What drives my fascination with volcanoes? It's not the danger or the peril. On a day to day basis, those are practically non-existent for volcanoes which lay dormant for decades if not centuries. Yet, being fickle, mysterious monoliths, often shrouded in the mist - volcanoes permeate mystical in our legends and our psyche. We are drawn to them, like the one ring destined to return to it's fiery origins in the depths of Mt. Doom - volcanoes exert an inexplicable pull on the strings of my heart and my mind.
When Europeans settled the West-unknown, in some instances they were undoubtedly drawn to settle in the stunningly gorgeous and fertile shadow of these sleeping beasts. Unaware of their history, or the fire which churned in their cores. The natives who roamed the land before the Europeans arrived, had no written history, only legends passed on through word-of-mouth, of the explosive battle between the gods of the sky and the earth, atop these mountain peaks. It's easy to theorize that when the West was conquered, the victors paid little attention to these fairy tales from the natives.
It had been a long 4 years since I toured these volcanoes in the Cascade range. July of 2012 was the first time ever, that I had strung together a vacation ride through the Cascades. At the end of that trip, I had vowed to return again within the next couple of years. Although, as most resolutions often do, it fell victim to life, work and responsibilities galore. So it was to be 4 years - almost to the day, and countless invitations later, when I embarked once again stringing together volcanoes along the way from Lassen to Rainer, with the goal of seeing and spending some quality time visiting my very dear friends Lisa and Tobie, who have a mountain cabin near Rainier.
Archiving the memories of the first portion of the trip in this post, taking some time here and there to do so. Hopefully, I don't run out of time, or steam in it's midst .. it might happen. Ride more, write less.. sigh.. :)
It has been a while since I have updated the blog, the back log is now a few months long. I have been in a time crunch all year, which has shown no signs of relenting. Nevertheless, I wanted to try at the very least to continue and finish the story of my parents' grand tour of California during their visit here this summer. Once again, as is evident from the post title, this is not motorcycling content. It appears it will be 2015 before any motorcycle content appears again on this blog, it has been that kind of a year. The readers of this blog primarily being of the motorcycling community, I am not sure if they are following along, and if they are, then I thank them for their understanding and patience. I must finish what I started, but it is not just that, needless to say I am taking great pleasure reminiscing on this blog, about the time I spent with my family this summer. So be forewarned, pictures of my family have replaced the usual pictures of my motorcycle juxtaposed against grand vistas. :)
After our return from Yosemite, our sights had shifted north for another great outdoors expedition to the volcanoes of northern California and southern Oregon. Our first stop was Lassen National Park. This park has the southernmost active volcanoes in the Cascade Range, part of the 'Pacific Ring of Fire'. This is an active geological area with boiling mud pots, smoking fumaroles and churning hot springs. In the picture below, you can see a smoking fumarole in the background.
A story told in reverse chronological order. The pictures were taken on my return journey. I had come home safely from a celebration weekend under the gaze of an imposing mountain. Getting home safe from a motorcycle adventure is always worth a toast. We don't like surprise endings in motorcycle stories, the cliche and boring "Home safe and sound" ending never gets old in our world.
It had been a great ride, astride my fire breathing monster of a steed. Fire breathing both literally as in it was a 100+ degrees outside and the heat from this 1298 cc engine between my knees was roasting my ... ahem ... nuts, and figuratively as in some scorching performance on the winding roads of the Sierra mountains.
It's not unlike the well muscled and sculpted steed of this Pony Express rider, whose statue stands (gallops?) in Old Sacramento, where I stopped for a few minutes on my way home, but the monster of an FJR doesn't need a whip to goad it to go where I point it to, and go there fast, it just needs a gentle roll of the right wrist..
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