motorcycle touring – Sisyphus and Associates

2025 Ruby Mountains Ramble

September 2025

What does a lost wallet, Coors Light, more cows than people, and Theodore Douglas Willer have to do with an epic adventure?

I, as SisyphusDW7 (my nom de plume), posted Chasing the Perseid’s; An August 2025 Ramble in the Sierra. The ride was a warmup for our fourth ramble of 2025 as we plotted a seven day, six night tour of the Ruby Mountains in Northeastern Nevada.

With a taste of the billions of galaxies filled with billions of stars as viewed from the Sierra, I figured there was at least as much to view in northeastern Nevada, notwithstanding a full moon, and so the plan to ramble to the Ruby Mountains began to take shape.

Sisyphus was aboard Bella Rossa, a Moto Guzzi V-85TT and his associate Pete was on his Suzuki V-Strom. Pete’s not as romantic as Sisyphus and so his moto is nameless. His imagination an appetite makes up for any other deficiencies.

We packed up and departed on September 7 venturing forth on CA-140/CA-120 bound for a Sierra crossing at Tioga Pass. I’ll use excerpts from the itinerary to introduce the daily “chapters” of the ramble.

Day 1 / Sunday Sept 7 – Merced to Fallon, NV

Merced to Fallon, NV ~284 miles

From US-395 take CA-182 (Sweetwater Rd) in Bridgeport to NV-338 to junction with NV-208 near Smith Valley to the junction of NV-208/NV-339.
Continue on NV-339 through Yerington to the junction with US-95 to Silver Springs.
From Silver Springs, ~26 miles to Fallon on US-50
Reservation at the Super8 by Wyndham

Tioga Pass or CA-120 is a familiar Sierra crossing. Along with Sonora Pass (CA-108), Sherman Pass (Forest Rte 22S05), and Walker Pass (CA-178) we have seasonal options. In winter Tioga, Sonora, Sherman Passes are closed with the first winter storms. Walker Pass in Kern County will occasionally close in winter due to snow and regardless of weather, it beats crossing the summit in Tehachapi (CA-58) which is a major commerce route from Bakersfield to the Mojave, US-395, and Interstates 15 to Las Vegas and and I-40, the offspring of Route 66, The Mother Road, all featured in previous rambles on my blog, sisyphusdw7.com .

Tioga Pass and Lee Vining Canyon en route to the Ruby Mountains

The vistas up Tioga Pass were somewhat obscured by smoke from wildfires burning in the Western Sierra that resulted from recent monsoonal lightning strikes. Since the fall colors were only beginning to show, there was no great disappointment on what nature had wrought by way of wildfires compromising the views.

We stopped at the Mono Basin Scenic Area Visitor’s Center on our route along CA-395 to Bridgeport to “de-layer” as the cooler temps at elevation gave way to the late summer heat on the East Side of the Sierra. The smoke gave a muted hue to the otherwise clear skies.

Muted skies from the parking lot at the Mono Basin Scenic Area Visitor Center

Un-Muted skies from the Mono Basin Scenic Area Visitors Center Overlook
(How did they do that?)

Once in Bridgeport we took CA-182, Sweetwater Rd north, crossing the CA-NV border where the road became NV-338 following tributaries to the Walker River to Smith Valley then NV-208 & 339 to Yerington where we fueled up at my favorite petrol shop. Loves me the Dino.

Passing the Anaconda Open Pit Copper Mine on Alt US-95 from Yerington following tributaries of the Carson River through dairies and onion fields, we then headed east passing the Lahontan State Recreation Area on the Lincoln Highway, US-50. Soon we reached our destination for Day 1, Fallon Nevada.

Fallon is known for being home to Naval Air Station Fallon. Built in 1942, is located southeast of the city center. Since 1996, NAS Fallon has been home to the U.S. Navy’s Navy Fighter Weapons School (popularly known as TOPGUN), using several flight training areas and practice ranges in the area.

In 1963 there was an underground nuclear test known as Project Shoal that took place ~30 miles from Fallon.

I’m no hydrologist, but it seems planting onions in soil irrigated from ground and surface water from a nearby Superfund open pit copper mine or detonating a nuclear bomb in the middle of the potentiometric ground water surface near Fallon was potentially, well, I’ll let you consider the implications*. It’s kind of how Nevada does environmental things. Needless to say, we drank bottled water while in Nevada.

*Did I mention I once submitted ten puns to a contest to see which one would win. No pun in ten did… Well what did you expect?

I chose Fallon for our Day 1 destination, not because of fighter jets, or radioactive water but for the D = ST (distance = speed × time) calculus essential to motorcycles. Its location on the Lincoln Highway, the first transcontinental thoroughfare, passes through Fallon from east to west (and vice versa), following the original Pony Express trail. Today it is designated U.S. Highway 50, and eastward from Fallon is popularly known as The Loneliest Road in America, as it passes through only two towns (Austin and Eureka) and one small city (Ely) between Fallon and the Utah state line, over 400 miles distant.

Hence, lodging options between our destinations for Days 2-4 were limited.

Moonrise over the Super 8 and Bonanza Casino by Wyndham Fallon
Pete and I concluded the blue sphere above the moon was an alien mothership

Day 2 / Monday, Sept 8 – Fallon, NV to Elko/Spring Creek, NV and the South Fork Recreation Area

Fallon to Elko and South Fork Rec Area ~338 miles

US-50 through Austin to NV-278 N to US-80 at Carlin to Elko (~24 miles).
NV-227/NV-228 to the South Fork Recreation Area (~16 miles from Elko).
Nevada State Parks South Fork State Recreation Area – East Campground – RV or Tent with E Utilities
Confirmation Number: 1057754 Camp host, Theodore (Ted) Douglas Willer Arrive: Mon 09/08/2025 – Depart: Thu 09/11/2025 (3 nights Site 5 #1057754 reserved 9/8-9/11)
Get Supplies in Elko or Spring Creek.

A long day in the saddle, we rode past the Saloon and Shoe Tree at Middlegate and turned off of US-50 on a route we discovered on a previous trip to Austin, (Austin Nevada that is…) on NV-722/2 that took us through the ghost town of Eastgate.

Looking west from East Gate Station aka Gibraltar Gate on NV-722

East Gate Station, then (image scrubbed from the interwebs)

From Nevada Expeditions: First called Gibraltar Gate, Eastgate was named by Captain James Simpson in the same manner as nearby Middlegate and Westgate. While it never served the Pony Express like the other two ‘gates’, a station and vegetable garden were located here by the Overland Stage and later sold to George S. Williams about 1876. A tufa-block home was built in 1879, leading to the place being known sometimes as “White Rock House”. In 1908, the current tufa-block home was erected. With the formation of the Lincoln Highway in 1913, Eastgate’s importance grew as a new store and gas station were established to service travelers. It probably lasted until around 1967 when the highway was rerouted, bypassing Eastgate completely. And just like that, Eastgate’s fate, like those along the Mother Road, was determined by a highway realignment.

For a deeper dive into Eastgate and Carroll Summit Stations in Nevada, check out the YouTube video by Two Guys in the Middle of Nowhere: The Ghost Town of Eastgate Nevada.

A fuel, nalgas relief, and snack stop in Austin found us eastbound to Eureka where we departed US-50 north on NV-278 enroute to Carlin through arid landscapes interrupted by alfalfa fields quenched by Pine Creek and the Humboldt River. From Carlin, it was a short leg on I-80 to Elko through the Carlin Tunnel.

Interstate 80 and the shortest distance between two points

The Carlin Tunnel is a collective name for a set of four tunnel bores in the Humboldt River’s Carlin Canyon, east of Carlin in Elko County, Nevada, United States. Currently, two of the bores carry Interstate 80, while the other two bores carry Union Pacific Railroad’s Overland Route and Central Corridor.

The South Fork State Recreation Area Campground

Zipping through Elko we made our way to Spring Creek and our home for the next three nights on the South Fork of the Humboldt River known as the South Fork State Recreation Area.

From there we would explore the Ruby Mountains, Secret Pass and the Hastings Cutoff on the historic California Trail, the Ruby Valley, Jiggs, and the Owyhee River, Wild Horse, Mountain City and Owyhee on the Nevada side of the border with Idaho.

Upon our arrival, within minutes, the camp host, Ted (Theodore Douglas Willer), introduced himself. When Pete asked where we could get a cold beer, Ted retreated to his mobile abode and produced a pair of Coors Lights. He explained that he no longer drinks and some fellows on motorcycles had left him an unsolicited tip that he decided would purchase a twelve pack of beer for just this circumstance: Two parched blokes having ridden hard to reach camp as the sun was setting.

It only got better from there. Ted also recommended we switch our campsite reserved on the interwebs for one that was more accommodating for two tents and two bikes.

Ted was a fascinating character. A native of Northern Nevada, he had spent his working years in mining, ending his career at the Jerritt Canyon Gold mine. A true outdoorsman, Ted hunted, fished, backpacked, snow-mobiled, and dirtbiked all throughout the wilderness of Northern Nevada. As a reference for two “born to be mild” adventurers, his local knowledge was gold.

After touring the facilities that included hot showers and flush toilets, we were quite impressed as Nevada continued regaling us with parks the likes of Kershaw-Ryan State Park in Caliente, and Red Rock Canyon near Lost Wages, NV, with modern, clean, and well maintained accommodations. In addition to cold beers, we even had electricity at our site!

Sunset at the South Fork State Recreation Area

Day 3 / Tuesday, Sept 9 – South Fork Recreation Area to Lemoille Canyon Scenic Byway, Secret Pass, Arthur, Ruby Valley, & Jiggs Loop

Lamoille, Halleck, Arthur, Ruby Valley Loop ~132 miles

From the Lamoille Scenic Byway, return to Lemoille and take Crossroads and Clubine Rds to Ft. Halleck marker (dirt).
Continue on dirt to paved NV-229 at Poverty Gulch.
At the junction of NV-229 dirt road, head south to Ruby Valley to the junction with NF-113/Old Harrison Pass Rd (dirt).
West on NF-113 to the junction with NV-228 (paved) to Jiggs and NV-228 back to the South Fork Recreation Area campgrounds.
Get supplies in Spring Creek.

Our intent for the day’s ramble was to explore the Ruby Mountains. The range reaches a maximum elevation of 11,387 feet on the summit of Ruby Dome.

To the north is Secret Pass, part of the historic Hasting Cutoff, and the East Humboldt Range. From there the Rubies run south-southwest for about 80 miles. To the east lies Ruby Valley, and to the west lie Huntington and Lamoille Valleys. It’s alleged that the mountain range was named after the garnets found by early explorers.

The central core of the range shows extensive evidence of glaciation during recent ice ages, including U-shaped canyons, moraines, hanging valleys, and steeply carved granite mountains, cliffs, and cirques.

Pre-sunrise view of blossoming sage and the Ruby’s

The view east of the Ruby’s from our campsite with the park HQ in the foreground
and Ruby Dome towering in the background

The Lemoille Canyon Scenic Byway, entering Lemoille Canyon

Classic glaciated amphitheater in Right Fork Canyon

Having gone over the route with Ted, our camp host, a virtual guide with extensive knowledge of the local terrain, we felt confident that what amounted to our longest stretch on gravel was doable. The route took us into Lemoille Canyon following Lemoille Creek. An out-and-back then took us through the village of Lemoille where we met the first 18 miles of gravel road leading to NV-229 and Secret Pass into Ruby Valley.

The Donner Party passed through the southern end of the valley in 1846, heading for the Overland Pass route across the Ruby Mountains – part of the Hastings Cutoff. A sentence in Hastings’ guidebook briefly describes the cutoff:

The most direct route, for the California emigrants, would be to leave the Oregon route, about two hundred miles east from Fort Hall; thence bearing West Southwest, to the Salt Lake; and thence continuing down to the bay of St. Francisco, by the route just described.

The cutoff left the Oregon Trail at Fort Bridger in Wyoming, passed through the Wasatch Range, across the Great Salt Lake Desert, an 80-mile nearly water-less drive, looped around the Ruby Mountains, and rejoined the California Trail about seven miles west of modern Elko (also Emigrant Pass).
For a detailed account of the route, see Salt & Snow Lansford W. Hastings the Donner Party and the Haste to Blame by Eugene R. Hart, a friend and colleague, for a well researched history of the Donner Party’s ill-fated route on the California Trail.

The next 50 miles of pavement on NV-229 took us through the small unincorporated community of Arthur to the junction with NV-767.

Ranching is the main economic activity in Arthur and the Ruby Valley in general. Most of the ranches have remained in the same families for generations.

There weren’t may vehicles on the road, but there was infrastructure.

I don’t think Pete was doing what it looks like he was doing

At its south end lies the Ruby Lake National Wildlife Refuge. The valley includes a series of hot springs, known as Ruby Valley Hot Springs, with multiple pools reaching up to 30 feet in diameter and 100 degrees Fahrenheit in temperature.I

NV-229 passes along the northeast edge of the valley, and Ruby Valley Road (NV-767) runs along its western edge.

Our next dirt section was Harrison Pass Road (CR-718) for 14 miles crossing the Ruby Mountains near the center of the valley at an elevation of 7,247 feet . Much of the floor of Ruby Valley lies at elevations near 6,000 feet.

Franklin Lake looking Southeast (photo credit: Wiki)

At the entry to Harrison Pass Rd we encountered a local rancher and his wife. Perhaps perceiving our born to be mild countenance, they cautioned us about being on point because Harrison Pass Rd is a popular 4-wheel drive road on which speeding vehicles and tight blind curves with sandy washes that can be treacherous.

Fortunately we didn’t encounter any speeding side-by-sides or other ATV’s but the sandy road conditions made for a squirrelly crossing.

We reached pavement on NV-228 that took us through the small unincorporated community of Jiggs. In addition to the Jiggs School and Skelton Hotel, two historic buildings from the early 1900’s, there’s the Jiggs Bar, which we regrettably didn’t stop to visit.

