised for the "go!".
I had asked everyone to line the buses up in a certain way, and to leave in an orderly fashion so that I could obtain a certain launch sequence shot on video, and once we started, it looked pretty cool. Unfortunately, due to unexplainable technical difficulties, the footage of that launch and the rest of the shots of Bartlett Springs Road was simply gone. Big bummer. I'll have to try it again next year. (The camera said it was in record, I swear, but obviously it was not!)
We headed east on Bartlett Springs Road at 4:43 at a fairly good pace. A couple buses suffered minor issues, but nothing delayed anyone for too long, and the column made it onto Leesville Road somewhat together. Team New Mexico apparently experienced a broken exhaust - their flange and exhaust tube were no longer mated, and they needed a replacement. They decided to press on, following the cavalcade up Huffmeister Road to meet up with Team Oregon to get a replacement. Mr. Armstrong had been packing a turnkey spare engine, and kindly let one of his heater boxes go to a good cause.
Around the time I was passing Lance, we got the dismaying information that Damon's transmission was completely lunched. I arrived at and parked behind the ailing bus, and helped push it up the hill to a flat wide-ish spot in the road, and soon after, Justin was returning with his spare tranny, and suddenly a major operation was underway. A little less than half the teams had continued on, but twelve buses and their teams remained behind to assist in various ways as Damon's engine came out; the time was 5:45, and parts were flying! It looked like a scene from M*A*S*H, and everyone assisted in various ways, from supplying tools, parts, tranny oil, lots of labor, and moral support.
Here's a video depicting that scene: (No there isn't! There will be though, eventually, so check back here or in the Video Index for it! (posted 17-Mar-09))
At 8:05, we were underway once again. Total time for the tranny swap: two hours and twenty minutes. We were treated to a golden sunrise during the final stages of the operation, and were now stoked to be able to see the terrain through which we travelled. Huffmeister was a cool road - curvy, narrow, dirt, with significant cliffs overlooking epic vistas. We dropped down off the hills into someone's farmstead, went through their gate (closed it after) and towards Sites. Lodoga-Sites road took us up to Road 303 (where we heard the last transmission from Team Baddog Racing), and a few other paved and unpaved roads we had not yet been on during the Shasta Trip, and at one point, high on a cliff, we got a grand view of Mt. Lassen, and far to the north, Mt. Shasta. Looking down a couple hundred feet from that vantage, it was enjoyable to see several buses rounding the switchback and, well, leaving us stragglers in the dust ...
Before long, we were once again breathing that dust. It was everywhere. Attempts to sidestep the main column of choking aerial silt were largely in vain, and we just resigned ourselves to it. Ne'er a contrary word was spoken, as the only option was asphalt, and that was still just an unavoidable convenience to be tolerated. Not going there unless we have to!
The pavement began before we expected it to, but after heading north past Paskenta, with a promise to do Joint Road next time we came this way, (we avoided it in the interest of time, not the fear of flying lead), the roads periodically were paved, then dust, then more dust, a little paved, and back to dust - eventually we got to Vestal Road, which we had been looking forward to since the muddy sloppy run by dead coyotes on the fence and multiple creek crossings in year 2006. Unfortunately, the sunny weather held, and the road, while still a blast, was yet more dry dustiness interspersed with some minor streamlets ... at least they weren't the raging torrents we would have been stopped by had we come this way just a week later! The coyotes had been replaced by boarsheads. Ick.
A pleasant meander westward on Highway 36 took some to Platina for fuel, and the stragglers passed on by and formed a fueling party at the two-pump station at Wildwood. We spent a little more time there than planned, since for some, the allure of excellent fried food could not be resisted. And who could blame them? Hell, I even traded a carrot for an onion ring ...
It was 2:05 when we left Wildwood and started north towards Hayfork on Wildwood Road. By my calculations based on the trip two years ago, we were pretty much on time. Strangely, the new route was faster, but was more circuitous and included more dirt roads! Likely the lack of inclement weather sped things up a bit, but to have a two-hour hiatus and still be "on time" leaves a lot of room for future routes and exploration!
My bro and copilot Logan had recommended and researched this section of the route just before the trip, and when it was still in the planning stage, it was known to be an icy death-trap. Sections of sharp corners, heading downhill, on a narrow, windy road, with a precipice on one side, and covered with thick, slick ice on the north-facing hills. If you look at my route directions, you'll see that I did have some concerns about this. However, the sun and relatively warm days had melted the deadly ice, and the road was enjoyable in a pleasant way, rather than being enjoyable in a last-moments-of-your-life way.
