Day Two - We have wind.
I awake this morning to a curious scuffing sound and the profile of a rabbit trying to get into my tent. I push him away and he comes right back. Cheeky rabbit.
We also woke up to bone chilling cold. Chris hardly slept in his draughty tent, and all the frozen water in our bottles explained why. Then we went off road!
Well, Chris did a couple of laps around the camp site to warm up a bit.
After Chris was done playing, we hit the road, and half an hour later I made up an excuse to stop again ... even with heated grips on full, by jingo, it was cold. Eventually we head off again onto Highway 31 south east, grab lunch at Summer Lake amid swirling dust devils, then continue on to pick up 396 south.
Both Chris and I hail from the crowded little island that is England (and Wales and Scotland, of course), so it was quite exciting to be in the little travelled wide open spaces of Oregon, long straight roads stretching to the horizon. We took the opportunity to be at one with the road ...
The excitement wore off after about 15 minutes, though, and the constant battering of the wind began to push our patience. It wasn't that it was dangerously strong wind, it was just a constant gusty annoyance, like walking along and having someone constantly shove you off course. Always from the right too, so after a few hours it felt like your head wasn't on straight anymore.
Chris has never visited the west coast before and, influenced by years of watching Bay Watch, could not wait to cross the Californian border to the fabled land of bikini clad silicone and peroxide blond hair. His body language betrays his disappointment as we record the moment that he realised California was not all like that.
It didn't improve any as we were soon pelted by freezing rain, and the waterproofs were donned, not for the last time. Soon enough we were bypassing the horror of Reno, and had set up camp in the Tahoe National Forest, the trees finally shielding us from the wind.
It is said that an army marches on its stomach. Our dehydrated food ensures that though we can march forth, the Captain prevents us from doing it in a straight line ...
Told you we weren't photogenic ...