It’ll just have to wait for our next trip to the Rubys. Cheers!

The town was featured in a 1965 Volkswagen advertising campaign in which the entire population (5 adults, 4 children and a dog) was shown comfortably seated inside a VW Bus.

Grandma doesn’t look to be having much fun

Upon returning to the campground, Ted met us with two cold Coors Lights. In exchange, we offered our enthusiastic reflections on the day’s ride that he had recommended before heading into Spring Creek for bites and beverages.

For a visual record (with soothing soundscapes) of our Ruby Mountain Ramble, check out the video from our day of cattle, canyons, passes, and dirt roads:

Lemoille Canyon and The Ruby Mountains Ramble

Followed by a sublime moonrise over the Ruby’s

Day 4 / Wednesday, Sept 10 – South Fork Recreation Area to Owyhee and back

South Fork Rec Area to Owyhee Loop ~236 miles

From the campgrounds, NV-225 N to Owyhee through Wild Horse and Mountain City, then NV-226 S back to Elko
Lunch at The Star Basque Restaurant and beverages in Spring Creek.
Return to the South Fork Recreation Area campground

Weather was our consideration for how to approach our ramble to Owyhee on this our fourth day of adventure. Consulting with Ted we decided to forgo a dirt section that would take us through the Duck Valley Reservation on NV-226 that might be iffy in the rain that was forecast for the afternoon. Remember, we were born to be mild, having outgrown the wild birth stage of our lives…

It’s perhaps a shame that I didn’t break out the GoPro for yet another view of the road from my handlebars. I figured the Ruby Mountain Ramble video was enough of mile-after-mile of monotonous, but at times breathtaking, scenery. And, if you’re not a music nerd, there probably aren’t enough of dramatic cinematic dopamine triggers keep you engaged. That and I don’t own a drone. So the few still photos we took will have to give you some perspective of the landscapes.

The Owyhee River near the Wild Horse Crossing campground

Volcanic remnant off of NV-225 looking northwest
Yep, born to be wild horses

Not much to see in Owyhee, a small reservation town on the vast volcanic lava flow plain. After a stop for a snack and some nalgas relief, we turned tail to make our way back to the South Fork Recreation campground, but not before stopping for a water bottle leak in Pete’s top case, absorbed by the roll of Scott Shop Towels he always carries and a few interesting sites along the road.

A pioneer’s cabin across from Four Mile Creek, a tributary to
the North Fork of the Humboldt River, on NV-225

The Independence Range whose watershed irrigates the foreground pastures

I have mentioned in prior blogs my associate, Pete’s, heritage. He’s Basque by way of his father. Nevada is renowned for its Basque population, especially in the Elko area so naturally we sought out the best Basque restaurant in town, The Star.

As with many Basque restaurants, there was usually lodging associated with the family dining area to accommodate migrant shepherds attending to herds of sheep and this was true of The Star. We had a wonderful lunch including a Picon Punch I first learned about in Los Banos, near our home in Merced, at the Woolgrowers. According to 23andMe, I have just under 1% Basque heritage myself (that is likely attributed to my promiscuous Neanderthal ancestors).

The of the scenes of what would become a frenzied search for a lost wallet…

Making our way to the campground south of Elko, we stopped for fuel in Spring Creek, a suburb of the growing Elko population and our commercial base of operations where fuel, both fossil and fermented, were acquired.

As I pulled up to the pump and executed the fueling ritual of removing gloves, removing the tank bag, inserting the key into the cap, and reaching for my wallet, I realized it wasn’t nestled in its customary chest pocket.

Needless to say, panic struck! I’m on the road in the middle of a seven day ramble and have lost my wallet somewhere during the day. I last remember using my credit card to purchase fuel at the very same Sinclair gas station that morning. I naively thought to inquire at the station’s convenience store if anyone had turned in a wallet.

The disinterested cashier yelled across the store to another employee who mumbled something and said there was nothing in a basket resembling a wallet.

After I paid for the fuel with cash and was given $4 and change, I asked, “So you think I can make it back to California on four bucks?”

She replied, “You’re screwed. Look around. Do you think someone would turn in a wallet?”

I should have known better. This is the only Sinclair station we had stopped at that didn’t have a Dino. There was a pad for the Dino. Apparently Dino had been abducted. This did not ensure confidence.

I dialed the Star restaurant and a bit more reassuringly the attentive staff remembered us and stated that after a search there was no wallet near where we were seated.

I had enough cash to make it home on our remaining three days but it was the drivers license, credit cards, insurance cards, and god forbid, my National Parks Senior Pass that would have to be cancelled and replaced. I then called my wife after using the app on my phone to put a hold on my Citi credit card, which, as it turns out, I later hastily canceled. Toni works for the local School Employees Credit Union. She took care of my backup CU Visa and reminded me that I still had my Apple credit card in my phone’s wallet. A small measure of relief. One of many fringe benefits to my marriage…

As we made our way back to the camp that afternoon, Ted with Coors Lights awaiting our arrival, I was somewhat crestfallen after what was otherwise a beautiful day on the moto rambling through exquisite terrain. Not much for celebration, I opted for a shower to wash away my woes.

While stowing my armored jacket and pants, that I had by this time searched in every pocket multiple times, I felt the small rectangular form of my wallet that I had perhaps in haste earlier mistaken for CE armor. A flood of relief overcame me. I unzipped a vent on the front of the jacket, opposite the pocket in which I usually stored my wallet, and guess what? Lost wallet frenzy extinguished!

Fortunately the mesh liner inside of the jacket held the wallet in place.

Wallet firmly in grasp, we made our way back to town for dinner. After grabbing a bite to eat in Spring Creek at the counter service Mexican restaurant attached to the Casino, we returned to camp after an exhausting search for wine for my pompous palate, where I eventually enjoyed a glass or two of Pinot and Pete a cerveza o dos. We then set about on a stroll about the campground, a warm campfire, some stargazing and our fourth day of adventure and misadventure was complete.

On our evening ritual of a walkabout the lake

A Ruby Mountain moonrise warmed by campfire

I have an app on my phone called Skyview that identifies constellations, planets and other objects in the night sky placing virtual images of those objects in the direction the phone’s camera is pointed relative to their position in space.

As is a familiar ritual, well into the night I was up to see a man about a mule and it just so happened that Saturn, Uranus, Jupiter, Mars, the Moon, Venus and Mercury were all visible by way of the app, though not all without magnification to the naked eye throughout the night.

Top left clockwise Skyview images: Saturn, Venus, the Hubble Space Telescope and International Space Station, Mars, and Mercury. Jupiter was visible too.

Often on our campouts, we see satellites, like Starlink and others. We jest about them being UAP’s. Earlier in the evening we saw the Hubble Space Telescope and the International Space Station streak across the sky just after sunset. They’re only briefly visible as the rotation of Earth and the angle of the setting sun reflects off of them in their transit about the planet.

Day 5 / Thursday, Sept 11 – South Fork Recreation Area to Tonopah, NV

South Fork Recreation Area to Tonopah NV ~294 miles

Retrace US-80 W from Elko to NV-278 S to Eureka. US-50 to the junction with NV-376. South on NV-376 to junction with US-6 W to Tonopah.
Get room at Best Western Hi-Desert Inn in Tonopah across the street from Tonopah Brewing
Tour the downtown and the Mizpah and Belvada Hotels

BTW, have I mentioned I never met a sunrise or sunset that wasn’t spectacular.

Another stunning Ruby Mountains sunrise…

We enjoy documenting our rambles. I with my monotonous videos and inspired landscapes. Pete too, works hard at photographically capturing the essence of our motocamping experience. He composes each shot, carefully choosing the angle and composition, especially the backdrop for a photo, setting up and tweaking a tripod and fussing with the timer to express a pictorial narrative of epic adventure.

Then I come along to tell another version of the tale.

The feeling when you realize your wallet is safely in your pocket

Soon we would be leaving our outstanding experiences in northeastern Nevada. After exchanging pleasantries with Ted, whose excellent campground oversight and generosity will be the standard by which all future camp experiences are measured, along with my sharing contact information, we bid adieu to the South Fork State Recreation Area.

A shameless plug for the blog I leave at the first sign of interest… Actually, I don’t even wait for a sign before stuffing a card into the hand of an unwitting addition to my 82 fans!

It was on to Tonopah as our destination for day five via the Nevada Scenic Byways of NV-278, US-50, and NV-376. All with great views, some with vistas reaching over 50 miles in this basin and range geography in Nevada that is second to none.

But first we needed to fuel up for those long lonely stretches of pavement awaiting us. We stopped in Carlin for breakfast, passing a fuel stop we used earlier in the week happening upon a great retro looking cafe, The State Cafe, Bar, Casino.

Though intriguing, it was too early for an eye-opener, with too many miles before us, or slots, so we opted for breakfast at the adjacent cafe.

Ahh, biscuits and gravy
Almost as good as my wife’s, Toni’s

I’ve noted in past posts that Pete has an outsized appetite for his svelte appearance. I, on the other hand, given my hillbilly genetic predisposition of loading on excess caloric storage (fat) have to work hard to even maintain my semi-svelteness. Pete ate half of my breakfast in addition to his. Thanks Pete. I’m able to throw a leg over the motorcyle because of your help with my calorie restriction.

Back on the road again, we stopped briefly for nalgas relief and some hydration at the junction of US-50 and NV-376. We could see the clouds forming above the Toiyabe Range that augured thunder showers.

Adorning rain gear, we encountered foretold showers and a little hail between Kingston and Carvers for maybe 20 or so miles. It was all refreshing until we saw ground lightning strike at the base of the Toiyabes, not that far from the road.

Once out of the thunderstorm we dried quickly in the warm afternoon temps.

Near Carver we passed the Round Mountain Gold Mine, operated by Kinross Gold, which produced approximately 324,277 ounces of gold in the financial year 2020. Another example of the boom and bust cycles in Nevada. The mine has a long history, having first opened in 1906 and transitioning from underground to open pit mining over the years. Its projected annual production (2025): Approximately 2.0 million gold equivalent ounces (Wiki). Consider this, the price of gold at $3,855.00 per ounce as of this writing x 2 million ounces would be worth $7,710,000,000. Before expenses.

Round Mountain Gold Mine (Image “scrubbed,” to use AI *parlance*, from the interwebs)

Interestingly, when I asked Ted, our camphost with the mostest, what he figured in his responsibility for overseeing gold extraction in his mining career, he had never thought about the value of his work in those terms. In fact, he called an old mining buddy to discuss this unanticipated quandary.

I hope to hear from him about what toiling underground for thirty six years for, “sixteen tons and what do I get, but another day older and deeper in debt…” (For my younger readers: Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Ernie Ford Yeah, yeah, it’s about coal mining, but you get the point, right?)

Of course gold prices have fluctuated over time, but it seems that there is a reason the Discovery Channel still produces episodes of the reality show, Gold Rush and the half dozen spinoffs the show has generated. A guilty pleasure for this environmentally conscious denizen.

Happy campers anticipating a good night’s sleep on a soft mattress up off the ground

We arrived in Tonopah in mid afternoon. After unpacking we embarked on a walk about downtown to shake off the miles in the saddle. Upon entering one of the most acclaimed buildings in Tonopah, we discovered the role of the Cline family, Sonoma California vintners through their Cline Family Ventures, of the restoration of the Mizpah and Belvada Hotels built in the early 1900’s. The Family Ventures was responsible for the establishment of the Tonopah Brewing Company too. You can read about the family in the article, Vintners breath new life in historic Nevada Town by John M. Glionna, from the Las Vegas Review-Journal, February 7, 2016.

At the time of its opening, the Mizpah was the tallest building in the state and featured modern luxuries such as an electric elevator, steam heat, and hot and cold running water. The hotel quickly became a social and business hub for miners, investors, and visitors. The Belvada originally opened as a bank in 1907 but shuttered four months later as yet another classic example of boom and bust mining economies. After closing in 1999, the Mizpah and Belvada remained vacant until 2011 when Fred and Nancy Cline, with deep family ties to the region, purchased and carefully restored them.

Why stop at restoring one historic property in Tonopah when you can add a pip

Pete with a burrrgherrr and fries and me with a grilled chicken bacon sammie with cole slaw
accompanied by well rounded, lightly hopped, Mucker Reds

The Cline Family venture added to their Tonopah trifecta by creating the Tonopah Brewing Company right across the street, US-6, from our Best Western Great Basin Inn. After solid pub grub, we settled in for the evening relaxing, rehydrating, and reflecting on five days on the road. Tomorrow, a short romp to Bridgeport and the Paradise Cove Campground.

Day 6 / Friday, Sept 12 – Tonopah to Bridgeport

Tonopah to Bridgeport ~160 miles

US-95 to US-6 to Benton and CA-120 to US-395 N to Bridgeport.

Our route for this day’s ride is well known. We’ve collectively traveled over this portion of the basin and range a couple of dozen times, in fact I once rode over the very same road on a bicycle in 1993 (See: The Tour de Life A Tribute to a Dear Friend, Larry Johnston). A favorite stretch on the moto is the CA-120 leg from Benton Hot Springs to Lee Vining, something of a roller coaster with broad sweepers.

By noon we arrived in Bridgeport. We set up our campsite and enjoyed a refreshing beverage as we contemplated the weather.

After briefly retreating to our respective ripstop abodes as a squall passed through, we emerged deciding when and where to have dinner and whether we needed to gear up for the weather.

After a brief discussion, it was decided that we head into town and have dinner at the Bridgeport Inn. Famished, as we hadn’t had breakfast sustained only by a cookie from the motel lobby in Tonopah as we left, it was comforting to see meatloaf on the menu. I am a comfort food sorta guy as is my associate so we both ordered the meatloaf, mash, and a salad.