Our next turn was Bridge Gulch Road, and from the get-go, things got real cool real fast. Steep and very narrow, with rocks. We were lead up and up, turning off the main road to go down to the natural bridge (Kok-Chee-Shup-Chee), where we got out and spelunked. Cool cave!
Leaving the natural bridge was fun. Back across the little creek, up the steep hill (where I saw Damon's rear wheel touch the very ede of the cliff), there was a sharp uphill turn where Logan, during his exploratory run of the area had had to make a five-point turn to get his Jeep going in the right direction. We recommended that we backtrack to a wider spot in Bridge Gulch Road to turn around, but it turned out that a VW bus could indeed make the turn. Team 40 Horse was the first to try and succeed, and it was one of those moments I felt remorse at having opted for the safe route.
After attaining the higher levels of the road, cell phones were once more better than useless, and I got some messages. Seemed I had quite a lot. Word that Emily and Aaron were on the road was great, even though they were stuck having to travel up I5 to get to Shasta. At least we would be seeing them when we got there, and spend the rest of the Trip with their company. They had stayed up really really late and got the bad trans out and replaced it with a mystery tranny. So far so good on that account! Another message was from Eej of Team Idaho, who was wondering where the hell we were and if they'd ever see us again. Then the rest of the messages were having to do with the most serious situation the SST had ever hosted: The rollover of Team 343. Apparently they had hit a gravel corner north of Platina, probably blinded by dust, spun out, and gone over the embankment. The guys were hurt, but OK, as the bus apparently took the brunt of the impacts. Quite the scene, but at least nobody came away with fewer limbs or lost their life, and Jahnai and Gary maintained a great attitude, swearing to revive their trusty bus and return next year.
The rest of Logan's route was marked with blue flags, and was well-received by the group. Had he not come up to the area to scout it out, we would have likely been lost there still, for even the Forest Service map of the area did not have or properly represent the labyrinthine web of trails and roads. Some of the roads were actually there, but would have posed far greater problems than we were prepared to face. From steep hills and tight curves, deep forest to high ridgeline, the route us to Hayfork from Highway 36 on true backroads, a first in the history of the Shasta Snow Trip.
We headed east on Highway 3 from Hayfork, and after a few miles took the last leg of Logan's route. This was a section of dirt road (Summit Creek Road) that was six miles in length, but bypassed twelve miles of Highway 3, and took no longer to traverse. We wound past homesteads and ranches, crossed a deep creek (the first this day), and then ascended up to Hayfork Summit, where we met with Highway 3 again and took a moment to allow me to check my brake fluid and bunji my bumper back onto the left mount from which it had been detached since a sharply curving creek crossing that I bungled.
Departure from Hayfork Summit occurred at precisely 4:36, right on time. Our next stop: Weaverville for fuel, and then into the mountains. The Log indicated that it would be nearly another five hours of driving to get to Shasta, and we usually had been in this vicinity around 4:00, so we were still on time. I was thinking (hoping) that we'd have the usual slow down caused by a bit of snow on Scott Mountain Pass, but by the time we got there (after many many miles of winding mountain asphalt), it was apparent that we'd only get snow driving if we took a road on the right.
As I reached the summit, it became apparent through CB transmissions that somebody HAD taken a road on the right. It was Lou, and he was stuck. The road in question was on the right, and totally passable (at least in that section) until one tried to reverse and backed into ditch and deep snow. The wannabe tow strap I had attached to Bart's front beam only helped Lou's truck to become more ensared, and then it broke. I went down to put on chains for some more traction and to attach a cable, but by that time a whole bunch of people had run up while Lou was digging, and he broke free.
From the summit, down Gazelle-Callahan Road, the only challenges we faced were an icy curve or two, and the rest was just fun smooth night driving. We got to Gazelle at 8:38, and proceeded south on Old Highway 99, then south on Old Stage Road. We had a bit of fun on one of the railroad frontage roads, but it was a dead end. It was a nice finish to the day though, since it was rough-and-tumble driving, and everyone seemed really happy to kick up their buses heels for a bit before hitting the smooth road into Mt. Shasta City, where we paraded our beasts down the boulevard for the appreciative night crowd, arriving at our cabins at 9:24 - that's 320 miles this day in 17 hours. We had done it once again, and immediately after I turned off Bart's ignition, a wave of bewilderment swept over me, as it was quite sudden that there was no more driving to be had. I wanted to rest, sure, but I didn't want to stop, and I definitely didn't want to face the hassle of moving luggage and gear around!
It certainly was great seeing Aaron and Emily there ... the Pirate Bus was outside, as were a whole bunch of buses from the other group, and the cabin was warm, the soup super yummy, and all was well, at least until I found out that my footage from the morning was nonexistant! Ah well, next year is another Shasta Trip, and tomorrow's another day ...
