Day 2: Crater Lake, or 'The day that Geology seemed almost sexy!'

Crater Lake was my mom’s idea, but I’m never one to turn down a trip to a National Park I’ve never been to.  So, today’s the day—our epic adventure to Crater Lake!

After a reasonably early night, we bounce out of bed, cash in on our free breakfast of many splendored starches (and hard boiled eggs), pack up the car, and are off!  The trip from Klamath Falls to Crater Lake takes about 1.5 hours.  We don’t mind—the scenery on the way looks like this:

Yes, we love us the cows.

We reach the semi-welcoming arms of the National Park gate around 10 a.m. and proceed immediately to the Visitors Center to…wait for it…watch a 22 minute TV program about Crater Lake!   (Is that irony?  I’m not sure.  Alanis has confused me so.)  After watching the orientation video, and buying some postcards, we drive the last few miles to the rim of the Lake.   Just so’s you know, it looks like this:

Is this amazing or what?  Quick geology lesson-- this lake is not in a crater but in a caldera, a cauldron which has formed by a collapse of land inside a volcano due to a volcanic eruption.  About 7,700 years ago, the mountain formerly known as Mount Mazuma erupted so gigantically that it cracked around its entire diameter, emptied out all the magma chambers in its belly and then fell in on itself.  It took about 500 years for rain and snow to create the lake we see today.  It's considered the clearest lake in the entire world (yes, they measure these things, and after today, I know how they do it!) and the second deepest lake in North America at a depth of over 1900 feet.  The island you see in the middle is actually a volcanic cone, which is delightfully named Wizard's Island.  

We have a grand day-- we treat ourselves to a two hour trolley tour around the entire rim to learn interesting facts such as the above and take lovely photos such as the above; we eat lunch overlooking the lake, and, as a bonus, I knock out the VERY steep trail to the water and have the ultimate Crater Lake experience—I swim in the lake!  

Um, it was very, very cold.  

Enjoy our pics!!  PS—the last is from lovely and quaint Bend, Oregon, our home this evening.  I better get some sleep--we've got an 11 HOUR DRIVE to Jackson, WY, tomorrow!

Day 1: San Francisco (well, Livermore), CA to Klamath Falls, OR

We wave goodbye to our relatives and back out of their suburban driveway around 9 a.m.  After driving around the corner and out of their site lines, we confer:  do we know where we are going?  No.  Perhaps we should pull over and figure that out?  Yes.  Addresses are Googled.  Plans are laid.  A Target run is organized.  Sodas and candy are purchased (so much cheaper!),  as well as a pillow for snoozing, and tennis balls to use as back massage implements for the long and weary road ahead.   And then we are off.

We journey up the 5, listening to Mom's music, then my music, then some NPR.  In the 16 years I’ve lived in California, I’ve never been north of Sacramento via car.  I now see why.  It’s boring.  But, it IS farmland, so you can play that game of ‘what crop is that?’ or ‘what kind of tree is that?’.  I think every tree I see is an olive tree.  My mom correctly identifies fields of…you’ll never guess…rice!  In California?!?  I had no idea…

And still we drive…the landscape begins to change and we are no longer in the verdant but dusty valley from whence all the food comes, but are ascending into pine laden hills and mountains.  Mt. Shasta is sited and gasped at, and a flurry of iPhone photos are attempted through the car window.  We finally pull over to get a descent shot. 

We escape the boring sameness of the 5 for the unknown of the 97.  We pass through Weed, CA--- insert snarky comment or joke here.  Yes, they sell t-shirts.  A hail storm descends for 30 minutes of frivolous fun.  I get to practice passing on a two lane highway, or if you like, I get to play chicken for a few scary moments. 

We enter Klamath Falls, our stop for the night.  We check into the Days Inn Hotel (Who are they kidding?  It’s a motel.  Besides that lack of advertising veracity, it has everything you need—clean beds, AC, cable, wifi, hot tub, free breakfast.  Woohoo!)  We get our exercise—a trail run for me at Link River Nature Trail, for Mom a stretch of legs at Moore Park.  On our way home we take advantage of Mom's new app, a gift from Jess (thanks Jess!) that shows you weird and wonderful things along your road.  See more about that excursion below.  We then clean up and go for the highly Yelp recommended Thai Orchard Café.  (Favorite moment of the day—Mom calling to get reservations.  I hear:  “Hello?  What?  Target?")  We have a delicious meal of Thai favorites in the funny old downtown that looks like a Western version of Grove City’s downtown—same weird one-way streets, well preserved historic buildings with an eclectic assortment of mom and pop stores--but with a wider street and bigger stores.  We finish our night by strolling through town and grabbing a cocktail at the lovely Basin Martini Bar   Then back to the motel, I mean hotel, to rest, hot tub and plan for Crater Lake tomorrow.

New Road Trip Gear-- very serious.

Me and Mt. Shasta...and a parking lot.

Link River Trail-- complete with Thunder and Raindrops. Thanks Oregon!!

Maybe not?  The place was boarded up.

So, here I am sitting at a the gravesite of the only mainland casualties from WWII-- a BALLOON was sent from Japan loaded with a bomb and it exploded on these lovely children whilst they were picknicking.  I'm smiling because we found this gravestone from amongst a thousand others in five minutes or less.   Courtesy of the app, Roadside America.

Asian Hair

I went out with my cousin Roz (to a great place called Josie's on the UWS) and commented how much I loved her new haircut.  "Thanks", said she, "I got it done by a guy name Alvin at Salon de Tops in Chinatown!" "Sign me up", I said.