It was a Friday night in Bridgeport and as we were dining the skies let loose. That’s also when we noticed a large number of “Adventure Motorcycles” from that Bavarian manufacturer looming about. It turns out that an informal group of ramblers from Southern California were on a weekender and were staying at the Inn.

Perhaps it was because of fatigue or the weather that I didn’t snap a picture of the motorcycles that were parked near ours in front of the Inn. Nor did I document our conversation with a member of the group who shared his ride up from SoCal. That or I am guilty of making fun of those pictures of motorcycles taken in front of Starbucks. The Bridgeport Inn is no Starbucks and so I’m modestly apologetic for making fun of gratuitous motorcycle shots in front of Starbucks and equating that to the Bridgeport Inn. Oh, and for not having a photo.

The campground host and hostess were a delightful couple who hailed from Ohio. The camp was readying to close for the winter. We decided to purchase two bundles of wood and were determined to hold out for some stars as we anticipated two of the three R’s over a campfire. Recent storms had soaked the wood, even though wrapped in plastic film. My associate and I had a real struggle to start a fire, at one point resorting to using my battery powered tire inflator to oxygenate the paltry flames. I was frantically splitting kindling from the larger pieces as Pete knelt over the flames, blowing to bolster the single element necessary of the three to make fire.

Though we are born to be mild, there was just enough of our neanderthal genome present such that our quest for fire finally generated enough heat to sustain a blaze. The red filter of my headlamp cast an eerily hue of Pete’s hyperventilation of the puny blaze.

“Ughu,” translated from Neanderthal, “Victory!” We were intent to burn every last log before retreating to our tents. The skies cleared, somewhat, allowing for a spectacular star studded moonrise. No ambiguity there…

Billions of galaxies of billions of stars only slightly obscured by magnificent clouds…

By now you have noticed I try to bracket the beginning and ending of each day with a sunrise and sunset photo respectively. I would be remiss to not suggest a reasoned explanation of the cosmology to which I have such regard and awe. This is not something I do just on these motorcycle rambles. It’s a bit of my “spirituality” I try to practice regularly having abandoned, And now I lay me down to sleep…

I offer you Dr. Sagan and invite you to enjoy a moment of respect to stand at the edge of forever… You must understand, I am forever an educator and though retired from the occupation, I continue to cultivate an enlightened understanding of the very phenomenon that produces my regard and awe to which I retire at the end of the day and embrace each new day.

CARL SAGAN COSMOS Episode 10 The Edge Of Forever

Day 7 / Saturday, Sept 13 – Bridgeport → Home

Bridgeport –> Home ~152 miles over Sonora Pass, 168 miles over Tioga Pass

There’s not much that’s complicated about our homeward leg of this seven day Ruby Mountain Ramble. We did need to wait for the sun to rise and dry things out.

Imagine awakening to a fog bank. Crawling out of our tents, we were met with wetness from within (condensation) and wetness from without, (drizzle). But the ever-ready JetBoil mochas took away the chill warming within as well as without.

Fortunately, though fall was in the air, the sunrise went to work drying out our gear as we packed for our last leg of the Ruby Mountains Ramble, homeward bound.

As we were breaking camp, a conversation with a dad we’d briefly encountered the afternoon before, who had that faraway look in his eyes as we shared our journey, turned into what has become a frequent discussion of motorcycles past and present with new acquaintances. He was with his family of five children, wife, and dog who late in the day before, expertly backed their gigantic 38 foot trailer behind his heavy duty pickup into a narrow RV space. He saw that Pete and I watched intently, feeling pressure, but performing like Mac Jones in Brock Purdy’s absence in three divisional wins… (I’m composing this some three weeks after the actual ramble). If that makes no sense, we awarded him straight 10’s.

He shared that he too had motorcycles, an enduro and a Harley, that were gathering dust as soccer, toddlers, and a soon to be high schooler preempted dirt and wind therapy sessions on two wheels. For now it was 10 wheels and RV park therapy with his family. We were both impressed and expressed our admiration for his familial commitment.

We bid adieu to our campground neighbors, Bob and Marge across from us who got into an argument the day before as Bob tried well in excess of the number of tries to back his truck and trailer into their site for his fragile pride. There was the cigarette smoking veteran who shared his experience on baggers across the basin and range of Nevada, along with our committed dad and his tribe, as well as our camphosts who were very attentive to the Paradise Shores infrastructure during our brief stay.

…and to the family of quail who resided along the shore of the Bridgeport Reservoir. Just how many quail qualify as a covey?

After a quick gas station refuel and breakfast of tomato juice for me and a cup of joe and deli sandwich for Pete, we decided to take CA-108 back over Sonora Pass. Overdressed for the ride over the pass, we stopped briefly at Kennedy Meadows to de-layer before arriving back home a few hours later, all the better for our mild ride or epic adventure. You can decide for yourself.

Born to be mild…

Epilogue

1,444 miles on the trip meter. Another ramble that I hope my sometimes rambling narrative provides inspiration to get out and do it because as Stephen Bruton sings in World’s Fading Man,

Has anybody here

can you find my shadow

Like a slow burning candle

I thought it would last

Seems like I’ve lost

What was too hard to handle

Now there’s less of my future and more of my past

Just ‘cause you can’t recall

don’t mean it didn’t happen

Just ‘cause you can remember

don’t mean that it did

And while you’re at it, Take it Easy

2025 Chasing the Perseids

Sisyphus and his Associate are on the road to the Ruby’s in NW Nevada

An August Ramble in the Sierra

Where, How Far, and When?

Lake Thomas A. Edison and the Mono Creek watershed

A recurring theme of Sisyphusdw7.com is place, distance, and time. There’s meeting people, too. Concerning the long form of this blog, I’m no Peter Egan. I admire Peter Egan as I admire John Steinbeck and Edward Abby. There are many others, (Wallace Stegner, Gerald Haslam, John McPhee, Bill Bryson) all of whom write of their observations of place, in time, often in travel, some fictionalized, that inspires this modest fellow’s aspirations for travel observation in my time.

While the clock and calendar cannot be denied, let’s see what Sisyphus is obsessed with these days now that there’s less of his future and more of his past.

What Determines Where and When We Ride?

To move from one location to another, exposed as one is on a motorcycle, consideration of conditions within a region, the climate and the impact of geography determines where and when we ride. Particularly over the reach of our explorations in the Western States, the majority of which involve camping on these exploits I have reported in Sisyphusdw7.com.

Elements such as weather and climate, elevation and terrain, population and public and private land use, state boundaries and their individual laws and civic codes, and road surface conditions all combine to determine the routes we take. We find ourselves rambling through regions as our best guess to where, how far, and when these elements will combine to yield the best results for a memorable ramble.

How Far?

When considering how far we can travel, time is of course a huge determinant in the distance we can reasonably cover notwithstanding all of the other variables. Using a somewhat knotty calculation, I arrive at an itinerary that is far from certain given any of those variables noted above that one might encounter. Our motto: Start slow and then taper…

Of the three rides planned for 2025, two are at present, complete. The spring ride to Three State Parks, over five days in perfect weather along the central coast over good roads, with modest daily mileage, combined for a memorable ramble.

The most recent summer jaunt, the August Ramble in the Sierra, three days in the Sierra over rough backroads was, despite a challenging sand crossing on Kaiser Pass Road, aces.

More about that ride follows.

A longer, seven day Ramble in the Ruby’s slated for early/mid September in Northeastern Nevada is too far out at at this time I’m writing to have reliable weather forecasts, but the unreliable 15 day forecasts are looking good. So, it will be whether weather will determine where, how far, and because we’ve established when to roll, how this ramble in the Ruby’s will pan out.

For the longest time, we wanted to head north and east to explore the basin and range of Northern Nevada, perhaps Oregon, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming.

From your middle school math and science class, you may recall that Time = Distance / Speed. As the speed grows the time needed to travel a given distance will decrease and vice versa. Come on Sisyphus, that’s intuitive, why all of the equation stuff? I taught middle school kids for 24 of my 37 years as a teacher. I tried my best to impart the beauty of something that we take for granted, like time and motion, stripping it of the multitude of meanings to a simple formula that when applying a few data points, can lead to an irrefutable conclusion. You know, like “there’s less of his future and more of his past”.

Remember, one of the variables listed above was individual state laws and civic codes and speed is governed in California and generally enforced. In other words, enforced speed limits increase the time and reduce the speed and distance one can travel. Not to mention the vagaries of weather, influences of terrain, road surfaces, and availability of food, fuel, and lodging whether camping or moteling.

Whether the Weather

Long, lonesome, isolated desert roads are wonderful. Unless it’s 100+ degrees or a state trooper decides you’ve exceeded the speed limit. So, to travel at least near legal speeds, you really prefer cooler weather.

Crossing deserts is out at least until things cool down a bit. Hopefully our September 7th departure for the Ruby’s will see a heat regime that’s settling in over Nevada and much of the southwest, abate, at least a bit. That’s about as far as we can allocate the time to make the distance with a nod to how weather variables get a bit more active as fall approaches. Neither Sisyphus nor his associate are big fans of riding in hot, dry, and windy, or in cold, wet, and windy conditions.

We also have a life off the motos and that life defines the elasticity of the calendar. The week of September 7 through 13 works. We can’t make Montana or Wyoming, but Northeastern Nevada ain’t bad.

From the itinerary I prepared the week before we departed on our most recent ramble to Lake Thomas A. Edison and the narrative describing the events:

Chasing the Perseids, An August 2025 Ramble in Sierra

Day 1 – Merced to Lake Thomas Edison

Merced to Lake Edison ~141 miles

CA-140 to Santa Fe Ave, Ave 26, and Rd 29.
Rd 603, Rd.400 to CA-145 E, and Rd 206 to Friant.
Millerton Rd, Auberry Rd to junction with CA-168 in Prather.
CA-168, Kaiser Pass Rd, Edison Lake Rd to Vermillion Campground

Elevation profile: Huntington Lake (left), Kaiser Pass, Mono Creek, Edison Lake

At 7:00 AM on Tuesday, August 12 we met at the Chevron station on Yosemite Ave. and G St. The temperature was a comfortable 60ish degrees. In between the outset of the ramble and our destination the temps ranged from 65 to around 100 degrees.

After a stop in Friant we enjoyed some cooling, in the shade. Exposed on CA-168, we reached some relief as elevation above Shaver Lake saw a twenty degree cooling. At Huntington Lake (6,665 ft), it was in the mid 80’s in the sun, but shade provided another 15 degrees 0f relief. Once on the final leg to Edison Lake, intermittent shade from the forest canopy alongside the road made for comfortable, yet slow progress on what would be a goat path to Edison.

By the time we reached even cooler temps, we had made it to Lake Thomas A. Edison, set up camp and began resting, rehydrating, and reflecting. In other words, it was mid/late afternoon. The breeze in the shade was delicious. The exposure to the sun, unrelenting until the sun began to set.

Remember T = D / S (Time equals Distance divided by Speed)? Mostly obeying the speed limits along the route from our home that morning to Huntington Lake, where one encounters Edison Lake Rd, aka goat path, was a distance of approximately 116 miles taking roughly 2.5 hours, or 2.5 = 116 / x, or an average speed of 46.4 mph (6th grade algebra). It seemed that there was a lot more rolling at 65 mph+, but speed limited zones and stopping to stretch and have a snack and some fluids will affect the average speed significantly. Something Google Maps doesn’t take into account when calculating arrival times.

The road to Edison Lake took roughly (literally a rough road) 1 hr. and 45 minutes to travel approximately 23 miles or, 1.78 = 23 / x, an average speed of 8 mph. Enough mathing already!

Kaiser Pass Rd is a single lane sometimes paved road to Edison Lake from Huntington Lake. The road hits a steep 12% gradient and feels like a goat path for most of its length: 1½ lanes at its widest, winding, exposed, and riddled with potholes and large missing segments of pavement. The road was built in the early 1920’s as part of the Southern California Edison’s Big Creek Hydroelectric Project, and opened up access to the remote High Sierra. After two years of building, the road was completed in 1922, it enabled vehicles to reach deep into the mountains, connecting critical water resources and creating new recreational opportunities.

The first 5 miles are over a relatively smooth two-lane road, but the final 12 miles narrows to a curvy, paved single lane limited to as slow as is possible on the pegs to keep a motorcycle erect to a max of 20 MPH.

Three sections have dramatic cliff exposure. The decaying sections are pot-holed and to describe as rough is charitable. There are sections where the road is covered by sand washed down from surrounding terrain. There are other sections that have recently been repaved. How the decision to repave was made is a mystery given the condition of the un-repaved sections.

Once past the Southern California Edison Portal Forebay and USFS High Sierra Ranger Station, the road narrows further and has many tight switchbacks with steep elevation gains; there are several blind curves carved out of the exposed granite with precipitous drop-offs opposite granite walls.

One of the less perilous single lane stretches of Kaiser Pass Rd

We met several vehicles, head-on, coming down as we were going up. Because we were a bit more nimble than the four wheeled vehicles, the majority of the cars and trucks we encountered were cautious and courteous, allowing us to pass safely.

There were however several folks who seemed to have no concept of yielding to allow our bikes to proceed. This, was you might imagine, stressful. I took to laying on the horn as we approached the blind switchbacks hoping that the speed and windows of approaching vehicles were rolled down and sound systems were turned down listening to Metallica by spirited motorists in off-road behemoths.

A First Encounter with the Gauntlett

Kaiser Pass Road is primarily paved, but there are some unpaved sections, especially as you approach the summit and beyond. The road can become rougher and narrower, particularly after the main summit area, where it transitions into a smaller track leading to Mono Hot Springs.

The bridge across Mono Creek just up from the Mono Hot Springs

After passing several sandy sections of road beyond Mono Hot Springs, there was a slight descent on a stretch of mysterious, recently repaved surface. At the base of the descent, there was a section of about 30 feet of glacial sand washed over the road in what was likely deposited by a seasonal creek that flowed across the road. Other sandy sections proceeding this one were easily negotiated as the depth of the sand was an inch or so atop the pavement.

