You Got Me Under Pressure

 It was a short ride from Salem to Springfield, it only seemed long because my rear tire sensor was reporting the tire pressure to be 90 psi, and the entire run on I-5 I was thinking that the thing could explode at any second, scattering debris, and me all over the road .Fortunately our friend and union sister in Springfield had a tire gauge , and as it turned out the pressure was not 90 psi but the proper 48 psi, and the only thing I really had to worry about was why did I just pay the motor company outpost so much money, to not have everything working properly? Oh, now I remember the crappy wash job made it all worthwhile. Thanks timber town h-d.

Piece Of Mind That My Tire Wasn't About To Explode

At our lodging for the evening, at the other major chain we have used frequently on this ride, the desk told us to not only park under the canopy, but to park up on the sidewalk near the building. The only thing that would have been better would have been to park in the lobby, as there was plenty of room in there, but we settled for the sidewalk, after moving the smoking bench and cuspidor to the middle of I-5, and then negotiating the handicap ramp and sharp turn to get up under the canopy near the building and away from any second hand smoke, that does no good for us or the bikes.

Smoking

This hotel is actually near restaurants in walking distance, and so we all walked over to a well-known chain and dined on large chunks of meat, copious amounts of alcohol, fields of lettuce, and churns of butter. We talked into the wee hours of the evening but were safely in bed at the hotel by 9:00 p.m.

Sleep For Sale

As we get nearer to California my time on this ride is coming to an end, but for now we have an easy run over the Siskiyou’s and into Yreka for the evening. The ride on I-5 is like any other ride on the interstate. Traffic picks up near the larger towns and diminishes back to just a few trucks and us after. For some reason I pass the larger gas stops and end up pulling into Cow Creek, where the only station is a two-pump low octane, gravel pad, run by a white supremist with a side arm. The restrooms are out houses across the parking lot near the shuttered restaurant. At least there was no line, and we were not shot.

Closed For The Foreseeable Future

 We are able to get an early check in at our lodging for the evening and were even able to split the bill at check in after the desk utilized long division and probably quantum physics to accomplish the math involved.

After freshening up we walk into the downtown and discover Strings Italian Café. I decide on the Cioppino, that turns out to be pretty good considering it had no Dungeness Crab, and we are about as far away from the ocean as one can get in California.

On our way back we encounter a pop up covid vaccination center, and three women protesters, who we approach and call delusional. Surprisingly enough they disagree with us, and actually tell me how Bill Gates is behind this whole thing, and if I want, she will tell me the truth. I am totally awed by her statement and so we went and thanked the people giving the vaccine, who are outside under a tent in the 90+-degree day.

When Science Isn't Good Enough For Your Delusion

We are after all in the imaginary state of Jefferson, so I guess protesting science is high on the list of the secessionists and riding out of here in the morning to follow the Klamath river is high on my list. I really do not have to wonder,  to know,  that the fully vaccinated humans, on motorbikes  are getting the better deal here…