Childs Meadow Resort Bruce Love, Dottie Zimmerman 9 Miles East of SW Entrance of Lassen Volcanic National Park An 18 Acre Park Setting * 7 Housekeeping Chalets, 20 Motel Units, 24 RV Sites w/dump station, Campgrounds with Showers & Laundromat, Barbecue Grove & Store 41500 Hwy 36E * Mill Creek, CA 96061 (530) or (888) 595-3383 Childs Meadows is the last place to stop and get provisions before Mt. Lassen. I've stopped there twice now. The first time I stopped in Childs Meadow was back in October when I rode from Truckee to Mt. Lassen one weekend. I arrived after an arduous off-road section that Bodfish, down in Chester, had euphemistically referred to as a "shortcut." It consisted of Valley Road out of Chester, then Section Old Red Bluff Rd, then Wilson Lake Road. It was steep, dusty, and near the end presented an ambiguous intersection to this weary traveller. When I got to the ambiguous intersection I sat down to ponder things, drain the last of my water and eat my last two fig newtons. Pretty soon a couple of roughnecks came along in a pickup truck with gun rack. It was hunting season. "Where you from?" one asked over the burble of a barely muffled V-8, through the rolled down window. "San Francisco," I replied. "Well, you had best go back there," came the response, with little apparent irony. "I'd be happy to," I responded with a hearty laugh, "If you'd be so kind as to tell me which way is Hwy 89." The driver pointed to what I had been guessing was the right way, and the truck rumbled off in the other direction with a note of helpful gruffness in its exhaust. I arrived at Hwy 89 shortly afterwards, and a few miles after that rolled into Childs Meadows. I was pretty much completely whooped after a long day of riding. The first day of a bike tour always gets me, as my sedentary office worker's metabolism takes a while to ramp up to the requisite level of energy output. I was sticky, covered in dust, kind of light-headed and possibly a little sunburned as I walked into the Childs Meadow store. When you live in San Francisco, it is almost possible to think that everyone in the world is beautiful. A similar delusion would be more difficult to sustain in Childs Meadow (or very many other rural California communities, for that matter). Maybe it was just my mood, but the people there all seemed somehow grotesque. Childs Meadow isn't really a town so much as a wide spot in the road, with a motel (the ascetic rooms were fetching $50), some RV hookups, a store and a shower house. The whole town seems to have one telephone, which is out in front of the store and sometimes has a couple of people, probably motel guests, waiting to use it. The personnel in the store were full of levity when I arrived -- winter hours were short and I had made it just before closing. I was lucky to get in there in time to buy provisions and pay the $5 for a shower. The shower house is a cinderblock structure out back with what I'm guessing are perpetual plumbing projects underway within. I turned on both taps in all of the non-boarded up shower stalls and the pvc lines jerked life. Several small toads or frogs sprang from the drains in response, but hot water proved more reclusive. After filling all of my water bottles, washing out a few things in the sink and eating until I felt bloated, I gave up, steeled myself, and stood in under the icy needling blast. Much refreshed and mostly clean, I donned a layer of wool, repacked, and returned to the cool early darkness of the late October evening. I climbed very slowly, trying not to sweat, up from Childs Meadow with an eye for good camping spots. At the junction of Hwy's 89 and 172 I found a small shelter for snowmobilers, but rejected it since it was a Saturday night. I didn't want to be awakened by pickup trucks scouting party spots. I eventually bedded down in a flat spot atop a small hill next to the road (the best place to find a flat spot is often on top of a hill). I was inside the National Forest but just outside Lassen National Park. As you may know, you can camp anywhere you like on Forest Service land. Hell, if we can let ranchers graze it, and loggers log it, we can certainly let the actual owners rest our weary bones on it once in a while. I expected a cold night at elevation ~6K, but had found a warm microclimate on the West of the mountain. Hot air came up off the Valley all night and warmed me. I slept well and awakened early for a beautiful solitary first-light spin along the highest paved road in the Cascade Range. The second time I passed through Childs Meadow, a heat wave had just struck. It was late afternoon, perhaps around 5 p.m. Dripping as I walked into the store, I found the proprietress enjoying a Nestle chocolate icecream bar. It seemed an action founded on sound thinking, so I did likewise. Then I ordered a Ham and Cheese deli sandwich with extra pickles (pickles are loaded with sodium and will help you out in the heat, especially if you are having any kind of stomach distress). Suddenly, I remembered my earlier decision to make my first action upon arriving in rest stops be to wash my face. People just react differently to you when your face isn't covered with salt, grease and sweat. In the restroom, I was surprised to see a somewhat more functional-looking shower stall; if you ever find yourself buying a shower in Childs Meadow -- and I hope you do -- ask if you can use the one inside the store. Well, unless you're an amphibious biologist. Had I not been distracted by the shower, I might have thought to fill up my Camelbak. Already, since Chester, I had drained more than half of it. Perhaps I didn't think of it because I was already drinking a can of soda. Back in the store, I noted a modern-looking computer setup, but was told that Internet access is not sold. Perhaps if you asked nicely, though, they'd let you post a quick ride report. I cons