The patriotically dressed young children riding on the back of the horse-drawn carriage waved at us with one hand and threw candy at us with the other.  Julie and I were sprayed with Tootsie Rolls, lollypops, miniature Kit Kats and a whole lot more.  But why not, it’s the 4^th of July parade down the main street of Pendleton in northern Oregon and we were there to join in the celebrations of this proud town and country.

Any country turning 250 years old has something to celebrate and the patriotic Americans, all dressed in their best (or not so best) red, white and blue clothes with small flags in hand were always going to do it in style.  Which is why we plonked our camping chairs on the sidewalk of Main Street and watched the floats, vintage cars, horse groups, first responders, political parties and just about everyone else in town pass us with smiles and waves.

Julie and I had woken about 30 miles away on a high ridgeline of BLM land, the beautiful sound of elk making their distinctive bugle sound as they passed by.  We detoured to Pendleton to take in the festivities before fuelling up and heading south again on the 395.

So what is the 395?  Well, before the era of huge interstate freeways covering America like a giant spider’s web the west coast had two main north-south arteries that started at the Mexican border and ran to the Canadian border – Highway 101 which was closer to or on the coast all the way up and Highway 395 which was much more inland and passed through more mountainous and less populated areas.

So when we left Pendleton after being pumped up with Americana we jumped on the 395 and headed south.  This road entertained us all afternoon through rolling hills covered in long brown grass and speckled with Ponderosa pines and Larch trees, rising up and over five passes which reached over 4,000 and 5,000 feet (1,520 metres), along gentle blue streams and through quaint little communities that were hanging on to their existence.

We stopped for a picnic lunch at the little town of Ukiah which was still aglow from their own little parade, checked out the country general store in the town of Long Creek and stopped in the oddly named town of John Day for a quintessential American treat on the quintessential American day – a Blizzard in a forlorn Dairy Queen. 

We finished this special day much like we started it, camping on public land in a quintessential American West forest, this time under towering Ponderosa pines on the edge of a tranquil meadow so far from civilisation it made us sing.  What a great day.

But the 395 was calling and so was a major family event at Lake Tahoe in a couple of days.  We stopped briefly in the intersection town of Burns to refuel and headed southward, the landscape turning to flat and open sagebrush desert, the temperature climbing as appropriate.  It was beautiful and relentlessly unchanging for hours.

We came upon the northern shores of Lake Abert and followed down it’s eastern shore.  Lake Abert is unique in that it is an endorheic lake, meaning it has no natural outlet, and has built up very high dissolved mineral and saline levels which makes it unliveable for almost all critters.  At one point we walked down to the water and could literally smell the lake from it’s shore.

In Lakeview we topped up our tank with the last cheap Oregon gas before crossing the border into California.  The land slowly evolved away from the desert and a slightly more fertile usable form but the small struggling communities, some of which had less than 100 people in them, told us how this obscure corner of California has missed out on some of the bounty found elsewhere.

We camped the night in an empty free BLM campground under huge juniper trees.  An evening rainstorm chased us inside but we eventually had a cosy night around the fire on our last night camping before reaching Tahoe.

The following morning we followed the reliable 395 as it snaked into Nevada before finally leaving it and heading back into California and reaching the beautiful shores of Lake Tahoe.  There an extended part of our family was gathering for an upcoming family celebration and Julie and I spent the next week relaxing with loved ones at one of our favourite relaxing places in the world. 

Lake Tahoe is a beautiful year-round outdoor holiday spot with multiple world-class ski resorts in the winter and the deep blue lake surrounded by high green mountains in the summer.  We slowed down to get into the rhythm of the lake, lazy mornings, perhaps some kayaking or boating in the afternoon, or maybe not.  It didn’t matter, being surrounded by family was the key focus and we loved it.

We then headed back down to my hometown of Salinas where we spent the last couple of days cleaning Tramp and packing things away before we tucked him into his storage garage and flew out of San Francisco back to our home and Aussie family in Sydney.

After our first trip to northern Canada and Alaska nine years ago we vowed to return.  This vow has been fulfilled and rewarded beyond what we had hoped for.  Whether it was two trips to the Arctic Ocean, a four day ferry along the Aleutians, a visit to remote Nome on the Bering Sea, or the many great rivers, mountain ranges or national parks, the far north is a wonderful place to spend time and exactly what Julie and I love so much.  We don’t know what our next adventure will be but this one will be tough to beat.