In the lead, I entered the sand cautiously, unaware of how deep it was. It was not long before I lost the front end of the bike and nearly dropped it. There were two tracks with berms in the middle and on either side. I heard Pete in the coms shouting, “I’m down,” behind me just as he entered the sand.

Since I was supporting some 600+ pounds of motorcycle and gear with my left leg, the bike at a 45 degree tilt, after asking Pete if he was okay, I implored him to make his way as quickly as possible to assist me righting the Moto Guzzi as my boot was slipping in the unstable sand. I didn’t want to drop the Guzzi.

Pete climbed from beneath his V-Strom and rushed over to me. We were able to get the bike upright and I made my way out of the sand, carefully clutching and reeving the Guzzi with Pete pushing me to stable pavement. I then threw down the kickstand to help Pete with his V-Strom that was lying on its side. About that time a good samaritan who earlier had pulled over allowing us to pass, stopped his car and helped us push Pete’s bike as he cautiously throttled, however, spinning the rear wheel in the soft grit. Grit that made its way to my face.

As usual, a malfunctioning GoPro I thought was capturing this leg of the ride wasn’t recording…

I found this short video on YouTube. It will give you an idea of what a portion of the Kaiser Pass Road looks like. Shout out to Alexander Avtanski for sharing.

Kaiser Pass Road by Alexander Avtanski

The Vermillion Valley Resort

Arriving at the Vermillion Campground just above the VVR we found it was sparsely populated. Our campsite, selected over the interwebs, was like all of the other campsites, except Site 25 was completely exposed to the afternoon sun. Ideal for Perseid meteor watching, but a tad warm for setting up camp.

There was a small parking area, a table, a fire ring, a steel bear box, and a couple flat spots to pitch tents. Despite few occupied sites throughout the campground, there were tags indicating reservations of up to a two week span including and following our two night reservation.

We thought about poaching a shady campsite that was reserved for a period after we would be leaving. So we hiked back to the Camp Host, who was nowhere to be found, to share our intent. Deciding to not cause any confusion for the host as we would vacate our site spending the next day riding back to Mono Hot Springs then to Florence Lake to explore, we kept Site 25.

Since we were hunkered down for the afternoon we decided to stroll back to the Vermillion Resort to rehydrate, relax, and reflect on the day’s ups-and-downs and check out the dinner menu and beverage cooler.

SysiphusDW7 strolling along the shore of Lake Thomas A. Edison

From the National Geographic Sierra Nevada Geotourism page:

For those hungry hikers and campers, we [Vermillion Valley Resort] offer fresh baked pies and wholesome hearty meals at the restaurant which is open to both guests and the general public. The VVR Camp Store offers basic grocery supplies, hiker resupply foods and supplies, ice and fishing gear, t-shirts, maps & books. And, most importantly, we offer one of the largest selections of micro-brews and locally-brewed beers in the Sierra Nevada.

They had us on “largest selections.”

Dinner that night was a choice of spaghetti with a meat marinara or a tofu salad. There were micro and locally-brewed beers in this decidedly remote spot in the Sierra National Forest, miles from the equally limited services at Mono Hot Springs. Though the “largest selections” part was a bit of an exaggeration. We opted for the bisguetti.

Huntington Lake or Shaver Lake would have a greater variety of choices for mangia and beve, but the laws of supply and demand provided food and beverage at 7,600 feet at a cost one might associate with a Giant’s game at Oracle Park. The quality of the dinner was surprisingly satisfying.

The free backpacker’s campground in front of the store was chock full of hikers who were preparing to hike out, those who dropped off of the Muir or Pacific Crest trails to resupply, or posers pretending to be hikers for the free camp space, many of whom shared this night’s fare.

Lake Thomas A. Edison

The Vermillion Valley Resort (VVR) is at the trailhead to the Mono Recesses and is a resupply site for hikers on the Pacific Crest Trail. Lake Thomas A Edison (also known as Edison Lake) is a reservoir in the Sierra National Forest and in Fresno County, California.

The reservoir’s waters are impounded by Vermilion Valley Dam, which was completed in 1954, 71 years ago, (No need to subtract, I know this as I was born in 1954).

The reservoir and dam are part of the Big Creek Hydroelectric Project. The project is operated by Southern California Edison. The reservoir discharges into Mono Creek, a tributary of the South Fork San Joaquin River. However, some of its water is diverted to Huntington Lake by means of the Ward Tunnel that follows a section of the Edison Lake Road.

The Ward Tunnel power plant discharging into Huntington Lake

Today, these facilities include 27 dams, miles of tunnels, and 24 generating units in nine powerhouses with a total installed capacity of more than 1,000 megawatts. Its six major reservoirs have a combined storage capacity of more than 560,000 acre-feet (690,000 dam³). The waters of the San Joaquin River eventually find their way to the Central Valley to irrigate crops after providing recreation on those six major reservoirs.

The lake is three hours away by car from Fresno. Five hours away by motorcycle from Merced. The road in, CA-168, crosses Kaiser Pass (elevation 9,175 feet) and closes during the winter months.

A separate road off Kaiser Pass Rd forks off to Florence Lake. The United States Forest Service does not recommend Kaiser Pass Road for buses, large motor homes, or vehicles towing trailers. We were amazed at how the Mono Hot Springs and Edison Lake infrastructure was hauled up the hill on that narrow path the feds now recommend to avoid. I guess the railroad that was built into the area and since abandoned made for hauling the really big stuff.

A ferry crosses Lakes Edison and Florence twice a day that may be inactive due to extreme low levels of water providing travel service to/from the trailheads and can be arranged through Vermillion Valley Resort or the Florence Lake Resort when open.

Hikers may follow a trail along the north side of the lake for trail access, linking Vermilion Valley Resort with the John Muir Wilderness trailhead and providing access to and from the John Muir Trail and Pacific Crest Trail. I’ve used the ferry service at both lakes on a couple of backpacks. It was worth it, especially on the return leg.

Chasing the Perseids

Since we were in the high Sierra during the annual peak Perseid meteor shower (See 2024 Perseid Meteor Shower last year’s trip to Bridgeport) we were prepared for a feast of streaking meteors as the skies darkened, at least until the waning crescent moon rose. It was a comfortable 60ish degrees as the sun began to set. Clouds that had been building since morning were now reflecting the light filtered by the atmosphere giving everything the alpenglow that is characteristic of sunrises and sunsets in the Sierra. We were pretty sure it wouldn’t rain and that the clouds would dissipate before prime viewing time.

Clouds but no rain

As temps dipped into the fifties, we did see a few meteors along with many UAP’s (satellites and aircraft as usual) crossing the night sky against the backdrop of the Milky Way. Since we didn’t have a fire permit, there was no campfire to mesmerize us and after downing the last of our $12/can beverages, we retired with the intent of visiting Florence Lake after breakfast the next day at the Mono Hot Springs.

Day 2 – More Sand and a Change in Plans

We did a quick calculation of our fuel levels as we got underway Wednesday morning given that the closest gas, we assumed, was at Huntington Lake. We assumed, since on the previous day we saw vehicles refueling. To get to Florence Lake we had to travel 19 miles back up and down the goat path. To get back to Huntington Lake was another 28 miles of goat path. Fuel consumption at 10 mph over the undulating terrain was much less than the 45+ mpg we would normally get on flatter terrain.

Our plan was to have breakfast at the Mono Hot Springs Resort then head down to Huntington Lake for gas, just to be on the safe side. The restaurant wasn’t open, however, the cook was making breakfast burritos that were available at the Mono Hot Springs Store filled with a modest inventory of snacks, camping, hiking, and fishing supplies and T/sweatshirts. The store, not the burritos. Oh, and beer.

I asked the cashier what they did with all of the inventory in the store when winter closed the road and the resorts were emptied. She said they put non-food items in bins on the highest shelves and any perishable food items were taken down the hill. Non-perishable items were stored in a metal shipping container. Apparently flooding and bears are active during the winter months. Also there is no caretaker who stays for the winter. The store and restaurant are routinely broken into by hungry bears, like Yogi, in search of pick-e-nick baskets.

After a hearty breakfast burrito we began the descent to Huntington for gas. Once again we were faced with what Pete referred to as “The Gauntlet”, that sandy section of Kaiser Pass Rd we unsuccessfully encountered the day before.

We decided the best strategy was to slow down to a pace where we would “waddle” through the sand, keeping our feet down, essentially walking the bikes through the sand keeping handlebars straight and with a steady throttle.

Pete went first successfully making his way across. I entered and about two thirds of the way through, I crossed from the left wheel track left by four-wheeled vehicles, hitting the center berm and dropped the Guzzi, my right arm tucked into my ribs, as the weight of the bike pressed me into the right wheel track berm. Though the bike was lighter since I ditched the two side cans, it was nevertheless, OUCH!

I was immediately reminded of A Moment’s Inattention where in 2022 I broke my right ankle, three ribs, and injured my right shoulder missing the apex of a tight hairpin low speed curve. Fortunately the sand was much more forgiving than the roadside near Lake Nacimiento and my speed was essentially zero.

I did feel pain in my ribs, but the adrenaline was flowing and after righting the bike, we made our way to Huntington Lake only to find that the gas pump that was operational the day before when we stopped at the China Peak Landing was shut down. Our only option was to ride some 26 more miles down to Shaver Lake for gas. Bummer Batman!

Since it was noonish by the time we made it to Shaver Lake, we topped-off our tanks. What? I had two gallons left in my 5.5+ gallon tank even though the fuel indicator on the TFT said I had less than 60 miles left in the tank… Pete decided to grab slightly less expensive beverages for the evening rest, rehydration, and reflection meteor sighting session to make amends.

Upon our return to camp the Gauntlet was approached for a third, with even greater caution, time. I led waddling my bike, step-by-step, straight as an arrow in the right side wheel track, successfully crossing as did Pete who followed. Too bad it took two failed efforts to figure out the key to deep sand crossings.

Dinner back at the VVR was chicken parm or a tofu wrap. The carnivores opted for the parm. The way dinner worked was when a bell was rung, you scurried to the register to give your name and dinner selection. Then, after maybe a 20 or so minute wait, the chef would shout your name from the kitchen. We enjoyed modestly priced Miller High Lifes (Lives?) at $5 each as we patiently waited enjoying the rhythms of the VVR.

There is an internet hub at the resort with several charging towers and for a fee, starting at $10 dollars for two hours of service. Needless to say there was nothing on Netflix that either Pete nor I wished not to miss. Nothing, nor, not? A triple negative?

After witnessing a finger-into-the-chest, ass-chewing by one of the VVR staff ostensibly over an alleged graffitiing of the rest/shower room by one of the blokes in the interned shed, who needed the contrived drama of a Netflix flick? We saved $10 staying off-grid, enough for two more Millers, but opted for two Arrogant Bastards. That put us $12 in the red. But mom, the magic beans were at least equivalent in value to the cow if not more valuable.

Random sights along the shore of Lake Thomas A. Edison

The meteors and UAP’s were pretty much the same as the night before. A mom and three-year-old daughter on a Strider bike whose family arrived after dark the night before to an adjacent campsite, were enjoying a little romp around the campground road.

The three year old was fearless as she descended a gentle slope back to their campsite. Mom commented that her fearlessness was likely the result of their neighbor’s young boys who had built a modest BMX course in there front yard back home. Apparently the little girl joins them on her strider attacking the jumps with gusto. I speculated to mom that a moto may be in her little one’s future. Mom cringed…

At around the time the generator at the VVR shut down at 10:00 pm, we decided to retire since tomorrow we would break camp and return home with the prospect of one more crossing of the Gauntlet to shape our dreams.

Day 3 – The Myth of the Gauntlet

Florence Lake Home ~156 miles

Via Ca-168 to Auberry and Powerhouse Rd., Rd-222, to Northfork Rd., to Rd-221, to Teafords Saddle Rd., to Crane Valley Rd., to Rd-226 to Oakhurst.
CA-4-/49 to Mariposa, CA-140 home.

After a decent night’s sleep except for some rib irritation, breaking camp proceeded, fueled by JetBoiled cafe mochas; Roughing it as it’s known in the post Mark Twain West.

We toyed with the idea of going to Florence Lake (El 7,300 ft) but the Florence Lake Resort, even more spartan than the VVR, was closed. We figured that the road to Florence Lake was likely less maintained than the road to Edison Lake and decided to skip the trip, opting to make our way down the hill before the afternoon heat would make the final 95 mile slog home unbearable.

When we arrived in Shaver Lake, we had a bite to eat at The Hungry Hut. A buuuurger for Pete and a BLT for me. Tasty.

The ride from Shaver on CA-168 was thrilling since riding at or near the speed limit was different, in fact exhilarating, from the limit to speed imposed by the goat paths we’d been on for a couple of days.

After a quick stop in Friant to enjoy a beverage and soak our evaporative cooling vests, we tackled the dry and dusty foothills and flats of the valley. The thing about a cooling vest is that while it does serve to provide the sensation of cooling, it is much like the swamp coolers of my youth. The cooling is tempered by the clammy humidity the vest generates under the mesh jacket. But it beats the feeling of being in an air-fryer.

When I arrived home and pulled into my driveway, the temperature gauge on the Guzzi indicated 99 degrees. And just like that, a warm greeting from SoBe and a cool shower buttoned-up another memorable ramble by SisyphusDW7 and his Associate, Pete.

Cheers!

