The drive from Seattle, WA to Mt. Shasta, CA is extraordinary…but just as I would expect it to be. Washington is full of evergreens, hence the nickname the Evergreen State. And Oregon is full of similar landscapes…lakes, rivers, snow-capped peaks…it’s stunning. And in case you were wondering where the Grass Seed Capital of the World is…well, it’s just south of Portland. For miles you see fields of grass tucked between stands of towering firs. Don’t get overly excited…it’s just grass.
I thought as I was cruising along the highway and over the passes that it wasn’t blog-worthy. Yes, it was beautiful, but a blog at this point, would be on the verge of tweeting. In case you are new to the Twitter world, tweeting is the verb used by those who use Twitter. Twitter, in short, is similar to Facebook, but the only thing it is comprised of is personal updates. So if I felt like tweeting, which I don’t, then I would post “Driving from Seattle to Shasta”. Then after I arrive, if I am serious about my tweeting, I could then post “Checking in to the hotel”. And shortly thereafter I could go as far as “Sitting in the lounge enjoying a hot cider”. In general I feel more at ease with leaving people in suspense to my whereabouts and since I felt like the trip wasn’t that revolutionary, I decided a blog would be on the verge of tweeting. However, when I arrived in Shasta, it hit me. America really is stunning and perhaps blogworthy.
There is a nice welcoming feel in the small towns across the states. The locals are full of info and get excited when they can offer it out to random tourists passing through. They often say “Hurry back”, which is just there way of welcoming you to their town…their small town,…anytown…Yanktown, USA.
Mt. Shasta is what I would consider a stereotypical yanktown. The railway runs through the town center and makes certain to sound as it passes through. I found the railroad, in itself, welcoming as I grew up with the Sante Fe chugging through town every night in Flagstaff. But in Shasta the Central Pacific is the line to catch. Apart from the train there is the main strip, a one-laned road lined with shops, cafes, and galleries. Everyone in the town claims their post with names like “Cannon’s Tackle & Bait” or my favorite for cleverness, “Mike & Tony’s American and Italian Restaurant”. The downtown stretch is quaint and complete with christmas lights on the trees, clocks on every corner, and binoculars to view the mountain with. On either side of the main strip one can find a motel or inn.
I accidentally got myself involved in small talk with some random lady on the street dressed in a long red skirt who was out smoking a cigerette and looking for a chat. She invited me into the small eaterie she was standing in front of for what was posted as a “Live Show Tonight!”. Not sure what that entailed, I had to ask, and she explained that she would be belly dancing…a gig she then revealed she had picked up from “reading”. I reckon I am a pretty good reader, but I highly doubt any book has the capability to get me to belly dance. In any case, I passed her by and dropped into the next store, a small botique with paintings of cowboy boots, bison, lassos, and Willie Nelson. I had a good look around and though I would have liked to support the owner, who claimed he was in a bit of hurt due to the economy, I had no room in my overstuffed vehicle for another piece of framed artwork.
Lastly I dropped into a cafe. The sign read “Live Bluegrass 7pm-9pm” and inside you could buy a soda pop for a buck, a hot dog for a buck, nachos for a buck, or a chili dog for two bucks. They also had a full ice cream parlor and free coffee…an offering likely catering to the elders in the community. It was in this cafe where I truly saw Yanktown, USA.
You would have to put yourself there to see it as well. There with a backdrop of Mount Shasta right outside the cafe…completely visible even after the sun had gone down with its bright white contour standing out amongst the darkness. And inside the cafe were cowboys sitting at the ice cream bar in the back, wearing their chaps for no apparent reason other than show. There were kids, white kids and black kids alike, running up and down the stairs, playing games and giggling. There were families crowded around tables enjoying their dinner of hot dogs and chili dogs. The band was in full action…8 members….each of which was over the age of 60 and equipped with two if not three instruments. After all, this could have been an annual event and in that case they might as well play everything they got. And there were four old ladies sitting in the front cheering them on and clapping their hearts out after each song. One can imagine this is how America was in the good old days…and lucky for some, it still is that way.
