Never spent much time in Oregon except for passing through on family vacations some forty years ago, but now the BIL and all etc. live in Roseburg, and we felt compelled to comply with a desperate plea for moving help. The El Dorado Hills digs are going away. So and I got a U-Haul tow-bar & ball for the Ford’s receiver hitch, and readied for a long drive up to the lush green pastures of mid-lower Oregon.
I have always avoided towing trailers because everybody I know with one has some kind of horror story associated, from boats (their own) passing them in the fast lane before diving into the median then flipping end-for-end, to simple flats and the usual burnt wheel bearings that resulted in lost axles. So I prefer to throw my stuff into the bed of the truck and move that way – but this ultimately turned out OK with the smaller 8×5 trailer.
We awoke to an early-early goddam-early 3:30AM wake-up, and after a struggle with coffee and clothing managed to get off onto Highway 5 before the rest of Eviltown (Sacramento) awoke. The flat and wide-open spaces of I-5 allowed me to acclimate to the issues of towing, and the low speed (60mph) and low volume of traffic eased my concerns.
Up outside Redding we pulled in to gas-up at the trucker’s mall in Knighton, and I had the opportunity to point-out the exact spot where some 37 years ago I camped-the-night-over by the side of the road, coming back from the Trinity Alps hitchhiking and gold-mining. Some things don’t change much in the country.
Anyhow we made it up and over some mountain passes without too much drama, and after letting the trailer go free to roam and chew gravel in the U-Haul lot, we even made it up to Crater Lake for the first time in over forty years:
Anyhow Oregon is a weird mixture of patchouli-soaked Wookie and vegetarian Herbalife salesmen driving old rust-bucket trucks on their way to go fishing – not too terrible, and we spent one evening in the backyard shooting rifles and pistols and nobody gave a damn and no blue-light cars drove up into the driveway.
I could see how it’s rather pleasant that way, but if you managed to escape the sawmill life-trap and the subsequent Environmentalist-caused economic collapse, you might be reluctant to return for very long, the old roots can be a bitter pill – and the same goes for the Academic-trap and Factory-life of ‘Fraidy Virginia Woolfe-Bitchy Universityville. Which I am gladly and finally put behind me this recent year.
Hope to see you soon at the Gunblogger Rendezvous!