Sept 27/08 - "Bumps" in the road ...

Saturday, Sept 27th/08

Catching up our Blog is incredibly time consuming (do I write too much???) the photos take a considerable amount of time to upload as the internet connections at the hotels are not always as good as can be and often I lose it right it the middle of an upload and have to start all over again. Grrrrrrrr! Again we’re off at the ‘crack of 11:00’ – hmmm – there seems to be a pattern here. I have run out of ink in my ‘journaling pen’ (I wonder why) so we stop at Staples to pick up a refill. No such luck – mine is purple ink which I love and all they have is BLACK. Boring!!! I’ll have to make do with blue … for now. To Safeway to replenish our water – again. On our way out of town, we stopped at the Post Office so I could mail more post cards. There must have been some ‘poetic justice’ here as I stood in line for 20 minutes (needing 3 stamps) and as soon as it my turn the postie closed his wicket to go to lunch. Sidenote: I worked for the New Westminster Post Office for 10 years – more than 20 years ago. It’s just possible that I was guilty of that on occasion :-)





This is definitely ‘small town America’. Cute little towns on the Historic 49er trail. I can’t help but think how Cori would have loved “Angels Camp” with its whimsical storefronts and names like “Frog Hollow”. It’s hot here though and we look forward to going back to the mountain elevations and cooler air.

Angels Camp, the only incorporated city in Calaveras County boasts a population today of about 3,000. Set in the rolling foothills, surrounded by oak trees is a quaint town that has maintained its historic charm as evident when you first roll into town. The well maintained architecture is classic, early Californian.

A young and adventuresome Mark Twain overheard a story in a hotel bar he frequented in Angels Camp. That fall of 1865, Mark Twain penned the now famous "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County". It was the literary piece that made Mark Twain a household name.
Angels Camp is also a state of being. That state of being includes prosperity and kindness. The local merchants and townspeople have dedicated themselves to the goal of creating a kinder and gentler place.

Its nine miles up Highway 4 from Angels Camp to the neighboring mining town of Murphys, founded in 1848 by John and Daniel Murphy, whose wagons creaked over the Sierra in 1844. The diggings here were extraordinarily rich, and the town grew prosperous despite the usual cycle of devastating fires and rebuilding. Today, its streets are lined with oaks and sycamores; handsome mid-19th-century buildings house art and antique emporia; and a pretty little park, complete with a Victorian bandstand, sits beside the creek.

The Murphys Hotel, one of California's oldest, opened to guests in 1856. Ulysses S. Grant slept here; so did Mark Twain and Black Bart, the poetry-writing bandit who successfully robbed 28 Wells Fargo stagecoaches before his arrest in 1883.

We follow 49 over the mountain pass towards Lake Tahoe. We fuel in Kirkwood at 2:30 – a teensy tiny pit stop where gas sells for $5.64/gallon. OUCH! I don’t have a choice though – I’ll not have enough to reach South Lake Tahoe. I also really need a WC (translation - bathroom) and the only available is a porta-potty – not my favourite but it will have to do in a pinch – and it is. One of my ABSOLUTE paranoias is of dropping my motorcycle key into the “pit”, therefore, even at the risk of my bike being absconded with I usually leave the key ON THE BIKE!!!! Coming out, Rod has just finished fuelling his “Wing” – looks to me and calls “Hey! Where is your bike key”? I start looking frantically - on the ground all around where my bike had been parked before Rod moved it to fuel. This particular fuel stop had had a number of ‘glitches’ and we were both feeling somewhat ‘flustered’. Could I have possibly taken my key in there with me? I check all around the waistband of my chaps – I often tuck it there when I get off the bike. Rod says “Well, go check in the porta potty”. By now, a whole group of Harley riders are lined up to take their turn there. Oh my goodness, I am NOT going to ask them about it. I stomp around and continue to check all around the ground. Finally, the ‘stall’ is clear and with a sinking feeling I go in to have a look. First, the floor, then the trash bin then finally with mounting trepidation I open the lid and look into that human cesspool. With ‘somewhat’ of a feeling of relief – I don’t see it – but then where the @#$% are they ??? As I leave the stall, Rod calls out “I found your keys”! “WHERE” ??? “Under your helmet" –which he had moved before fuelling my bike. A ‘discussion’ ensues. We are both equally certain that we did not place them there. I am at once relieved, disgusted and decidedly unfriendly.

We continue over the pass and drop into the Lake Tahoe area. I give a toot on my horn to say “Hi” to a vehicle with Alberta plates – a fellow Canadian. Rod thinks I want him to pull over so cuts in front of me and almost runs me off the road as he pulls off. Now, I’m REALLY HAPPY!!! Not. Another ‘discussion’ ensues whereby I decide I’m not leaving the pullout til we dispel the tension between us. ‘Are we having fun yet’? This is really spoiling a beautiful ride for both of us and unnecessarily so. We agree to disagree and Rod decides perhaps we should stop further up, make some calls and see if we can stay in Tahoe for the night. I agree but I really am NOT hopeful. I know what it is like around the Tahoe area on a weekend and it is Saturday night. We stop a few miles down the road in a Safeway parking lot and pull out both the AAA tour book and my cell phone. Many places were SRO and the ones that were available were far, far beyond our budget. Ridiculously so. We called ahead to Truckee where we found a Best Western still beyond our normal budget but not so far that we decided our marriage was worth it. We headed out Hwy 89 – just 30 miles to go. Enroute I lean over and give Rod the ‘peace’ sign which earned me his wonderful smile and nod. Rod had written down the directions but when we got off the highway made a turn that as soon as we made it I knew this was NOT going to take us in the direction we needed to go. We were in an industrial and train station area and then moved further along into outlying areas. He finally pulled off the road and said “We have to turn around, I don’t think this is right”. My ‘turning around’ skills with the bike fully loaded are weak at best so we travel a mile or so further down the road before I find a place I am comfortable I can make work. I really wasn’t upset – really! Rod, however was and his frustration was evident when we finally pulled into ‘town’ – yes, Truckee is now a town, and he couldn’t read the map because he had his sunglasses on and was not able to use his ‘reading’ glasses as he had his camera around his neck and had his glasses in his pocket which he was having a hard time getting at.

We check in and mosey on over to the 50/50 Grill and Brew Pub for dinner. Em, in your honour I order a T & T and am thankful they are able to oblige – even with a wedge of lime.