Hanging at the Border

This is not Lakeview, but Pine Creek, the very small flash of a village between Larry's land in the Monoc Forest and Lakeview where I had the oil changed this morning. A date, an appointment, it feels so fresh. And of course, each of these exchanges (purchasing a latte in town or hanging at the Chamber of Commerce) offer the added incentive of a toilet, warm water at the touch of a faucet, and some paper towels. Oh, the small joys. Practically stripped down at the Les Schwab Tire Center while we waited. Tires all rotated, car checked and cleared for another three thousand. Maybe I will stay on the road.

Tonight it is a thank you dinner for Larry. We are making sausages, Leila's 24 hour marinated chicken thighs, supplemented with some frozen eclairs at the local (well Lakeview is as local as it gets here) Safeway. I know I am close to California when these Safeways appear. The safe way, the California way. Yep. 

Rained again last night and ice formed on the top of our tent. Is it really June? Did we actually choose this high route? Larry showed up this morning and invited us to take a hot shower at his house. We lucked out with this encounter.  Figure it is the least we can do - generate a little party tonight. You can tell Larry loves a party; blow it out - last night in the tent. Even got some nice bottles of wine to share.

Monoc Forest

Larry's Land Monoc Forest

Living on Larry's land right now. A rural Oregon version of my Sacele, Romania story from decades ago. By that I mean how we got here is not unlike how I and three graduate students from Michigan ended up in one of our most memorable destinations by baling out on our train ride at the insistence of a stranger we met in our cabin. 

Willingness to risk a little and trust - that is what led us to Larry. First it was Lily Lake we went searching out in terrain far beyond the Volvo 850's capacity. It is a dirt road and the sign says six miles. How bad could it be? At first it seems fine, a bit rough, but then round about mile three the scale of the gravel shifts to rocks and the incline increasingly steeper. As we climb, the drop to our right grows. My hands are sweating, holding the steering wheel, but it cannot be much further. The young kid at a gas station in Lakeview told us about this place. He was sure there was camping there. The higher we get, the softer the ground and of course, the more likely death would result with any miscues in steering. I cannot bring myself to veer too far to that cliff edge despite its offer of slightly drier ground. Leila gets out to direct: we're mired in mud, but comfortably hugging the inner mountain wall. It is only half a mile further - thirty minutes in and now determination sets in - got to make it. The sun is slowly setting, we are both ready to establish another home. Then we hit the snow. Snow so deep, that it terminates our climb. Leila walks the rest of the way to find the elusive Lily Lake. No camping after all. A multipoint turn and there is no choice but to roll back down and seek another destination. Disappointment now mixed with thankfulness of escape, we glide until we see Larry. 

Larry and his family own 676 acres in this spectacular vertical forest and he invites us to camp on the land right by a clear rushing creek from which he says we can drink. "Hold on a minute, let me grab a beer and I will take you to your spot. I have just the place for you. You can stay til June 21st if you want to." We pitch our tent right beside the creek as Larry suggests. Wine, cheese, olives, beef jerky, we share all we have with Larry and hang out as we establish our new place. An amazing stroke of luck, now we are really out in the wild - no toilets, no rules, just us on the land. 

Oregon Border

Apparently the longest exposed fault line escarpment rising almost vertically from this salty lake Abert on the southern edge of Oregon, its edge coincides with highway 395, our route to the destination state. Lake Abert lures the eye, its aqua blue invites a swim. But when I scaled down the rocks to water's edge, it is a different story. Smelling like the worst of an ocean, and buzzing with so many flies that they create black zones on the otherwise white rocks, I opted for a photograph. At least it is warm enough to contemplate submersion. 

I think it was the sensation that everybody in that restaurant would rather be somewhere else, time skipping over Burns. Or it might have been more a sense that we were interrupting rituals, long held: the dollar lady playing cards expressionless, winning or losing, who knew. The older woman in the front corner, pensive, immersed in her own world, yet framed in the window blinds like a painting, an invitation for all to ponder with her. 

a little piece of Burns

For a mere $65,000 you could own this store front in Burns, Oregon. And if you can get through to any of its towns folks, well you might even be able to live there. Not me. We did make maximal use of our Silver Spur overnight, charging and cleaning. But as I think I left off saying, there is an impenetrable aspect to this place. Perhaps it is the deep shadows of the raking horizontal light that simultaneously obscure and reveal.

It took me several hours to shake the image of our proprietor and her son. Something was off, that was clear from the outset, but her aggressive head shaking and beady eyed stares singed a wizard of oz witch picture into my brain. Maybe after running a motel for a lifetime, you've got all the basis in the world for mistrust. 

Crater Drawings