Night was thick by the time the bus rolled into Lassen. The small RV park / general store just outside of the park could offer no wood, so without a real way to keep a fire fueled we climbed pitch black up a Californian mountain road who’s signs threatened rock slides and falling rock, 15mph turns. The wheels of the bus were rolling up a volcano, and by the time we reached the snowline and the freeze began to seep in through the doors I was wishing we’d planned more appropriately for the fire.
The bus keeps warm though, plenty of blankets, body heat. In the morning the million star gazer sky and tree fur silhouettes were replaced by a calm still lake, perfect for sipping coffee, smoking a morning cigarette and watching a punk rock blue bird of some type hop around stealing whatever breakfast scraps made it onto the forest floor.
Before making it to the coast there would be hitchhikers in the bus, showers taken at a random park and sitting on the Trinidad River a massive 3 foot salmon would leap out of the water in homage of this spectacular roadtrip. I had been to California before, but never this way, it had never seemed like this before. I was desperate to live it more and simultaneously never wanting it to end.