I took no photos of the drive, and should have. I took a new route up California, and I should have pulled over at the Sutter Buttes. I was on the east side, and they were sharp, clear, and expansive in the winter light. My sister went hiking over them recently, and I could see it being arduous. But I didn’t pull over because it was already well past the lunchtime, by which time I was supposed to be in Chico. I stopped at the Big Bear Restaurant in Woodland, a solid hour out of town. How’s that for a hardy start? But I love the Big Bear Restaurant and, aside from having to pee, I was curious to see if the Big Bear Restaurant in Woodland was as comfortable and gracious as the one in Grant’s Pass. There is a Big Bear Restaurant damned near everywhere on this coast. It was lovely. I ordered the eggs and spicy sausage and was much comforted … and engaged … there were spices in the sausage I had no previous experience of. I am not any knowledgeable foodie. Is it a thing to mix carraway seeds into the pork sausage? I think that’s what it was, along with black pepper and maybe something else, and it was real tasty. Ordered it twice more on the trip.

When I got to Chico, there was no time for documentation. I had shopping to do. I always hit the Main Street Antiques consignment barn. And I found a fat-fist-full of spiffy stuff. I found a glass flower frog in excellent condition to display my small marble collection on. I’ll take a picture of that some day. I found an old textile mill bobbin for a slow-stitch scroll someday. I found some pretty blue beads that I wore to class in Tacoma. I believe I have already discussed the emotional gratification of acquisition. It holds.

Then I went to the bookstore! And I managed to restrain myself in the bookstore only because I planned a good long session there on the way back. It really is a great store. Chico is a college town, so they have an ample supply of discarded texts, but the best thing is their access to … what? … the collections of deceased faculty, maybe even the oddly literate rancher. I have restarted my “Modern Library” collection. They had somebody’s collection of those little hardbound Oxford “World Classics.” They are so cute !! They’re the size of a big postcard, 4 X 6, I think. I bought a copy of “Walton’s Lives” made famous to us largely illiterates in the film “84 Charing Cross Road”, which I believe I can recite. Will I ever read the book? Maybe.

And if you wanted to stock up on some pre-owned Library of America, you’d be soooo happy.

I made it to Mt. Shasta, and booked a room. I didn’t want to do the mountains in the dark with the crazy truckers. For the crazy truckers, it should be daylight, and I made a plan to leave at the crack, 6:00 a.m., and maybe they could be avoided.

So, in the very early dawn, on that high valley floor to the state line, I drove through tule fog. That was some scary shit. You’re supposed to be doing 60 mph, at least, but you can’t see diddly squat. I was hoping to follow some red tail lights, but the red tail lights drive it every day I suppose, and I was too scared to keep up. Then I have head lights coming up behind me, and I’m thinking they’ll pass, and I can follow them for a bit. No such luck. They had pulled over into the passing lane … but then they thought … no, I don’t need to do that … I’ll just follow this person for awhile. At least, they kept a respectful distance back; we made it through together.

And! … I made it all the way to Medford before I picked up a crazy trucker.