Coming up on Sisyphusdw7.com, The Ramble in the Ruby’s

2025 Three State Campgrounds in Five Days

April 7 – 11, 2025

Preface

The only intelligence used in creating this post was mine as Sisyphus, my pseudonym. Well, the final photograph was a mashup of two of my photos I tasked ChatGPT to make. Any artificial intelligence that might have been used in editing for clarity and brevity was roundly rejected. Set-up is the key to landing the punch line. My inspiration is the work of Jean Shepard and Bill Bryson with a nod to Peter Egan. If you’re not patient enough to read what I’ve written, then switch to TicToc and watch some hipster posing at a Starbucks.

Introduction

Itching to get on the Guzzi for a spring getaway, I pitched SMAP (Sisyphus’s Moto Associate Pete) a pre-emptive ride as we were considering a longer ride north for late spring/early summer.

Our late October 2024 ride to Zion seemed like an eternity ago and the only thing prohibiting a winter ride was procrastinating getting the Guzzi serviced and slapping on a new rear tire. Oh, and unsettled winter weather that fellow Minnisotan Motoists would dismiss as “much ado about nada.”

The nearest Moto Guzzi dealer is in Elk Grove. Servicing the air cooled 853 cc engine and a tire install would require leaving the bike overnight according to Harry the service writer. As for the weather…

It’s a nice dealership, with the common Moto Guzzi complaint as too distant from home… The weather looks good though

It seems that Elk Grove mechanics apparently aren’t partial to dealing with an engine heated by rolling over 110 miles of California backroads, the distance to get to the dealership from my home in Merced. So, a trip to and fro the dealership is complicated as can be the weather–not to mention expensive.

Such a trip involves having someone follow me to Elk Grove who would then give me a ride home (there and back in SMAP’s vehicle @220 miles + 1 my moto’s mileage to drop off, 110 miles = 330 miles). Then turn around the next day* to get a ride back to the dealership (there and back in my wife’s vehicle @ 220 + bringing the Guzzi home 110 miles = 330 miles). Had it all worked out that would be approximately 660 miles (@ $5.11/gal x 37.5 avg mpg for all vehicles = ~$132.14 in fuel cost). I told you it was complicated. Look at all the mathing.

Or, I could stay overnight at the Sky River Casino across CA-99 from Elk Grove Powersports. Besides risking my life crossing the 99 as a pedestrian, given my luck*, the casino would lighten my wallet even further. Room service isn’t cheap.

(*probability, more math)

Or I could rent a trailer and tow a cold bike and wait for 6-8 hours at the dealership or casino (see above) for the service to be performed as I did in 2023 with the initial service. Or like the next trip to the dealership for the installation of various accessories (BTW that took 2 months to arrive due to “supply chain issues” from their Italian suppliers).

*There’s always a backstory. Fortunately this one ended well, well, even more expensive anyway. Pete of SMAP fame gave me a ride home from dropping off the Guzzi on Friday. The next day my wife agreed to drive me to pick up the bike.

I got a call from the dealership when we were about 10 miles from Elk Grove from Harry the Service Writer. Harry explained that the bike was not ready because when the mechanic removed the rear tire to mount the new tire, “the screw that mounts the speed sensor on the rear wheel broke.”

I asked how it broke since no subject for the predicate in the sentence was identified unless the screw was the subject and broke was the predicate. Harry replied something about that there was Loctite on the screw that broke when the rear tire was removed.

Thinking I needed to be a little more direct, I asked, “So the mechanic (subject) broke (predicate) the screw (object) removing it to mount the tire, is that correct.”

Harry was good, he said, “That’s correct, the screw was broken.” He went on to say that to get the OEM screw, it would take a week longer. Apparently Loctite shouldn’t be used to secure the speed sensor on the rear wheel assembly on a Moto Guzzi V85TT. Not sure how the Loctite got there unless it was because the local garage that removed the tire to plug it after running over a nail so that I could get the bike to Elk Grove to mount the new tire… was a whole other drama. At that point, somewhat discouraged, my wife and I returned home.

A week later, I called to ask about the status of the bike. Harry was all, “Oh yes, we have replaced the screw and the bike is ready.” Harry assured me that he would call when the bike was ready. Needless to say, my review of this service experience was unfavorable.

By the numbers (I’m a retired middle school math teacher so forgive me) the hourly shop rate of $198/hr x 3.4 hrs = $673.00. Add $200.73 for parts, and BTW, I supplied the tire and the dealership charged me $127 to mount the Michelin Anakee tire, check the brake pads, balance the wheel, lube the chain–What? It’s a shaft drive?–so the subtotal is now = $1,000.73. Add the tire cost of tire itself $316.74 + fuel for seven trips, too and fro = $130.63 , it cost $1,448.10 to prep for a 5 day ramble. Oh, add the cost of the speed sensor screw, $2.91 and toss in SMAP’s lunch for a grand total if $1476.01. Yikes, I hope my wife doesn’t read this!

I need to watch more Cubby Sue Moto Guzzi maintenance YouTube videos. My only victory in any of this is that the dealership didn’t charge me a storage fee for leaving the bike pending getting [the] screw(ed) for the week…

Thanks to my lovely wife (in case she does read this) for the lift to pick up the Guzzi and only modestly complaining about the invoice. What a woman. She didn’t even get lunch out of the deal. We did drop in on the grandkids on the way home.

That only took about two weeks out of the calendar. The real wrench in the ramble was that the remaining spring calendar was not quite open. If you’ve followed Sisyphus and Associates (www.sisyphusdw7.com) you know that even though Sisyphus and his Associate (Sisyphus’s Moto Associate Pete henceforth, SMAP) are retired, the most challenging aspect of any of our rambling is capturing the necessary number of days between the two of us and our modestly complicated lives during which time a desired ride can take place. Birthdays, visiting guests, medical and dental appointments, holidays, vacations, house setting, graduations, moto servicing, and concerts are the usual culprits.

Three day rides are fairly simple to arrange. Five day rambles increase in difficulty arithmetically. Seven to ten days on the road increase in difficulty geometrically. Eleven or more day tours are logarithmically more difficult since neither Sisyphus nor SMAP know how to calculate logarithms.

So, in lieu of calculating the number of days to head north and to the east, considering weather was kind of still a factor in April, I pitched five days and four nights on some familiar roads along the Central Coast of California. As for the weather, a non-factor… The weather cooperated beautifully. Take that Minnesota!

Day 1, Arroyo Seco State Park
Merced to Arroyo Seco State Park

Our first day on April 7 would be a reasonable ~175 mile ride from Merced in the Central Valley to west of Greenfield and King City in the Salinas Valley of California’s Central Coast.

We rambled over our preferred route on CA-59 south to CA-152 east to Indiana, Brannon, and Merrill Rds, south to Shain Ave and 7th St in South Dos Palos to N Russell Ave continuing south through westside ag lands to West Shields Ave. Continuing west we crossed the Little Panoche Valley passing the Mercy Hot Springs Resort on Little Panoche Rd. Once a stage line and since having been originally paved is now amended by patched potholes rivaling the pavé of the Spring Classics in Europe or 85% of the roads in our community. Check out the Mercy Hot Springs Wiki page.

Summeting Panoche Pass in the Diablo Range found us sweeping our way downhill with comfortable spring temps over reasonably surfaced tarmac to our favorite market in Paicines for chile verde and carne asada breakfast burritos. Rambling south over CA-25, the Airline Hwy, would be the envy of any Minnesotan Motoist; little traffic, verdant vistas, clear skies, and incomparable spring temperatures…

One of the more tame passes in California

In attempting to arranging the Arroyo Seco campsite online, I learned there was no water available for showers and toilets at the campground. I couldn’t reserve a campsite either. Porta-Johnnys solved the latter problem while stopping in Greenfield for supplies before heading to the nearly deserted campsite would solve the former.

Simple enough, right? That is, after we stopped for directions to a “supermarket” in Greenfield. At first, SMAP pulled over to ask three strolling farmworkers appearing to be in search of a “day ender.” In Spanish, SMAP asked if they knew the location of a Safeway or SaveMart. After rephrasing of our request several times in Spanish trying to explain what a Safeway or Save Mart was, his attempt for directions failed as their insistence that they were merely humble workers, unfamiliar with the community and not cartographers with knowledge of an “una forma segura” (Safeway) or “salvar el mercado” (SaveMart) . Surely Mr. their ignorance was “comprensible.”

We bailed and pulled into a nearby “poco mercado”, the Mendoza Market, thinking this might just have to do for securing the night’s provisions.

Upon purchasing a gallon of water as fair compensation for directions (el mercado’s “pequeño las 3R’s selección de bebidas, fue decepcionante”) we asked the cashier about the location of a supermarket and were given something of a route to Rancho San Miguel Market, a super mercado in Greenfield.

Apparently left and right are sometimes confused in Greenfield, perhaps the result of using the wrong vernacular. Izquierda o derecha may have been more prudent. Which brings up how I feel about left and right as directional indicators as opposed to using the cardinal north, south, east or west (Norte, Sur, Este u Oeste). Just ask SMAP. Cardinal directions are true no matter which way you’re facing. Left and right, not so much.

The cashier insisted that we head toward the Chase Bank and turn left, pointing in several conflicting directions. After following her directions that clearly led us out of town into the hinterlands, a kindly police officer who was presumably conducting official business with lights ablaze, noting our confusion, paused his official business and corrected our heading in the opposite direction, derecha (este) not izquierda (oeste).

Unlike our last experience shopping at a small mercado in Coalinga, our Rancho San Miguel Market meal was a considerable improvement over SPAM (the questionable tinned food–not to be confused with SMAP–Pete’s pseudonym), smoked oysters, and Fritos from the Coalinga Market last fall. In fact at the Rancho San Miguel Market, I was able to purchase two pounds of dried pinquito beans that are only grown on the Central Coast for our upcoming Santa Maria Tri Tip BBQ themed Easter back home 👊!

Heading west on Elm Ave that becomes Arroyo Seco Rd crossing the Arroyo Seco River Bridge we entered the gorge en route to our home for the night.

No problem for our low clearance vehicles

The Arroyo Seco State Park Campground situated next to the Arroyo Seco River, also known as the gorge at an elevation of about 1,200 feet, offers views of the Ventana Wilderness mountain peaks and one small lake water levels depend on the season*. It is nestled into the hillside, surrounded by abundant shrubbery and large oak and madrone trees. A variety of birds and wildlife make their home in the area.

Upon arriving at the park entrance, we met Orlando the campground maintenance guy. There was also a fellow who lived nearby in the gorge that was home of several small-scale wineries in spite of the above signage pointing out wineries in the opposite (derecha o este) direction towards Soledad. He had a ranch, presumably a winery, along the Arroyo Seco River and had a residence in Soledad where he was apparently the owner of a Chevrolet dealership as well.

The campground was nearly deserted on this magnificent spring day

An affable fellow, Mr. Chevrolet shared that the gorge was subject to flooding during atmospheric river events and that his home was nearly flooded in 2023. I guess that leaves the fine alluvial soils for the new vineyards that blanketed the floodplain. We would later find out that the sinking of wells to irrigate these vineyards below the campground was likely the cause of the water issues at the campground upstream*.

Noting an ice vending machine at the entrance, we asked to purchase a bag, along with campfire wood, to keep our 3R beverages and salads cold for the evening Relaxation, Rehydration, and Reflection, 3R’s campfire ritual. After convincing the camp hostess (What was her name… Yarrow, Aspyn, or Willow?) with coaching from Mr. Chevrolet and Orlando, she threw in a bag of ice and firewood in lieu of not giving us the senior discount for the campsite. A much better deal that that I got at Elk Grove Powersports.

Apparently the ice machine was malfunctioning and the ice was partially melted and she didn’t want to hassle with dissatisfied customers. Needless to say, we had a most satisfying stay at the Arroyo Seco State Park Campground, partially melted ice notwithstanding!

All set for the 3R’s, the only thing missing was the sunset

The salad with sliced chicken paired well with the Sierra Nevada Atomic Torpedo and the side of Fritos from Rancho San Miguel Market. A pleasant night of hooty-owls voicing their contentment and the sound of scurrying littles about the Arroyo Seco campsite avoiding those hooty-owls, our sunrise Jet-Boiled mochas set the tone for the day.

Day two would be along the infamous route to the San Simeon State Park through Lake Nacimiento where an unfortunate event, once upon a time, spoiled a ride…

Day 2, San Simeon State Beach Arroyo Seco to San Simeon State Campground

The San Simeon State Park official web photo top was taken at the pier at San Simeon, not the unofficial photo taken at the campground…

Our ~125 mile route to our Day 2 destination, San Simeon State Park, backtracked down Arroyo Seco/Elm Rds to Central Ave. From there a short run on US-101 to Jolon Rd. Jolon Rd past Fort Hunter Leggett to Interlake Rd and Nacimiento Lake Rd to Godfrey Rd, all on G-14.

*Screen shots of the course of A Moments Inattention*

Passing the scene of the incident right where the G14 marker is on the hairpin (Blue) above and the unfortunate route I took (red), I neither felt anxiety nor trepidation. Unlike that fateful day in April three years earlier, I was fresh and on a Moto Guzzi V85 TT.

Spring, sprang, sprung… A Moments Inattention

Hairpin? No problem on this day with the low-end torque of the Guzzi on the compound curve similar to the same compound curve on CA-4 that a sudden stall of the Kawasexy Versys resolved without incident a few years before. I think I now have a sound approach to hairpins on a bike less twitchy than the Kawasexy.

We wound through the west Paso Robles wine country on Chimney Rock Rd to Adelaida Rd then south to Vineyard Dr and Jack Creek Rd west. We passed Sirena, DAOU, Tablas Creek, Thatcher, Brecon Estates, Oso Libre, Paix Sur Terre, Willow Creek, Opolo, Jada, Justin, Niner, and Denner wineries enroute to CA-46/Green Valley Rd. We had intended to take Santa Rosa Rd, a backdoor into Cambria, but alas it was CA-46 to US-1 due to the Santa Rosa Rd closure. As detours go, that’s not a bad one.

