Oroville

July 29th and 30th, 2018. Oroville, WA.

I road walked in to Oroville. Nice fog clung low over the river, the sun slowly rose over the mountains to the east chasing the full moon as it sank over the western hills.

Two bucks were just waking up when I annoyed them.

I love early morning in small towns. I knew the earliest any restaurant opened was 7, so I stopped at an ATM and then went to a gas station for coffee.

I waited outside the restaurant. An older, local gentleman and I chatted about the trail and his town. When they opened, he sat in the middle of a long table with a couple of friends who arrived just at 7:00. Over the next 45 minutes, he held court over about 10 other guys who came and went, including two with sidearms. Another beauty of small towns is the informal network. I’m guessing these guys were mostly bachelors or widowers.

The Camaray Motel is definitely backpacker friendly. They have loaner bikes to get around town, free laundry, and a few other things. Sandy, a whirling dervish of a woman, checked me in very early and got me situated.

My resupply box had a plastic bag around it. Inside was a note explaining the USPS was sorry, but another package spilled a solvent all over mine. But it was okay, in their infinite wisdom. My maps and a few things did reek of fuel, but thankfully none of the food was fouled.

It was hot and smoggy, a little bit of L.A. There was a large fire in Canada. Temperatures hovered around 100 degrees and the valley trapped both heat and smoke.

Oroville is now mostly agricultural. The feeling I got was that this town might make it. Sure, there were the usual shuttered businesses and the five second-hand / collectibles stores, four more than needed. But the businesses that operated were busy. It is less than 10 miles to the Canadian border. Plus, there seemed to be an above average number motorcyclists.

There were two Mexican restaurants in town. The motel recommended the one across the street. It was okay, tasting just like every other Mexican restaurant. Everyone in there was caucasian. Later, when I went to the grocery I passed the other one and it was definitely more of a Hispanic crowd; should’ve gone there.

The first morning I saw Jackson at breakfast. He was heading out after a night at the motel. Later, I met Snowberry. We had dinner at the brew pub in town. It was nice to visit with another backpacker my age. She had an interesting life, has overcome some real challenges, and definitely had an intelligent view on life.

I finished packing and got ready. It was going to be at least seven days in the Pasayten Wilderness, a section I was very much looking forward to.