Day 40. August 4.
I was able to sleep in just a little at the Timbers Motel in downtown Ashland. I drew up my grocery list and also had a plan to hit a local laundromat when it opened at 7.
The laundromat was just a couple blocks away. I walked there and the doors were open. An older guy was in his idling car outside. I need to first clarify that I have perhaps the worst luck ever at laundromats. Something goes wrong every time. So, when the change machine accurately gave me change for my five dollars, I was getting a little smug. Next, to the soap dispensing machine. It looked old and solid, perhaps using metal from decommissioned WWII aircraft. Coins go in, selection made, pull the lever, and nothing. “Here we go….” I muttered to myself as I found the coin return. I was surprised it worked! As a spokesman for the triumph of hope over experience, I tried about 13 times to get the machine to perform the simple transaction: I put in correct coins, it gives me soap. Alas, nothing.
I figured at least getting the dirt loosened would be a small victory. So I ran a load of wash without soap. I considered the downside: without soap, perhaps all I would accomplish would be to loosen dirt and sweat and evenly distribute it over all my clothes so my shirts would smell like my feet and my socks would smell like my arm pit. Sounded good to me. Hell, I still smelled like lavender epsom salt.
An hour later, as I finished folding my clothes from the dryer, the assistant manager walked in. I thought I would be a good citizen and let her know the soap dispenser did not work. Deftly demonstrating how she reached the level of assistant manager by age 32, she said “I have some behind the counter I can sell you.” For a fleeting moment I considered that sprinkling the dry powder on my laundered clothes might have some potential benefit, but I decided against it, thanked her for her problem-solving skills, and went to the grocery store.
I stocked up on the crap that backpackers buy in town: cheese, meat sticks, Fritos, sunflower seeds, and two breakfast burritos. I went back to the motel, ate, packed up and caught a cab back to Callahan’s Lodge.
It was an old lodge. Lodges used to be destinations. Rustic with wood accents, dead animals mounted on walls, rooms and food and alcohol. Historically, Callahan’s was on the outskirts of Ashland and a destination. The original Callahans were instrumental to getting the entire Pacific Crest Trail built. However, it apparently burned down, was rebuilt and sold and was now for sale again. Lodges were fading anyways and the covid pandemic was not helping.
My stay was not the best. At first, the guy at the front desk said my resupply package was not there. He was rushed, so I asked him to please double check when things slowed down. He also informed me that I did not have a reservation. I explained that I thought I did. After several minutes of intense research on his part, he announced that he had solved the mystery and that my reservation was for tomorrow. I tried to gently correct him and explain that was the original plan, but it was changed and that “Cheryl” had spoken with my wife and assured her the reservation was moved to today. He ignored all of that and magnanimously informed me that the room type I reserved for tomorrow was actually available today so I could check in. Since we were bonding, I seized the moment and asked him if I could go to the room where they keep resupply packages and help him look for my package. He hesitated as though I was asking to get into the cash box, but eventually he relented. I found the box in about 31 seconds.
Retreating to the deck for a late lunch, I tried to enjoy the peace and solitude of being given a menu and allowed to read it uninterrupted for 20 minutes. When a perceptive server decided to ask if I wanted to order lunch, I praised her deductive skills and placed an order. After another 20 minutes I was enjoying my burger and chewing the ice which was all the beverage I was going to get. After another brisk 20 minute interlude, I was giving my bill and released. For a moment, my instincts suggested that maybe I should just hold my spot and start ordering dinner.
Later on, I regretted not trustung my instincts. While many people were dining on the patio and trying to handle yellow jackets in various ways (fight versus flee) I sat inside. After 20 minutes, the bartender came across the indoor area and asked me if I was planning on having dinner. I said that I was actually waiting for my connecting flight to London. Eventually everything was sorted out and perhaps trying to atone for any inconvenience, all components of my meal (appetizer, salad, and entree) were all delivered at the same time.
Not sure what will come of Callahan’s. It is great that it is so close to the trail, but with a short cab ride whisking hikers to a greater variety of places, I am not sure it will last long.
backpacking over the hill 