The San Simeon State Campground situated on the Pacific oceanfront just north of Cambria is one of Sisyphus and Associates’ favorite places to camp. Running water, showers, and clean operable commodes in an orderly setting with affable camp hosts and a variety of interesting Spring Break campers made for an enjoyable two-night stay. Our plan for our first night was to relax around camp, shower and run into Cambria for dinner and 3R beverages.

Since we had made our way through wine country I thought that rather than a pilsner or IPA for the 3R’s I’d opt for a bottle of red. After chicken mole enchiladas at Las Cambritas, we traipsed across the street to Bob and Jan’s Bottle Shop where I selected a Niner Bootjack Red.

After borrowing a corkscrew from our neighbors who were heading home the next day to Boise with their adorable Golden Retrievers, I was able to enjoy this full-flavored red blend of Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec, Cabernet Franc and six other grapes. It paired wonderfully with the campfire. Goldies and forgotten corkscrews are the universal spark to introductions and making new friends…

Veteran Monterey pine and a nearly full moon

No, not the landscape ablaze but the setting sun over the Pacific

A walk around the campground at sunset tipping hats as we greeted fellow campers, a cozy campfire made possible by wood delivered by our camp hosts, SMAP and his preferred 24 oz Coors and my Bootjack Red capped off what is at least 40% of what is most satisfying about rambling on a motorcycle; the 3R’s.

Day 3, Romp on the “Nasty Fergie” Big Sur Nacimiento-Fergusson Rd Loop

The next morning we set off north on US-1 on a 145 mile ramble over the acclaimed Nacimiento-Fergusson Road. When we last tried to take this famed motorcycle road a fairly frequent winter washout forced its closure until Monterey County could make repairs.

No guardrails makes for unobstructed views or tumbles

Along the way we saw several slumbering elephant seals on the beach.

Poor bloke perhaps the victim of a predator or propeller…

It was open throttle past Hearst’s Castle at San Simeon on an open, but truncated leg of US-1 due to another highway closing slide above Lucia. The weather was perfect, calm breezes, cool and clear. En route to the Nacimiento-Fergusson Road, we continued north on the Cabrillo Hwy past Gorda (Spanish for “Fat”) a hamlet in Monterey County, California. Along with Plasket, it’s one of the three small settlements of gas stations, restaurants, and motels located along State Route 1 on the Big Sur coast.

We stopped at Ragged Point for breakfast on the recommendation of our camp hosts. We dined alfresco perched on a rocky headland that marks the southern end of the small bay where San Carpoforo Creek empties into the Pacific Ocean. The Ragged Creek Inn Resort was built by Wiley and Mildred Ramey starting in the late 1950s on property that was formerly part of the Hearst Ranch. Our breakfast was only exceeded by the view from the rugged cliffs above the Pacific.

SMAP was impressed by the presentation and authentic preserves.
No Smuckers at Ragged Point Inn…

After breakfast we met a fellow rider on a newish Kawasaki Versys 1000 who had stopped at the inn. It was a handsome bike, the bigger sibling to my Kawasexy Versys 650. It was equipped for touring and the gentleman was up from his home near Los Angeles for a couple of days-getaway.

SMAP engaged the Kawi rider in motorcycle banter for several minutes as we got the lowdown on the Versys and the Nasty Fergie. The gent noted that he spent most of the ascent in second gear and cautioned us about some sand in the hairpins. I suspect the Versys 1000 cc motor lacks the Guzzi’s low end grunt. Sand in a hairpin corner doesn’t acknowledge low end grunt.

Crossing the Mill Creek Bridge we turned east on the Nacimiento-Fergusson Road, aka, the Nasty Fergie…

On May 20, 2017, the largest slide in the Big Sur Coast Highway’s history at Mud Creek buried more than a quarter-mile of Highway 1 1 mile (1.6 km) southeast of Gorda. The highway was closed for more than a year. This had a considerable negative economic impact for tourism between Monterey and Morro Bay. A CalTrans study concluded that rerouting the highway around the slide was preferred over other alternatives. The only route in and out of Gorda beginning in the south was via a lengthy detour over the narrow, winding Nacimiento-Fergusson Road. (Wiki)

On August 2, 2017, CalTrans decided to rebuild the highway over the slide instead of clearing it. It was reopened on July 18, 2018, at a cost of $54 million (Wiki).

View to the Pacific from the *Nasty Fergie*

The Nacimiento-Fergusson Road is the only road across the Santa Lucia Range on the Central Coast of California, connecting CA-1 and the Big Sur coast to US-101 and the Salinas Valley. The road is well-paved and maintained over its length, subject to seasonal closures, and is winding and has precipitous drops at times narrowing to a single lane. It is widely regarded as one of the best motorcycling roads in central California due to its ocean views and forest setting.

I admit that my skills as a videographer are limited. Most likely because of presbyopia, a common age-related condition that affects the ability to see close objects clearly, typically starting around age 40. Given that I’m 30 years into blurry-close-up vision, tasks like starting the video recording on my Hero 7 with a screen and buttons designed for eyesight and dexterity under the age of 40 is challenging. Though I stopped at the base of the road to start recording, I apparently didn’t press the record button sufficiently. Maybe it’s time for an Osmo DJI or an Insta360 voice command enabled to back-up the Hero…

Climbing up the steep flanks of the mountains, the western part of the road near the coast has more than 100 turns before it reaches the summit 7 miles from the coast at an altitude of 2,780 feet, where it crosses the unpaved Coast Ridge Road. I was able to keep Bella Rosa in third gear most of the time, even through the sandy corners.

Another motorcyclist we met described his recent ride up the Nacimiento-Fergusson Rd along the Coast Ridge Road at night… Balls bigger than cantaloupes or a brain smaller than a pea says I.

From the summit, the road descends through hillside chaparral and dense oak groves on the eastern side of the ridge, which offers a few views, and passes through the U.S. Army’s Fort Hunter Liggett. And like the ascent, the descending road is steep, winding, sometimes only wide enough for one vehicle, and has precipitous drops at almost every turn unprotected by guard rails.

One of the few views of Ft. Hunter Liggett

As the temperatures on the lee side of the Santa Lucia’s were nearing the 90’s, we stopped at the Fort Hunter Liggett entrance to shed layers.

A tractor trailer rig pulled up and its operator, Gary, began inquiring about our bikes, noting my eagle badged Guzzi V85TT. Of course anytime this happens, SMAP, whose encyclopedic knowledge of all things motorcycle (PeteMotoWiki), can dig deeply into the weeds of motorcycle ownership and appreciation. Gary was describing his bikes, one a Moto Guzzi V100 and we exchanged stories of common bikes, past, present, and future…

Oh yes, the old lets plug the barrel of the M55 1A1 with an index finger gag. It never gets old…

Meanwhile, I was sweating, anxious to make our way back into Lake Nacimiento, excited to confront the Moments Inattention hairpin on G-14, the Lake Nacimiento Rd for the second time in two days. I was also parched wanting to purchase an energy drink for the trip through the vineyards to CA-46 and US-1 to Cambria back to our campsite.

We returned to the campground, showered and prepared to run into town for dinner and supplies. We’ve dined several times at the West End Pub, a laid back place with as many locals as tourists enjoying the simple pub fare and selection of beverages.

Après dinner at the West End, we returned to Bob & Jan’s Bottle Shop for the 3R beverages and discovered Lombardi’s Pasta and Pizza Restaurant across the street. Deciding that our next trip to Cambria would include Lombardi’s on the itinerary, we returned to camp now equipped with a corkscrew to open a Castoro Whale Rock pinot noir, recommended by Michael the cashier. SMAP opted for a couple of domestic 24’s.

“If anyone orders Merlot, I’m leaving. I am not drinking any fucking Merlot!”

“Only somebody who really takes the time to understand Pinot’s potential can then coax it into its fullest expression. Then, I mean, oh its flavors, they’re just the most haunting and brilliant and thrilling and subtle and… ancient on the planet.” Paul Giamatti – Miles from Sideways.

Campground conversations with neighboring dads on Spring Break with their families gave rise to more motorcycle inspired camaraderie. It must be that seeing two fellows of a certain age “roughing it” in tents and sleeping bags on motorcycles renders us a harmless curiosity to probe and understand by the millennial and gen X & Z’ers whose idea of roughing it is in a $150,000 overland Sprinter or a $200,000 heavy duty pickup and Airstream. We managed to muster that envious faraway look as the dads would shift their glances to and fro their accommodations and ours. Even the geezers in those ritzy retirement rigs would become misty-eyed as they remembered youthful rambles on Bonnevilles, Goldwings, or Harley dressers…

The myriad camping dogs found us worthy of tail wags in yet another invitation to exchange stories with their humans. From the Belgian Google engineer married to the Spanish educator and their two delightful children with impeccable manners and their dog Gordo, a friendly Bulldog, to the two women wrangling a half dozen feral children in the making of smores, presumably their respective broods, to the not-so-nearing retirement special ed teacher (and family) whose classroom experience remained relatable to this grizzled veteran, all contributed to the camping community of San Simeon State Park Campground on those two spring days. (I think I just set the record for the longest most rambling sentence in the history of Sisyphus and Associates!)

Day four began with a glorious sunrise as did days one, two, and three. Mochas fuelled breaking camp as we prepared for the ~161 mi ramble north to the Fremont State Park Campground.

Day 4, Fremont Peak State Park San Simeon to Fremont Peak

Passing through San Miguel on Mission Rd we stopped to visit Mission San Miguel.

Mission San Miguel Arcángel is a Spanish mission that was established in 1797 by the Franciscan order on a site chosen specifically due to the large number of Salinan Indians that inhabited the area, whom the Spanish priests wanted to evangelize.

At one time, San Miguel Arcángel Mission controlled lands up and down the Salinas River for 50 miles and operated a rancho at San Simeon on the coast.

Eventually, Mexican settlers first took over all mission valuables, followed later by American immigrants. The last Padre left San Miguel in 1840, and mission buildings were sold shortly thereafter. The monastery became a shopping center, including the most popular saloon on El Camino Real.

Cheah!

Today the mission remains in use as a parish church of the Diocese of Monterey. After being closed to the public for six years due to the 2003 San Simeon earthquake, the church reopened on September 29, 2009.

Mission San Miguel is what it’s cracked up to be… A former saloon!

For a perspective of the cultural impact of the Mission San Miguel Arcángel, check out: California Missions Native History

From the Mission we headed north on North River Rd to the “two lane” Indian Valley Road below. This remote oak savanna ranchland featured live oaks and was carpeted by lush grasses. Because of the past winter’s scant rainfall, there was only a modest display of wildflowers.

Indian Valley Rd intersects Peach Tree Road and at Bitterwater joins CA-25 all adjacent to the San Andreas Fault.

Rejoining CA-25 we passed the Pinnacles National Park. Around 23 million years ago, a series of volcanic eruptions shaped the landscape that is now Pinnacles National Park. The remnants of these ancient eruptions have formed a striking terrain of rocky spires and deep canyons. The campground is virtually reserved through the spring into summer.

The Park’s landscape provides excellent habitat for the California Condor, the largest bird in North America. SMAP and yours truly enjoy sighting Condors just as we enjoy UFO/UAP’s sightings. In other words, any large bird from a crow to a turkey vulture, even a roadside chicken, will be identified as a Condor just as any moving object in the night sky is a visitor from outer space. It simplifies trusting one’s vision in a less distressing way than acknowledging one’s age and declining mental acuity.

Condor Viewing Tips

The link to the National Park Service’s condor ID page should demystify any confusion about our propensity for exaggeration. One of these two birds is a Condor. The other is an imposter.

Passing Paicines and Tres Pinos we encountered traffic headaches due to the realignment of CA-156 from north and west of Hollister to San Juan Bautista. Our plan was to head up to Fremont Peak, set up camp, head back down to San Juan Bautista and Doña Esther’s for dinner. We would stop briefly at the Windmill Market in SJB for a road soda to whet our whistles while setting up camp. But we had burned a bit of daylight getting to our destination so we debated just having an early dinner then head up the hill to set up.

Much to my chagrin we learned that Doña Esther’s had permanently closed, likely the victim of the covid shutdown, changing demographics in the area, and post-covid highway construction prevented the local support the restaurant depended upon for survival. So a sami and burrito from the Windmill’s exceptional deli and the requisite 3R’s beverages would have to tide us over. Victuals loaded on the bikes we headed 12 miles up San Juan Canyon Rd to the Fremont State Park Oak Point Campground.

Upon arriving at the campground, in another chagrin producing episode, we encountered a family ensconced in the epic view site, C-25, that I had reserved online.

When I noted that we had reserved the space, the multi-generational family hesitated, claiming that there was no reserved tag on the site kiosk. About that time a California State Parks pickup came down the road from the sites above where an employee stepped out of the vehicle and clipped a tag with, “Reserved: Jones.” The family accommodatingly begin moving their gear to an adjacent site. Territorial dispute resolved, we set up camp and enjoyed our sami and burrito with a spectacular view of Monterey Bay.

The view of Monterey Bay from Fremont Peak is astonishing!

Even more sublime is the sunset from atop Fremont Peak

As the sun was setting a State Park Ranger pulled up and had a lengthy conversation with the adult daughter of our neighbors who was apparently responsible for securing their site and the “trespass” we encountered. Apparently others were joining them and while the campground didn’t look full, there were no additional open sites available near theirs to accommodate the late-comers. The even-tempered ranger resolved all issues to everyone’s satisfaction.

He strolled over to check in with us and we had an unanticipated conversation about his son attending the University of California in our hometown, Merced. He mentioned that he and his wife had bought a house for their son to live in while attending the UC and, pending his retirement from the State Parks System, Ranger Dave and his wife would occupy the home.

