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| Bigfoot statue at the Bigfoot Museum in Willow Creek. |
The codger's spending more time on the road.
The 8 hour drive to Chimineas wasn't enough.
I extended my camera trapping range north to Humbolt County, the fog belt, California's NW coast.
I extended my camera trapping range north to Humbolt County, the fog belt, California's NW coast.
The charisma of the red tree vole made me do it.
This corner of tree vole country is 250-road miles from home, and for half of the ride I track the winding course of the Trinity River.
This is also the heart of Bigfoot county, but the only big feet I saw were those of middle-aged men in waders.
They leave their pug marks between the road shoulder and the banks of the Trinity.
This is also the heart of Bigfoot county, but the only big feet I saw were those of middle-aged men in waders.
They leave their pug marks between the road shoulder and the banks of the Trinity.
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| Trinity River with middle-aged men in waders. |
The ride to the Chimineas Ranch on the other hand is even longer -- 400 miles from home -- and the scenery only gets interesting the last hour or so when you leave Rt 5.
I prefer the ride to Humbolt County, where I am not vulnerable to the uncanny physiological effect of wide open space on the weight of my accelerator foot.
A few months ago the codger fell victim to this phenomenon on a remote stretch of highway, which caught the attention of an officer of the California Highway Patrol.
It wasn't far from where James Dean met his ending 56 years ago.
I thanked the officer with mixed feelings and drove home in a blue funk.
I paid the fine, paid the fee to attend on-line traffic school, and read the lessons every morning over coffee.
When I passed the written exam the burden of guilt and worry disappeared.
He looks like a lame old goose in the right lane, cursing the 18 wheelers.
And when he crosses into the fast lane he lives with the ire of Nascar impersonators who ride his tail, flash headlights, sneer, flip me off, and pass in a huff.
No longer does he just look like a codger.
Now he truly drives like one.
It makes for long and trying road trips.
My adventures are reserved for the woods. They begin when I arrive, not when I hit the road.
Meanwhile, the ongoing quest for tree voles continues.
If you are interested, read one of my old buddy's accounts in Rivers Wind Notes.
