I slept okay in the rain, but woke up early to the fresh damp good weather like that brings. Everything was soaked, including the bottom of the tent and the tennis shoes I'd left under the rain fly. Rachel stayed knocked out, so I boiled some water and ate oatmeal on a log by the river.
The sun wasn't quite warm enough to make it comfortable, but it was enough to slowly evaporate the water out of my shoes and socks. I sang When I Go Down to the River and Pray over and over again because what a pretty tune to a complement a pretty view. Anyways, only the ants could hear me. They tried to carry off my right wool sock.
Since she hadn't slept almost at all the night before, Rach slept in real late; we knew we had a pretty easy ride anyways, less than 30 miles to Chester where we planned a lush night in the local motel.
Another gorgeous ride in the mountains, god it's pretty up here. Through Lassen National Forest, and there are golden cows and big tree trunks and stately cabins when there's anything..
Chester's a small town but worth visiting for one reason: the Buttlake Dinky.
The dinky, claimed to be insignificant and much like many other dinkies, was our first introduction to the huge trolling E. Clampus Vitus is playing on western America. They're a fraternal organization whose name is Dog Latin and doesn't translate to anything. Their motto is I believe it because it is absurd. Where do I sign up.
(Note since I'm writing this later: we tried so hard to find any representatives of the society, but nothing. Nowhere. They are mythic.)
Like I said, we had a lush night at the Antler's Motel, a cute little thing in the middle of town. The hamburger's down the street were food, if not savory ("that's what ya get for a $6 burger", admitted the waiter), the laundromat was so fresh (Rachel got a quick little history lesson from a lady also doing laundry and learned about the eerie burning of village which was flooded to make Lake Almador), and the night was well spent tuning up the bikes we'd just hauled through the rain.