In the afternoon we headed south on U.S. 97, down into the valley of the river that feeds into Upper Klamath Lake. We spent the night in Klamath Falls at a charming little motel, the Golden West, that I found online. It was run by a delightful Italian woman. We dined in downtown at a creamery that had been turned into a brew pub.
In the morning we drove north up to Crater Lake. Red had never been there, so she was eager to see it. We wound our way up to the lodge at the rim and found what seemed to be the only parking spot in the lot. The lodge was crowded with tourists, with many foreigners.
As we drove along the part of the rim that was open, and stopped several times to look out upon the lake below, we both couldn't help notice that there were a great many Indian-American families there. The American contingent heavily consisted of long caravans of motorcycles on a weekend cruise.
The issue of the Indian-Americans took on deeper meaning that evening when we got to our motel in Weed, California, in the shadow of Mount Shasta along I-5. The motel was run by Indians, which is not unusual, but int he diner across the main street, we saw three different groups of Indian young men, foreign-born---foursomes. They seemed each to be on some road trip, and they were stopping over in Weed for dinner.
Red and I debated the meaning of all this, and decided that Crater Lake, for this year at least, must be a popular vacation destination for Indian-Americans as a community. Many come up from California, including groups of male tech workers, riding together in SUVs.
We felt as if we'd stumbled into some hidden bit of contemporary Americana. It was delightful to notice it.
I remarked how the idea of four young male Indian tech workers taking a road trip to Crater Lake over Memorial Day weekend would make an awesome Hollywood movie.
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