I covered myself from head to toe with SPF 30 sunscreen this morning, and it worked. My sunburn, although exposed all day, got no worse.

I learned something about sunscreen, though: don't put it around your eyes. I was fine until I got out on the road in direct sunlight. Then it started running into my eyes, and it burned. I pulled over and tried to get it out as best I could. My eyes were irritated and bothering my occasionally throughout the day.

Just a few miles south of Bend is the High Desert Museum. This is like a junior version of the Sonora Desert Museum in Tucson: a little loop trail with wildlife and plant exhibits.

They need to work on their public presentation. From the parking lot to the main door, along a little path, every single sign was negative. Don't smoke. Don't climb on rocks. Don't throw coins in stream. Don't fee the animals. Don't hurt the plants. Don't go off the trail. I told the woman at the register inside that they need to add some friendly signs and tone down the existing ones, but I don't think she took me seriously.

Inside is a surprisingly entertaining exhibit about the history of western exploration. Each of the many little rooms was basically a life-sized walk-through diorama. Atmospheric background noises and indirect lighting enhanced the mood. Explorers, trappers, Oregon Trail travelers, cartographers, miners, cowboys, farmers, settlers, and Chinese railroad workers were all represented in their own little scenes from history.

Outside was a little winding path. Plants were labeled and many little "Did You Know?" facts appeared on signs throughout.

In a bird feeder I saw a very large gray squirrel. Underneath the feeders, digging through the spent sunflower seeds looking for whole ones, were little chipmunks and larger ground squirrels.

There was an otter "pond", with a viewing area above and one below the surface of the water. I caught a porcupine demonstration and the beginning of a "birds of prey" one, which had two owls and a hawk of some kind that was missing a wing of some kind. All of the animals here were hurt in some way and couldn't be released into the wild.

Every viewing platform and grove of trees had a little plaque saying who had sponsored it. There were signs everywhere asking for more money.

At an inside bird display, I finally saw one of those birds that had been puzzling me throughout the trip. It was, indeed, a black-billed magpie. As I asked a staff member to make sure, several locals told me that the birds have a very loud, annoying voice that they hear quite often. They don't have white wing tips, but I guess I could have been mistaken in my observation.

One of my books said to allow all day for this museum. It took me 45 minutes.

The batteries in both my SLR and digital camera were both giving out, so I doubled back to Bend to stock up at Wal-Mart. I also bought some gas.

Oregon is one of two states that do not allow self-service gas stations. This does not, however, mean that the stations are full service. Instead they have "mini service" (also "miniserv" or just "mini" on the signs). At this one, at least, the attendant does nothing but pump gas. No oil, water, or air checking, no windshield washing, and no money taking. I still had to go into the convenience store to pay.

My debit card was rejected at both the gas station and Wal-Mart. The message said something about being unable to contact the bank. I hoped that this was a temporary condition, since I was running a little low on cash.

The traffic on U.S. 93 south was pretty heavy. There were a lot of parks along the way, including a volcanic national monument that looked like Craters of the Moon, complete with a giant cinder cone.

It clouded up and sprinkled a little I made my way through little resort areas with all the motor homes and boat trailers. I saw several little cheap motels.

The clouds broke just as I reached the north entrance to Crater Lake National Park. Immediately after entering the park I saw snow on the sides of the road. As I ascended, the snow got thick and the banks by the sides of the road grew. Some were as high as twenty feet. It was not surprising that the road had just opened a few days before.

The rim road around the east side of the crater was still closed. In fact, at the south end, they had not even begun to plow it.

There were a half dozen or so viewpoints along the road, all with many parked cars. The view is impressive. This is the deepest lake in the United States at over a thousand feet.

I took several panoramic series of pictures. I think the ones shot on film at a 50mm focal length should match up pretty well. I knew that the digital pictures, with a fixed shorter focal length, wouldn't match perfectly, but I think they still did OK.

Here is a larger, more detailed version of the same picture.

Many of our national parks have old, historic lodges, and Crater Lake is no exception. I had lunch in the small dining room, which overlooked the lake. I had a surprisingly large and reasonably priced salmon fillet on wild rice, served with sourdough bread. To drink I had a yummy Nor'wester Oregon Pale Ale.

From the park I headed southeast toward Klamath Falls to try to track down a closed dinosaur park I'd read about on the Roadside America web site. Unfortunately my memory of what I had read was faulty, so I missed it by just a dozen miles or so.

I drove a small winding state road from Klamath Falls west. The first half wound through mountains and lakes and streams. The second half descending down the side of a gorgeous green valley unlike any I'd seen before. At the bottom were farms and a lake. The sides were soft hills of green grass dotted with some short, wide, broad-leaved trees, not the tall pines I had seen everywhere else. Even if I missed the Vortex it would be worth it to have driven this road.