He noted that he and his wife found our community to be warm and welcoming with just the right blending of rural and suburban living that differed greatly from their residence at the Henry W. Coe State Park HQ, a nearly 60 mile commute over some pretty windy roads just east of Morgan Hill where real estate values doubled, tripled, even quadrupled those of Merced.

It’s always nice to have an outsider find aspects of your hometown to be worthy that as a resident one might take for granted. All of those nice features sometimes get overlooked by contending with a growing population, sprawling development, and declining infrastructure, not to mention an increasingly aporetic populace convinced that the very thing that preserves the best of our community, like thoughtful planning with a nod to a changing climate, is perceived as somehow an infringement of one’s personal freedom… I digress.

Day 5, Homeward Bound Our Intended Route Back Home Our Actual Route Back Home

Another miraculous sunrise and our last mocha-eye-openers and it was time to pack up on Day 5 of a splendid ramble along California’s Central Coast.

We made our way down to San Juan Bautista for breakfast at the Mission Cafe, now known as JJ’s Breakfast and Burgers. Our waitress was quite delightful as she sprightly and single-handedly handled the morning breakfast rush. It seems that everyone out and about on that fine Friday morning in April knew one another by name.

SMAP offering the one thumb equivalent of a 4 star review

We met the affable owner of the cafe, Jesus, who offered a warm greeting and gave us the lowdown on the difficulty San Juan Bautista was having recovering from the covid shutdown, changing demographics of the area, and the Highway 156 realignment. Several businesses had closed with few struggling businesses taking their place. The JJ’s was in a new location in a shuttered legacy cafe and just managing to get by.

Doña Esther’s Demise

There were fourth graders from Salinas touring the mission as this remains a quintessential California history field trip. But 10 year olds don’t spend the cash necessary to sustain restaurants and shops of this quaint town of just over 2,000 souls. Hopefully when the highway construction is completed, tourism will again flourish.

While SAMP was engaging another local merchant in moto-reminiscence, I checked-in with my wife who was ordered to have an ultrasound for a knee issue that we hoped was not a DVT. She had been struggling with pain for weeks and was was finally able to schedule an appointment with her NP, but not an ultrasound.

Since it was Friday afternoon, after finally seeing her NP, it was recommended she go to an emergency room, stat. In that instant I told SMAP that we needed to take CA-156/152 over Pacheco Pass to shave the additional 31 miles and 1 hour from returning to the valley over our intended 2-lane Panoche Pass route .

I’m nervous enough crossing Pacheco Pass in a four wheeled vehicle surrounded with structural crash mitigation and air bags. That is nothing compared to the terror I felt passing downhill between speeding tractor trailer rigs and concrete jersey barriers at 85 miles an hour with racing Dodge Chargers and Ford Raptors weaving between cars bearing down on me at 90+ mph… SMAP’s advice, “Get in the left lane and be aggressive!”

At that time I regretted SMAP having the Cardo communicator I’d finally coaxed him into getting.

Needless to say I’m sitting at my computer putting together this blog so nothing but a fading memory of that terror remains. It so happens that my day ended at a Turlock Emergency Room waiting 6 hours for 15 minutes during which time my wife’s vitals were taken and an ultrasound administered. Her portion of the ER bill was 183 x what our four nights and five days cost. Fortunately no DVT. I’ll remind her of that when I plan our next ramble.

Or not!

Trip Itinerary Three State Campgrounds in Five Days

2024 Seeking Refuge on a Fall Ramble to Utah

The journey details motorcycle travel in California and the Southwest, highlighting seasonal weather patterns, cultural observations, and personal reflections on commercialization versus natural beauty during a scenic adventure to Zion National Park.

Reconciling expectations with reality

With Abbey’s admonition to seek refuge in the desert, it seems to me that best time to travel by motorcycle on secondary “Butler G1-3” or “Lost Highway” roads in arid California and the Western US depends on the direction you’re heading. We live in California’s Central Valley in Merced which has a fairly predictable climate – hot summers, temperate and windy springs, warm dusty falls, and cold, sometimes foggy, wet winters. Though the weather can be unpredictable, weather forecasts are quite accurate, with NOAA reporting a 7-day forecast is 80% accurate and a 5-day forecast is 90% accurate.

If you’re traveling south towards the Mojave Desert, the winter, early spring, or late fall weather is generally more appealing keeping in mind that this region experienced record-breaking 100+ degree days during the summer of 2024.

Heading east across the central Sierra Nevada passes like Sherman, Tioga, Monitor, Ebbetts, and Carson, are typically closed by the first snows as early as late October and don’t reopen until around Memorial Day in May. That leaves the summer months of June through September as the prime window for snow-free roadways in these areas. However, crossing the western foothills to get to those passes can still be quite hot during the summer months, and once you cross over into the high desert and Basin and Range regions of Nevada, the heat can be uncomfortable as well. Fortunately, the southern Sierra Tehachapi and Walker passes provide access to the Mojave year round whether the weather is hot or cold.

Map of the West and Southwest

Traveling north presents similar weather uncertainties. The summer monsoons that have brought more frequent and severe downpours to the Southwest and Pacific Western states in recent years can impact northern routes as well.
While winter weather is generally cooler the farther inland and north you go, the smaller state highway mountain are more likely to close as resources are prioritized for keeping major interstates open. Mustn’t we forget wintertime atmospheric rivers that can inundate parts of the Pacific Coast and far inland. For northern trips, the best bet is generally to travel in the early summer, before the peak heat of July and August sets in across the region.

Sierra Mountain Passes Map

Regardless of the time of year, it can be tricky to pick the “perfect” 10-day or longer window to ramble the region on a motorcycle. But with confidence in the 7-day forecasts, you can plan accordingly. That’s how you chose your 2024 Seeking Refuge on a Fall Ramble to Utah, – trusting the weather predictions to guide your route and timing.

Off to Mukuntuweap

Photo: NPS/Jason Burton sort of looks like the Paiute shrine of the half peace sign
with the ectopic middle digit just to the right

After finalizing our travel plans for a late October ramble, Pete, Sisyphus’s Chief Associate, and I settled on a south-easterly route – heading over Tioga Pass, down the Eastern Sierra, across the Mojave to southwestern Arizona, then north to southern Utah and back west through Death Valley. Our destination for this trip: Zion National Park.

Zion, as it’s known today, was originally called “Mukuntuweap” by the local Paiute people, meaning “straight canyon.” This name was later co-opted by Mormon pioneers who settled the area, just as the Mariposa Battalion had appropriated the name “Yosemite” a century earlier based on the original name given the valley by its Southern Miwok inhabitants. While “Yosemite” at least bears some resemblance to the native “Yos.s.e’meti,” the transition from “Mukuntuweap” to “Zion” feels like a blatant act of cultural erasure. It’s a sobering reminder of how Manifest Destiny has stamped its mark across the western landscape.

For Pete and I, seeking “sanctuary” or “refuge” in Utah seemed a reasonable goal, unlike and with respect to, the preceding generations of indigenous peoples who were displaced from these lands. With confidence in the 7-day weather forecasts, we felt we could time our journey to maximize the chances of favorable conditions. Despite the troubling origins of the name “Zion,” the park remains a place of spectacular natural beauty that has drawn visitors for generations, and we looked forward to experiencing its grandeur and serenity once again.

Well, as we found the grandeur, grand, serenity was a bit more problematic.

Day 1, October 22, 2024 – Merced to Red Rock Canyon State Park

Ready to roll with the awkwardly obligatory send-off photos

Merced to Red Rock Canyon State Park

No longer requiring a reservation to cross the Sierra Nevada via Tioga Pass (CA-120), we set off from our usual starting point, the Chevron station on G St. and Yosemite Pkwy in Merced. The commuters heading west on CA-140 left the eastbound lanes clear until we descended into the Merced River canyon, where Yosemite-bound commuters flew past us on the brief broken yellow straightaways to which they’ve grown accustomed to passing the more leisurely traveler.

Once we entered Yosemite National Park, making our way up to Tuolumne Meadows was a generally tranquil, unhurried experience. Crossing Tioga Pass itself was pleasant, though a bit chilly. Fortunately, the traffic was not as bad as it can be, reduced to a post-Labor Day crawl that made the descent into Lee Vining a civil affair under multiple layers of warmth and heated grips.

The rip down US-395 at 75ish mph was brisk but not so fast that the landscape became a blur. We stopped in Lone Pine for a late lunch (or “linner”) at the Bonanza Mexican Restaurant, then procured our “3-R” beverages (rehydration, recovery, and refreshment) across the street at the Lone Pine Market, since our intended campsite for the night was rather remote. A 353 mile day and we were home for the night.

Tuesday afternoon…

Tuesday evening…

Ghostly hoodoos and the summer triangle vertices of Altair, Deneb, and Vega, each of which is the brightest star of its constellation (Aquila, Cygnus, and Lyra, respectively)

Wednesday morning…

Day 2, October 23, 2024 – Red Rock Canyon State Park to Parker, Arizona

Red Rock Canyon State Park to Parker

When planning our route, there’s always room for a bit of improvisation (hint: foreshadowing). Given that my riding partner Pete had traveled through the area earlier in the spring, we opted to avoid the slog down US-395 through the ever expanding exurb of Adelanto and instead made our way to Joshua Tree, by way of Barstow and CA-247 through Lucerne and Yucca Valleys, for lunch. Though longer than the more customary route on US-395, the Old Woman Springs Rd, proved to be a wise decision as it set us up for what would be our warmest day yet, crossing the Mojave on CA-62 and entering the sagebrush and saguaro of the Sonoran Desert en route to Parker, Arizona on a 298 mile day.

East of Twentynine Palms, we found ourselves on what is best described as a lonesome desert road. At the intersection of CA-62 and US-95 at Vidal Junction, we stopped for some “nalgas relief” (Spanish for “ass relief”) and a refreshing agua fria. There, we met a friendly woman trucker hauling produce from Fresno eastward who commented, having witnessed our pained expressions as we dismounted our motos, that our sore backsides were likely just as weary as hers. I imagine her air-conditioned cab compensated of any nalgas disorders…

Dry eyes and weary nalgas, at least there was shade

The remainder of the CA-62 stretch from Vidal Junction to Parker, Arizona, in 95-degree heat, did little to relieve our “nalgas,” now feeling worse for wear. But as soon as we crossed the Colorado River, we knew we had entered at least a new time zone – both literally and figuratively.

Finding the right accommodations is always an adventure on our moto tours. While I had previously stayed at the venerable Burro Jim Motel back in 1996. Burro Jim was another 84 miles down the road and so since it’s generally not advisable to ride a motorcycle through the desert in near 100 degree heat for nearly 400 miles, instead, we opted for the Budget Inn in the heart of Parker. In hindsight, I should have checked my old bicycle trip itinerary, as the Kofa Inn may have been the better choice. Alas, the Budget Inn, while functional, definitely lacked the neon “colorful funkiness” of the Kofa, it has fared better than the Burro Jim.

After a recommendation by our friendly host we enjoyed another satisfying meal at the Tierra Caliente Meat Market followed by an excursion to the Terrible Herbst Convenience Store.

Our camera shy host and Pete, resting motos, and poolside relaxation, rehydrattion, and reflection in Parker, AZ

We exchanged pleasantries with a fellow who had his ski boat engine apart in the motel parking lot who assured us the boat would be ready for the weekend on the Colorado River. We then retreated poolside, as close to the Colorado we would get that evening, at the motel for some much-needed relaxation, rehydration, and reflection on the day’s journey.

Day 3, October 24, 2024 – Parker to Aguila and Camp Verde, AZ

Parker to Camp Verde

As noted, back in 1996 I was part of a group that rode bicycles across Arizona. The first day of that journey took us from Parker to Aguila, with a planned stay at the aforementioned Burro Jim Motel. The riding itinerary described the terrain as “flat and fast with some gentle rolling sections – a scorching paceline.” “Scorching” as the average high temperature in Parker that August of the ride was a blistering 106.7°F.

Wanting to avoid that same searing heat, Pete and I departed Parker early on this October morning. Our first stop was in Aguila, AZ for breakfast. As I reminisced, our 1996 ride had coincided with the famous Race Across America (RAAM) ultra-cycling event. Upon awakening early, before sunrise to beat the August heat, we heard music blaring from afar. We witnessed a slow moving RV approach the motel, its headlights augmented to brilliantly illuminate the road for some distance ahead. Lo and behold, a solitary cyclist was riding on AZ-60, the RV in support for a competitor riding the RAAM. None of our crew were aware of the RAAM taking place.In fact, we later managed to “photobomb” the RAAM coverage as we climbed the “extreme” grades on Highways 71 and 89 near Prescott.

The Coyote Cafe and the Burro Jim; It doesn’t look like “all new interiors” are due any time soon…

Fueled by another fine Mexican meal at the Coyote Cafe, we set out for Camp Verde, a journey of some 221 miles. The AZ-72 to US-60 route sliced through the Sonoran Desert, the flat, arid landscape seemingly disappearing into the distant horizon. But as we approached Yarnell, mountains appeared to leap from the otherwise flat terrain. Alas, a few miles north of Congress, AZ we entered the Granite Mountains near where on June 30, 2013, nineteen of the 20 members of the Granite Mountain Hotshots, an elite crew trained to fight wilderness fires, died as they battled a fire outside of Yarnell. The nearby Granite Mountain Hotshots Memorial State Park is dedicated to their sacrifice. My awareness of this tragedy is in part the result of my two sons who are firefighters.

To bypass the final “extreme” grades, we took Kirkland Valley and Iron Springs Roads at Kirkland Junction, before rejoining AZ-89A later north of Prescott. This stretch provided some enjoyable twisties, with two, two-up rented Harleys mounted by two couples from Indiana leading the way to a scenic overlook just outside of Jerome.

