Part 2

Got bored sitting at $-bucks, I looked a Google maps, and spoke with a fellow who looked local, not loco.  This fellow said the pathway to Old Town ran behind the train station and was but 3 blocks away.  I did as he said and found myself next to some old trains, miscellaneous railway and harbor stuff.  Pretty cool, I thought.

Before long I was at the Yellow Bridge and kicking myself.  I literally was 3 blocks away from the spot I stood which is 6 blocks from the train station, arugh!  I wandered a while, grabbed a fish & chip from a local joint, and watched the sunset next to a different bridge.

I'm outside airing my feet in front of the train station.  My pack turned to air the back pad, my socks off, pew, I already stink.  A few travelers pass by, yet it's the homeless that want to talk.  One fellow, I thought he was a traveler with his new tee-shirt and hip jeans, said he was hoping he gets a call from a janitorial employment agency.  He passes half a cigarette to a bare footed guy with a dirty blanket shuffling by looking for butts. This clean fellow sounded solid however, the more he spoke the more I wish I had an 'out.' He finally move on.

What I don't see here is a taxi waiting zone.  I take that back, it's on the other side of the building next to the local transit area.  The side I sit at is next to the I-5 and I-80 entry ramps.  An Uber driver just pulled up and picked up a passenger.

It's quiet again.  It's cool enough to be comfortable and not yet needing the zips back on my legs.  I'll get them on for the train as the train is slightly cool as not to smell people like me who've explored an area whike on long layovers or who've just been traveling a while.  I'm already looking forward to a shower in Ashland.

Shehalf, filled her water bottle at the drinking fountain.  I waited as I needed some too.  Her accent sounded German however her name is not, so I guessed, Israeli.  A few minutes later we headed out of the station in search of food. We found an open bar in old town, grabbed some fries, and headed back. This knocked off another hour of waiting.

Back in the station, we struck up a conversation with a Turk.  The three of us, bound for different stops off the same line, each, a different purpose of travel.

I crashed for an hour while they talked.  Gone, Imust have been as I woke when I heard a scuffle.  The scuffle, nothing to worry about, it was people seeing a conductor scanning tickets.  I brought mine up on the phone, then woke Shehalf, who was also asleep at that time.  The Turk worked on his laptop near a power outlet.

A moment later, I felt as if the walk to the train platform looked like a zombie movie, half asleep passengers shuffling then resuming crumpled sleep on gear.  Yet another wait, 20 30 minutes, time stood still as other trains hissed and screached, our line empty.

Different stops, different boarding cars, a huge part of traveling is meeting people for the briefest of times, making that fast connection of life, and parting.  The train, north bound arrived, we parted company, then briefly reconnected on the train.  Sleep and power, my concerns were. I heard the call for her stop, the Turk already off. I gave a paring good bye travel well, and retuned curled up with my tent as a pillow.

Now I watch Northern California slip into Southern Oregon, not knowing when or where my stop is at with Klamath Falls for the bus connection.  I hope the train isn't late for the connection.

Nerves for the hike growl like my hungry stomach.  I brought food for the journey but, chosen to eat elsewhere along the way.  Cheep hot coffee from the lounge car this morning is supplemented finally with a Pop tarts from my food bag.  I mentally rummage the white kevlar Ursack (bear bag, not Bear Vault container) for what I need to get from the grocery store this afternoon as Northern California gives way to Southern Oregon.  Dotted hills laced with out croppings of volcanic flows and crystallized columns, we dip into expansive valleys.

About an hour later,it's my turn to get off the train.  I meet Azguard, the Afgan, who's been in the US since pre-Soviet Invasion days.  He hasn't returned to his home land as it breaks his heart. We get on a bus that drops us off at a different business and finally Ashland.

Ashland, a quaint upscale mountain town with a main street full of artistic coffee shops, upscale second hand shops, and other tourist catchers.  I've grabbed a burger on the far side of town as I headed towards a hostel.  On second thought, I'm gona catch a ride to Hikervile of Callahan's.

This leg is over, now it's time for trail, Thee Pacific Crest Trail.

Hike on.  Hike Wise.