But when we encountered new challenges of going through high elevations, it added extra strain to our nerves and became a test we had to pass with flying colors, whether we wanted it or not.
Being a designated navigator, I usually study the maps and by now have developed an eye for predicting where it would be a lot of going up or winding left and right. If there are a lot of high peaks noted on the map, that's a sure sign the road will be far from being a piece of cake!
When we decided to take the road leading to Shasta State Forest to old California towns of the gold rush era, the anticipation of breathtaking landscapes was exciting.
We went up 2,100 feet above the sea level. Then the road took us 1,000 feet down. Then, in a short while, another 1,800 feet up. No overheated engine. YET.
Driving along River Trinity, I was just seeing the miners digging for gold and sifting the rocks in the cold water, freezing their fingers but warming their spirits with hopes of finally striking a jack pot. The smell of gold was in the air!
We passed French Gulch, a charming village, once a colorful mining town and still an active community with a small hotel, store and a church, has remained unchanged, a living relic of the last century that has been added to the National Register of Historic Places.
When we were heading towards Weaverville, the center of the states northern gold-mining era, and the Oregon Pass (a stretch of the road with elevation of 2,888 feet on top of other thousands of feet above the sea level already) we almost ended up camping out on the side of the road.
Three times the gauge climbed very close to "hot", and we both decided that we'd better take the highway next time. Despite the stress I was still trying to enjoy stunning views that were full of undescribable charm.
With help of binoculars I spotted a temple all the way up on the pick of a high mountain. Later I read that it was built in 1874 by the Chinese who came to work in the mines. It now displays priceless tapestries, carvings and other works of art.
A sign showed us to make a left turn down the road. We kept on driving for a few miles with no campground in sight. The road was getting more and more winding and turned into a one lane gravel road. It looked like we'd have to make a U turn, and so we started looking for a wider driveway (there were a few houses along the road) and got ready to knock on the door and ask for permission to make a turn. Private property, no trespassing.
I noticed somebody looking out from the window and Mirek jumped out to ask.
"Keep on going. This road ends at the campground. I stumbled upon it 30 years ago, then moved into the area, built this house and raised my family here. You are going good. The campground is straight ahead," a good Samaritan gave us the words we so wanted to hear.
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