Driving down from Oregon, I fiddled with the radio station as I navigated the hybrid rental car around Mount Shasta. “Goddamn-Northern-California,” I thought, listening to a tedious reggae rift. Rasta Shasta, the only station clearly available while twisting and turning south bound, up and down the side of the mountain. Late August, not much snow capped the peak.  A half an hour later I was able to tune into “the hits that you never knew you missed.” “Effing baby boomers,” I thought. That was it for the next hundred miles: reggae trailing & wailing or the surprise of hearing Captain & Tenille.   “Donate your vehicle to us, it’s simple, one step and you, too, can support the station,” the announcement came over the waves…