Days 4 thru 5: Mt. Shasta to Seattle

Dear Friends,
So much has happened the past two days; it feels as though a week has past since I wrote you last. We departed Mt. Shasta on day 3 after taking a walk with Aleisha's dad, Jack, and his girlfriend, Kim, and landed just North of Grants Pass. That night we slept beside the Rogue River - it made me feel positively mischievous. Aleisha started driving early while I slumbered peacefully in the back. The next town we stopped in was Roseburg which I deemed a small-large town (one which has no character, and has nothing of interest). We said hello to the local welcoming committee at the City Center where a kindly old lady with an evil twinkle in her eye told us of marvelous waterfalls, spectacular craters, and bizarre otherworldly rock formations, all to be seen on a minor detour through the back country roads of Oregon. We, being foolish city slickers, took her at her word and jumped into the car with what can best be described as "giddiness". Little did we know that before the day was done we would be transported to a land of nightmares and almost certain death. It all began in Cottage Grove, a small unassuming town of which we saw none of. Turning onto a side road almost as soon as we entered the town, we headed east, hesitating at every fork in the road, questioning every turn we took. After turning around and crossing a few uncovered covered bridges, we were on the right path...or so we thought. The road took us through lush forests, filled with moss and camping Hippies, and babbling brooks, filled I assume with fish and possibly more Hippies. I can only guess that this scene of Kinkadian (obscure reference to Thomas Kinkaid, painter of quaint scenery) rusticity was meant to lure us into complacency as the shadows crept in around us. Soon we were climbing over the Cascade range, mist swirling about us, wild brush creeping in and grabbing at us with twiggy branches, small game running madly about us in an attempt to confuse us into driving off the cliff which was eating away the road as we drove across it. The nightmare had begun. At every turn we looked for some direction, a guide back to the world of sunlight, landscaping, and domesticated fowl, but little help was to be found. Instead we meandered, directionless, through the Cascades, first up then down, first right and then left. And then, when all hope was lost, a sign. Oh what a glorious sign it was, colored brown like the soft dirt of my youth, painted with white letters like the wings of a dove and beat into the ground like my present morale. "Hwy 58 - 16 mi." was all it said, but those words rang in my ears for the next hour as we made our descent back into sanity. Then our car broke down. I will not suffer you the details of this setback, dear friends, only to say that we are now safely in Seattle, car only slightly the worse for wear. And as it is now my turn to hop in the shower a shall bid my adieu. As always I trust that this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Please write and tell me of your own adventures.
Pickles

Miles to date: 985.5
Times locked out: 0