Along the way I listened to a public radio station, which said it was the voice of the mythical state of Jefferson. I haven't checked yet, but it said that more information about the state of Jefferson was available at jeffnet.org.

I arrived in Ashland at about a quarter to five, bought gas, and called the House of Mystery at the Oregon Vortex to find out what time they closed. The woman told me that they were open until six but the last tour would start at about ten after five. I wouldn't be able to make it.

I resigned myself to missing it, then changed my mind as I got to the Interstate and decided to try, anyway.

I passed the home town of an online acquaintance, Annnnnna. I know her from both roadsideamerica.com and alt.fan.devo. Unfortunately, her family is currently traveling east.

I took the Gold Hill exit and found that I still had six miles of slow road to go before reaching the Vortex. When I got there it was almost 5:30 and the gate was closed.

I opened the gate and let myself in. A woman stuck her head out of a window at told me they were closed. I asked if the gift shop was still open and she let me in.

I explained that I had no idea when I would be in the area again, how famous the Vortex was, how I had visited other similar sites in the U.P., Wisconsin, and Montana, and how important it was that I at least get a postcard.

She asked if I was the person who had called from Ashland. When I told her I was, she let me join the tour in progress, which had just entered the house after the introductory lecture.

This is basically just another mystery spot, but it is one of the oldest ones. It was fun.

I saw the rolling ball and the balancing broom. An old woman in our group said she'd seen a similar place in Jackson, Wyoming. I'm sorry I missed it. Of course, our tour group said, there are a lot of crooked houses out there, all copies of this one, but that doesn't mean they are sitting on a real Vortex.

I got some postcards and a T-shirt.

Instead of getting back on the Interstate I drove Rogue River Road. The Rogue River is a very popular resort area, with many restaurants and motels. I saw people on jet skis in the water.

I passed the Have-A-Nice-Day Campground. Guess what image appeared on the sign?

I hit U.S. 199 just south of Grants Pass. While technically part of Grants Pass now, this area was once the little town of Fruitdale. Several businesses still bear that name.

I also saw several businesses named "Caveman", including Caveman Bowl. I did some research later and found that there's a statue of a caveman in Grants Pass, a local Caveman civic club, and I believe the high school nickname may also be Cavemen.

Just before 199 I spotted a Muffler Man in a hard hat and a giant saw cutting through the roof of a building.

199 is the road to Redwood Country, a fact that is made clear by the large number of burl art stores along the way.

One of them was the Kawliga Wood Shop. There was a large figure prominently displayed out front.

CONTEST! I will send a postcard to the first person that can tell me what this large figure. I want the exact three-word phrase. The first word is "a". Remember, it was the Kawliga Wood Shop.

This is a winding mountain road that crosses over some range. Near the top is Cave Junction, where the road to the Oregon Caves Park branches off.

There were many old motels and cabin courts in Cave Junction, some closed, some open, and some I couldn't tell. There was a petting zoo that couldn't decide if its name was Woodland or Noah's Ark.

I passed a lumber mill that had hundreds of stacks of boards over several acres, just before I crossed through Illinois River. I also passed Rough and Ready Creek.

I entered California on this road. I had never driven into California before, always arriving by plane, so I didn't expect the agricultural inspection point. I knew they existed, I just hadn't thought about it.

I was just asked if I had any fruit or vegetables, then allowed to continue.

I was in Redwood National and State Parks now. It was very pretty, I wasn't in the redwoods yet. It was getting late in the day, but it was still light. These weren't redwoods, but it was still a beautiful forest full of very tall trees.

About ten miles from Crescent City I passed through the small town of Hiouchi, and then, suddenly, I was in a redwood grove.

It's getting to be a regular thing that I visit some famous scenic place and find that words and pictures have not properly prepared me for the impact of actually being there. This was another of those times.

It isn't just that the trees are tall. Other trees get tall, too. Part of it is the width of the trunks, which ranged from four of five feet to over ten. Part of it is the ground covered with ferns. Part of it is the straightness and close branches. Part of it is the way the sky shows the tops of the trees pointing to some imaginary point of convergence.

It's the whole effect. It was too dark in the forest to take pictures, but I pulled over and just stood there for a few minutes.

Suddenly I was out of the forest and in Crescent City. There was no shortage of motels, but I wanted to see the ocean first. I drove to a public access spot, walked down on the beach, and stuck my hand in the Pacific Ocean for the first time in several years.

I found a nice cheap motel and intended to do some laundry and write for a while. Instead I locked my keys in my car, or at least I thought I had, since I couldn't find them anywhere, although I couldn't see them in the car. I tried to get them out myself, then called Hertz, then called AAA. Eventually someone showed up. It took him over half an hour, but he finally got the car open.

While the horn honked (the alarm went off) I found the keys.

It was almost eleven when I finally got my stuff into the room, so I decided to defer laundry until the morning and writing until some other time.