A River Runs Through It

We arrived at Metolius River Resort late Tuesday afternoon after stopping at the Ray’s grocery store in the town of Sisters to pick up fruit, yogurt, and other goodies so we could have breakfast “in.” We’re in Cabin #7, one of eleven craftsman-style units sit on the edge of a broad lawn that runs a hundred feet or so down to the river bank.

The next day we met Al who has helped managed the resort for the past fourteen years.  He told us that the resort’s architect had won an award for the design of the place and that although the floor plan (an upstairs loft above the kitchen and first floor bedroom and bathroom looks down on the combination dining/sitting room) for all of the cabins is identical each is individually owned and decorated according to that owner’s tastes.

After spending most of two days behind the wheel of our CR-V, we opted for a day of sloth on Wednesday, hanging around the cabin all morning before walking across the bridge to the Camp Sherman General Store on the other side of the river.  The store stocks some food, “camp” apparel like T-shirts and baseball caps, a reasonably good selection of wine and beer, and more varieties of flies than either the average trout or fisherman could encounter during a lifetime of fish or be fished.

We picked up a couple of deli sandwiches at the store and had lunch out on the deck of our cabin. Clouds came and went, keeping the temperature down to just over 70 degrees, and fooling Nighthawks into thinking it was nearly evening.  These insect-loving birds repeatedly swooped back and forth over the river, making tight turns like F-15 fighter jets.  At first we thought they might be falcons, but their flight behavior suggested that their prey were air-borne bugs, not small birds.

In mid-afternoon we hopped into the CR-V and drove eight miles downstream to the Wizard Falls Fish Hatchery.  There the slow moving Metolius gets squeezed into a frothy, aquamarine colored jet of water that shoots under a bridge before it begins to flatten out a bit on its way northward.

After checking out the sturgeon and trout in the long, narrow holding pens, we went in search of the river’s headwaters near the foot of Black Butte, a large volcanic cone that is the most prominent feature of the landscape near the resort.  The river just suddenly appears from a brush covered slope.  Al told us that millions of dollars have been spent in a futile effort to trace the path of the water through the underground aquifer to the spot where the Metolius springs from the earth.

At the end of the afternoon we took the twenty-minute drive back into Sisters to buy food for dinner and lunch for the remainder of our stay, then returned to the cabin for a quiet night “at home.”

Dead Motels

You won’t find any lumberjacks staying at the Lumberjack Motel between Weed and Dorris on Highway 97.  Nor will any traveling salesmen, deer hunters, or budget-minded tourists be bunking there, either.  Today’s high-mileage vehicles exceeding the 65 mph posted speed limit blow right on by that place and nearly all of the 1950’s lodgings all along the east side of the Cascades on on this nearly straight-as-an-arrow “Blue Highway.”

Finding a place to have lunch is also problematic along Highway 97 once you leave Klamath Falls in your wake.  The few “wide spots in the road” that do exist may have a mangy motel or two clinging on to life, but the owners of the cafes and diners have nearly all gone to that Big Restaurant in The Sky.
 
Subway’s shop in Chemult was the most appealing eatery we passed on Monday, but the long traffic backup in town caused by repaving going on just to the north compelled us to put the pedal to the metal and keep on truckin’ without stopping to refuel our stomachs until we got to La Pine about 2:30 pm.

We veered sharply across the centerline to Ray’s Market where we picked up a bought a couple of deli sandwiches (free bag of chips with any order over $3.99) and had our repast under the shade of an umbrella at a picnic table at the corner of the grocery store’s parking lot.

As we drove out of town we passed “restaurant row” --- McDonald’s, Taco Bell, and Subway.  Dang!  We could have had a real “sit-down” meal if we had only driven five more minutes up the highway.

About Those Technical Difficulties

Let's try this one more time:  Click here to access our Oregon trip blog.

"Holster Guy"

So, who is "Holster Guy"?

When we stopped for lunch at a rest stop on I-5 on Monday near Dunnigan, California, we saw this guy and his wife having their lunch at a nearby picnic table. When they got up to leave we noticed that he had a "holster" attached to each side of his belt.  We're not sure what he had stuffed into these compartments:  Binoculars for birdwatching?  Cell phone?  Personal GPS unit? Taser?  Semi-automatic handgun?

When we've driven up to Oregon on I-5 (or for that matter, on freeways anywhere in the U.S.) it hasn't been unusual for us to repeatedly pass the same vehicle more than once during the day.  We pull off at this rest stop, they pull off at that rest stop.  We gas up here, they gas up there.  Eventually, we catch up and pass each other again and again.  It's not much different than what happens when Indy or NASCAR drivers make pit stops at different times during a race

Due To Technical Difficulties....

In the haste to set up this trip blog, Dummy Dick forgot to do one important task:  Connect the blog to the mailing list.  So over the last two days he's been blithely blogging away unaware that no one, except himself, has been able to read about Dick and Cindy's last trip.

That problem has been now been fixed so beginning with this post you'll be able to follow our exploits in Oregon.  (Click here to catch up on what's happened thus far).

Stuck In Chemult

Road paving has us stalled in Chemult. We're hungry, but the Wagon Wheel Cafe looks like a bad choice for lunch.

We wait ten minutes, inch forward for three minutes, come to a stop, and repeat the process all over again.

The gas gauge is reading a quarter of a tank , so we pull into a gas station to fill up. Dang!  Now the traffic is moving again.

We've got no idea when or where we'll be able to stop for our mid-day meal, so we decide to grab a bag of Quaker Snack-Mix at the mini-mart while the attendant gases up the CR-V.  As we walk out the door, the traffic starts to move forward so we run to the car, peel rubber out of the gas station, swing back onto the highway, and come to an abrupt halt two minutes later.

This could be a very long day.

Into Oregon

We've crossed the Oregon border and are now just south of Klamath Falls still traveling under cloudy skies.

And guess what?  "Holster Guy" is here, too.  But he's probably just a geeking tourist, not a spy.  Cindy overheard he and his wife taking to the Visitor Info Lady; sounds like they are headed for Ashland.  (Hopefully, they'll be gone by the time we arrive in a week.

Too early to eat lunch in Klamath Falls, too cool to picnic today, so we'll press on up Highway 97 and look for a cafe or diner to feed us in an hour or two.