So I called this morning and got an appointment with Alvin for this evening and when the time came I trekked down to Chinatown for my haircut.  Running late as usual, I stream into the salon 10 minutes after my appointment time, read a sign that there is a cash only policy at the salon, and ask the receptionist where the nearest ATM is and whether or not I have enough time to go get cash before my haircut.  We have difficulty understanding each other.  And then it dawns on me...I'm at a salon where everyone prefers to speak a language other than English, and I am about to get my haircut.

I get the cash.  A man comes up to me and beckons me with gestures to take off my coat, which he politely hangs up, and leads me over to get my hair washed.  He speaks nothing to me the entire time.  Is this Alvin, I wonder?    I'm enjoying the scalp massage, and the icy mint product he puts on my hair, but I start to wonder how I'm going to attempt a discussion with this gentlemen regarding his opinion on whether or not I should get bangs.   Oh dear.

But I am saved.  This kind but mute man delivers me to a chair where another man comes up and says hello to me.  I ask, 'Are you Alvin?'  He doesn't answer.  I say a little louder, a little slower, 'Are you Alvin?'.  He looks at me funny.  'Yes, I'm Alvin.  What to do with your hair today?'  And so we begin.

Truth is, I didn't have any idea what I wanted my hair to look like, I was just sick of it hanging like a dead animal around my head and wanted something that would stand up a bit better to the rain/snow/hat on/hat off/sleet/wind that I'm preparing to endure in the coming months.  I said something about wanting long sweeping bangs and some more layers but that I wanted to keep it long and he says, "OK" --and then starts to chop 3-4 inches off my hair. 

I just wanted to close my eyes and not watch him lop off inches, so it was a silent kind of haircut.  My philosoph is that once you sit in the chair and the cutting starts, best to let them go to town then to second guess them mid-cut-- you might end up with an unintentional mullet.  But my apprehension must have showed.  He did ask me, "First time getting Chinese haircut?  You nervous?" to which I gave him my best sly smile and answered, "I trust you".  Which might have been true.

He finished up by putting some styling product on my hair, and asked me, 'do you like it?'  I looked impartially and said a sincere but sedate 'yes', smiled, paid and left.  I rushed home, sneaking peaks at myself in the reflections of the subway window the entire time.  Once home, I assessed the situation-- did I like it?   Truth is, he gave me a haircut that was probably the most funky I've ever had to date (which, I know you're all groaning, is not that funky)--more uneven fringe, less curl, more blunt and edgy.   You know, more New York.  Any maybe a bit Chinatown.     

Oh, eHarmony

Hello there.  I'm back.  There's major change afoot, and I'll tell you all about it sometime.  In the meantime, I thought you might this is as funny as I did.

So, I'm on eHarmony in the hopes of actually meeting a living, breathing Christian man to date in NYC.  And I'm actually having a pretty good response, partially because I extended the age range of matches I would accept to include the 40-45 year old crowd.  Man, I am a spring chicken compared to guys who were born in the 60's.  I don't even want to think about trying to learn another person's favorite decade of rock and roll when I never even learned my own. 

Tonight I got a set of questions from a guy named Steve, who answered my questions with very bland Christianese, even on questions that didn't call for any religious view whatsoever.  I admit, it irritated me.   And then I read his questions.  Uh-oh.  He committed item #1 on Joanna's cardinal sin list-- multiple spelling mistakes.  I know its catty and probably explains why I am on eHarmony in the first place instead of lounging at home on a couch with a husband, but I couldn't help making up the following fictional replies to the questions he sent me and sharing them with you:

# Outside of your Faith , what are the most important things, goals, or dreams in your life?
fake answer: I dream of a world in which words that need not be capitalized are not capitalized.

# What turns you on about a man? What keeps you passionate about them?
fake answer:  Not asking inappropriate questions to women they don't really know.  Correct use of pronouns.

# Have you ever given 100 percent to a activity for an extended period of time?
fake answer: Yes, hunting for missing n's.

Fall Fun

Sprëchen zie fric and frac

Yep, I'm in the middle of learning a German role.  I don't speak German.  I mean, not one bit.  I sang one piece in German when I was 18 for a competition, which I lost to an uppity 16 year-old that I hated (stage mom, supercute-- ugh!), and never went back.  So, here I am, with Google translate and a Cassell's German/Engish dictionary I picked up at Westsider Books for $11, trying to translate stuff like this:

ein roter Tau fiel mitternachtig, der macht die Naßgrünen moche trächtig.

Which means:

A red dew fell at midnight, making the damp green newts horny.

Did I mention I'm playing a witch??

This is actually going to be quite fun-- I love the sing-songy lines, and the fact that I get to play such a ridiculous, mean, awful, spiteful, nasty character.  And wow!  Navigating the sounds of german first-off is a bit tricky, but once you get it, watch out!  This witch can bite your head off just with words!

The joke about mezzo-sopranos is that they only play three roles:  witches/bitches/britches--- meaning evil women, loose women, and men.  Women often play young men in opera-- they're called 'pants roles'.  I should probably learn a role or two since I'm tall and have long legs, but I've been resistant for a long time-- I'm pretty sure I'd crack up if I had to pretend to make love to a woman.  Still, you never know until you try....

Hope at the Crossroads

Yeah, I walked into a wine shop after meeting with my Spiritual Director, and picked these two wines randomly.  I didn't even realize the names until I pulled them out at home.  Then I laughed pretty hard.