California, Here I Come

The coast of southern Oregon is a marvel that demands to be shared. That's why I stop only occasionally as I head south and into California. There's little to betray the move into the new state. A sign and a landscape that's oblivious. This California is practically empty. And times appear tough. I pass warehouses that are for lease, homes that need repair. Still, there's an attractive quality to it all, a sense that the highway my parents drove our family down in the 60s on our way to Disneyland hasn't really changed that much.

Just north of Eureka, I turn inland again. California is a basket, bounded on the west and the east by mountains. So it's back to the curvy roads and steep inclines as I make my way back to the fruitful centre. I push the seek button on my radio, looking for company on the ride. The airwaves are dense. Lots of hurtin' country, lots of Christian talk and music, lots of Spanish-language programming. I miss CBC.

Around five, I pull into Weaverville. It's a town of 1200 with a collection of Wild West buildings in the downtown and a swath of commercial development along the highway. I pull in to the 49er Gold Country Inn, a small motel complex with decorative brick half way up the walls and the promise of high-speed internet. I need to connect.