Wildwood...

Chapter One

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I first came to Northern California, Redding in Shasta County, specifically, one of the first names I heard was Wildwood. It's a small town (or maybe just a settlement or Indian Reservation) 40 or 50 miles west of Redding/Red Bluff.

There is another town called Platina on the way to Wildwood. Platina is a small town with a city limit sign and everything.

I have never been to Platina or Wildwood so today, mi Espousa LaDonna d'el Nebraska (a little Mex lingo here) and I are headed for Wildwood.

I say, 'headed for,' because the map shows only the faintest road or trail from Platina to Wildwood. Since I will be driving my car, we won't try to tackle a road that's very bad.

Chapter Two...

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, hey, we made the trip and it was a very nice ride. The road was paved and wide enough all the way. It was so good I was almost disappointed.

We stopped at a rustic looking bar
and had a cup of coffee and talked with the owner for a while. I asked him exactly where Wildwood was and he said, "You're in it."
His bar is the only thing in Wildwood that resembles any kind of a business establishment.

He said the town was pretty wild back in the gold rush days. He has lived there for only twenty years. We took a few pictures.

There was a general store with gas pumps but it was about two miles from Wildwood.
Evidently the folks around there live off the land; catch fish,-poach deer and bears; like that.

We came back home by a different route. We proceeded on westerly (yeah, yeah,-I know, but 'westerly' looks more active than just 'west')on Highway 36 and then north on Highway 3. We stopped in Hayfork and had a bite to eat (Donna ate; I had coffee)

I asked around about an old friend of mine from the 60s, Max Quint, the lead guitar player of the band we had called, "The Argons." No one was familiar with the name and he wasn't in the phone book. He may have died but then, he never was too dependable. Oh, well.

We talked with some guy who had been a drummer at about the same time I was playing music in the 60s. I asked if he was still active in music and he explained he had bought a piece of land outside of town and was now a hermit. (He didn't even own a computer,-can you believe it? He said he disdained anything new or electronic,-he liked it plain and simple,-I asked him if it was much of a walk from his place to town,-he put on a blank stare and a question mark developed over his head)
I quipped, "That must be interesting." He retorted, "Yes,-I'm now doing what I like the most; nothing." Again,-Oh, well.

Then we got on Highway 299 East and headed on toward home. On the way, I had to stop for a nature call. I pulled to the side of the road at a wide spot and climbed down a very small hill and took care of business. When I finished and turned to climb back up the hill, someone had stretched it to around six times the steep and distance. I did my 'Survivorman' impression attempting (and barely making it) to climb back to the top of that 'small' hill.
Right at the top, I grabbed a limb of a small tree to pill myself over the edge and onto flat ground.(actually, it was a small twig-my Angel must have been watching over me and ordered that twig to hold my weight so's I wouldn't tumble to the bottom of that 'small' 60 foot straight down, hill)

As I sat in the drivers seat, (I still don't remember how I got there-the Angel again, I guess) I felt a double plastic hose being inserted into my nose and heard Donnas' oxygen tank being turned on. It is regulated to puff a small amount of oxygen each time a breath is taken. Now, hooked up to me, it was hissing constantly.
Donna looked panicky! I asked her why and she, in turn, asked me why I appeared panicky. I said,(when I could speak again)"I asked you first."
Now, for the third and final time; Oh, well.

All in all, it was an interesting and relaxing trip. (except for where the narrower parts of the highway had five hundred foot straight down drops to the canyon floor, mostly on Donnas side of the car; I drove over the fog line a couple of times and I thought she would it-shay)

It was an interesting day and I'm glad I finally got to Wildwood, the first time since I first moved to Redding in 1959. Peace...

Later...