There’s the Mogollan Rimin the distance just over my left shoulder defining the western edge of the Colorado Plateau

This former mountain mining community of Jerome had earned the nickname “The Wickedest Town in the West” during its heyday, when rich copper ore deposits attracted miners, merchants, madams and more to Yavapai County. Jerome’s colorful history is too rich to chronicle here, but a quick link to the Wikipedia page (Jerome, Arizona) provides interesting insight into how this town evolved from a mineral extraction hub to a modern tourist destination.

With the day’s riding behind us, we rolled into Camp Verde, ready to unwind and recharge for the next leg of our adventure. Our first stop was to scout the USFS Clear Creek Campground – a grassy, flat site with shade provided by tall cottonwoods. Perfect. Despite the slightly creepy gravel road leading in, our gracious campground host recommended we set up right across from his site, next to the clear creek for which the campground was named.

After getting camp established, Pete and I headed into town for provisions and refreshments, returning to enjoy a pleasant evening under the stars, transfixed by a crackling campfire as we relaxed, rehydrated, and reflected on the day’s journey.

Day 4, October 25, Camp Verde to Fredonia, AZ

Camp Verde to Fredonia

This was to be a modest days ride, a mere 257 miles on US-89 through Sedona and Flagstaff, across the Colorado River for the second time at Marble Canyon, then US-89A past the Vermillion Cliffs, past Jacob Lake, the entrance to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon (see 2021 Fall Moto: Abbey’s Other, On-the-Road Trip, Part 2), to the Grand Canyon Motel in Fredonia, AZ.

My affinity to this place is lodged in my fond regard for Marguerite Henry’s children’s book, Brighty of the Grand Canyon, that I loved reading aloud to my elementary students. Brighty is a tale about a “lone little burro that roamed the high cliffs of the Grand Canyon and touched the hearts of all who knew him: a grizzled old miner, a big-game hunter, even President Teddy Roosevelt. Named Brighty by the prospector who befriended him, he remained a free spirit at heart. But when a ruthless claim-jumper murdered the prospector, loyal Brighty risked everything to bring the killer to justice.”

Fredonia was where Uncle Jim retreated for the winter in the story of Brighty’s adventures as the little burro that has become the symbol of a joyous way of life. Some people say that you can even see his spirit roving the canyon on moonlit nights—forever wild, forever free.

The Life and Times of Brighty of the Grand Canyon

The landscapes of the Southwest that we traversed undoubtedly possess a grand, serene beauty all their own, yet the relentless exploitation of these places by commerce can sometimes overwhelm and diminish that natural splendor. In our quest for “sanctuary” and “refuge,” we’ve found that the very things we seek – the grandeur and serenity of the untamed wilderness – are often sullied by blatant attempts to “augment the experience” through tourist traps, roadside attractions, and other concessions to consumerism.

No matter how breathtaking the vistas, it’s difficult to fully immerse oneself in the natural wonder when the view is punctuated by kitschy souvenir shops, gaudy neon signs, or other intrusive commercial development. The very objective of our ride – to find solace and escape in the majesty of the southwestern landscapes – was undermined by the pervasive influence of those who would seek to profit from, rather than preserve, these precious resources.

It’s a delicate balance – honoring the needs of the modern traveler while safeguarding the integrity of the land. But in our experience, the scales have tipped too far in favor of exploitation, robbing these landscapes of the very qualities that drew us here in the first place. Navigating this tension, and finding those rare pockets of unspoiled beauty, had become a central challenge of our journey.

Jerome, while historically fascinating and successful in reinventing itself as an artsy tourist destination, suffered from the very thing that keeps it alive – tourism. The narrow streets, choked with “experience seeking” souls, detracted from any authentic experience immersing oneself in the rich history of Jerome one might hope to find.

Sedona proved even more jarring, with its commercialization dialed up to eleven through “vortex tours” and spiritual marketing. The official Visit Sedona website promises an idyllic autumn experience: “Sedona, with its vibrant red rocks and golden hues of autumn, offers a season of renewal and adventure… From hiking trails bathed in rich autumnal light to spiritual vortex tours that connect you to the land’s energy, the opportunities for exploration and personal discovery are endless.” Like dozens of bloggers and influencers promoting the Ultimate E-bike Tour of Sedona, or the VIP Sedona Vortex Spiritual and Scientific Tour, or The Original 4 Winery Tour with Charcuterie, et. al. each promotional image showing pristine, uncluttered landscapes – conspicuously absent are the traffic jams and crowds of “vortex seekers” on their personal discovery journeys, seeking the best spas and best UFO tours. Can there even be a “best” UFO tour? Apparently yes, in Sedona.

One might call our own quest for “sanctuary” hypocritical given these observations, but that’s precisely the point. Seeking an imagined sanctuary becomes impossible in landscapes exploited for mass consumption. What we’re sold is a cheapened, commercialized version of what the original inhabitants revered as genuinely spiritual places of unspoiled beauty.

The contrast became stark once we cleared Flagstaff. Until reaching Marble Canyon, commercial enterprise virtually disappeared. Along the route, Navajo Nation vendors sold jewelry and goods from simple roadside stands – no hype, no hard sell. These basic transactions between maker (or agent) and buyer provided local inhabitants with income while maintaining dignity. Their alluring tables displayed exquisite native craftsmanship without promising spiritual enlightenment or personal discovery merely through purchase. Though one might wonder about authenticity versus foreign counterfeits…

“Here the earth, as if to prove its immensity, empties itself. Gertrude Stein said: ‘In the United States there is more space where nobody is than where anybody is. That is what makes America what it is.’ The uncluttered stretches of the American West and the deserted miles of roads force a lone traveler to pay attention to them by leaving him isolated in them. This squander of land substitutes a sense of self with a sense of place by giving him days of himself until, tiring of his own small compass, he looks for relief to the bigness outside — a grandness that demands attention not just for its scope, but for its age, its diversity, its continual change. The isolating immensity reveals what lies covered in places noisier, busier, more filled up. For me, what I saw revealed was this (only this): a man nearly desperate because his significance had come to lie within his own narrow ambit.”
― William Least Heat-Moon, Blue Highways

The Navajo Bridge over the Colorado at Marble Canyon

We eventually reached Fredonia, Arizona’s northernmost outpost, situated on Kanab Creek’s eastern bank. The town sits just four miles shy of the Utah-Arizona border in what’s known as the Arizona Strip – that peculiar portion of Arizona lying north of the Colorado River, wedged between the Grand Canyon and Utah. Thanks to the Grand Canyon serving as a natural barrier, this region has largely escaped the tide of urbanization that’s swept through other parts of the state.

The town’s origins tell a particularly ironic story of American settlement. Founded in 1865 by Mormon pioneers fleeing Utah to evade federal anti-polygamy laws, Fredonia’s name allegedly means “land of free women” – a bit of Mormon pioneer wordplay that requires no further comment. While tourism and agriculture keep the town alive today, that original history of seeking “freedom” from federal oversight adds another layer to our ongoing meditation on sanctuary and refuge.

Beyond campgrounds, we chase the ghosts of road trip Americana – the Supai in Seligman, the Clown Motel in Tonopah, the Y in Chama. The Grand Canyon Motel in Fredonia is another pearl on this string of fading roadside gems.”

the Grand Canyon Motel, a treasure, to be sure

Chuck, the property manager, shared an unexpected piece of history while admiring our motorcycles. The motel’s story intertwines with Theodore Roosevelt’s bold move in January 1908, when he declared over 800,000 acres of the Grand Canyon a national monument. ‘Let this great wonder of nature remain as it now is,’ Roosevelt proclaimed. ‘You cannot improve on it. But what you can do is keep it for your children, your children’s children, and all who come after you, as the one great sight which every American should see.” (History.com)

Chuck claimed that Teddy Roosevelt stayed in one of the cabins. Roosevelt died in 1919. The cabins were built in the 1920’s as hunter cabins. The mathing doesn’t work… Nevertheless, his recommendation for dinner at Escobar’s Mexican Restaurant in Kanab was honest. Even though it was our fourth Mexican meal in as many days, and though we were in a rather ethnically homogenous community, the chili relleno was one of the best I’ve ever had! Me quito el sombrero ante los Escobar!

Following our fine meal, we made a quick stop at a gas station convenience store, the 3-R’s procured, and it was back to Fredonia to watch Freddie Freeman hit the 1st walk-off slam in World Series history as Dodgers topped the Yankees 6-3 in the classic opener. As an avid Giants fan, it was a tough pill to swallow. Hey, no irony in watching the World Series in the land of Brighty of the Grand Canyon…

Day 5, October 26, 2024 Fredonia to Glendale and the Zion Family Ranch

Fredonia to Zion Family Ranch

Zion Family Ranch to Zion and Back

There were two legs on this ramble to Zion National Park. The first leg was from Fredonia on US-89A & 89 to Glendale, the nearest town to the campground. It was a lovely fall morning and the roads were open and traffic was sparse.

The Moqui Cave, in the 60’s (left), and a more recent photo (right)

We passed the Moqui Cave, yet another example of the crass exploitation of what was otherwise an interesting archeological site. Moqui Cave was once used by Anasazi people as a shelter or food store, according to archaeological digs in the area. It was rediscovered by white settlers in the 19th century, and served as a speakeasy in the 1920s during Prohibition. Where the land of free women meets a speakeasy. Speaking of irony, no irony there, eh?

We passed the Kanab Dinosaur Tracks and the Sand Caves road side attractions. Past Mt. Carmel we headed north up the tranquil Madison Canyon to Glendale near where our campsite at the Zion Family Ranch, one of seven “dispersed” (first come, first served) costing $49, was located. In the internet era booking a campsite is like booking any lodging. You put in your dates and supply a credit card number. There was no camp host, no gate code, or any other acknowledgment of our arrival. The site looked unsupervised. I guess that’s what “dispersed” means. I guess that’s how the “Zion Family” ranchers distance themselves from commercial exploitation. I am grateful that they provided “sanctuary” on what was a family’s legacy property. Sorry Paiutes.

Our plan was to set up camp at the Family Ranch, then head into Zion National Park for the day. It was a stunning morning – cool but not cold, with the poplars and aspens bursting with vibrant fall foliage.

Since it was a Saturday, we tried to get an early start to beat the crowds.

Through Orderville east of the park, all was orderly.

However, by the time we made the 26-mile ride to the Zion-Mt. Carmel Tunnel entrance on the east side of the park, the number of cars, trucks, trailers, and RVs had multiplied exponentially. Most of these visitors had entered the park from the western entrance near the town of Springdale. Virtually every turnout was choked with people waiting for a parking space to open.

Zion National Park is undoubtedly one of the most unique and concentrated geological wonders outside of iconic places like Yosemite Valley. Yet, like Yosemite, it seems to be loved – if not quite to death – then at least to near non-existence. The sheer clutter of humanity obscures and detracts from the natural wonder of the landscape. I guess I have adopted a little Edward Abbey attitude about development on our nation’s national treasures.

Despite our best efforts to get an early start and keep our expectations checked, the overwhelming crowds at the park entrance on this busy Saturday dampened our excitement. When you have to busy yourself with watching out for inattentive drivers in stop-and-go traffic or selfie-taking pedestrians who would blindly step into the crawl for that perfect Instagram post was a vivid reminder of the delicate balance between visitation and preservation that national parks must continually grapple with.

The following map of the topography of the region, while no substitute for the real thing, is worth a look:

Interactive USGS map of Utah

After a harried 2+ hour “tour” of the park (that you can enjoy in 34 minutes at https://youtu.be/_9hdx9c4SfY), we pulled over in Springdale to assess the situation. Pete and I decided to continue on to Hurricane for lunch and then return to our campsite by taking the longer route on AZ-389 through Colorado City to Fredonia and US-89 back to Mt. Carmel Junction. It was 26 miles back through the park to our campsite. It was 112 miles on our chosen route back. Both could be done in the same amount of time according to the predictive Google maps, ~2.5 hours.

After lunch in Hurricane, we returned to our campsite grabbing gas station sammies in Mt. Carmel junction for dinner along with our 3-R’s beverages. The Zion Family Ranch facilities were quite nice including a heated bathroom with showers. Firewood was available, payment made possible by Venmo. The only human interaction we had was the following morning with a group of off-roaders who arrived after dark that evening as their dogs paid us a visit. Location, location, location… We were in a secluded, natural setting near a very popular, crowded, National Park. It was difficult for me to reconcile the incongruity of the events of the day. Cheers to the 3-R’s!

Day 6, October 27, 2024 Zion, UT to Shoshone, CA

Zion Family Ranch to Shoshone

A longish day before us, some 344 miles, found us on US-89A back to Fredonia to avoid having to navigate the Zion stop-and-go. Rolling past Colorado City, AZ, another controversial Mormon enclave with a “colorful” history, we soon reentered Utah and the Hurricane-St. George metropolitan area, a sprawling urban area in the midst of the intersection of the Colorado Plateau, Great Basin, and Sonoran deserts. After a small navigation error (shoulda turned right instead of left) we found W Old Highway 9, avoiding the more scenic I-15 – if you can overlook tractor trailer rigs – that follows the route of the Old Spanish Trail into Arizona. We were never too far from the Virgin River that is the great spirit of Mukuntuweap as we zoomed across the northwestern corner of Arizona to Mesquite, NV. NV-169/167 took us past the bath-tub ringed, Lake Mead National Recreation Area, skirting Las Vegas through Henderson on NV-564/160. With a tip of the helmet to Blue Diamond and the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation area (see our spring 2024 ride on sisyphusdw7.com: Red Rock Canyons Ramble), we abruptly made a left turn off of NV-160 west on the Tecopa Rd that eventually took us to the Cal-Neva border and CA-127 to Shoshone, CA.

What was at least our sixth stay at the Shoshone RV Park and Campground, sixth meal at the Crowbar Cafe and Saloon, and sixth procurement of 3-R beverages at the Chas Brown General Store, we were set for what has become a favorite night under the stars (and a few sprinkles and some noisy coyotes) in a village that manages the whole preservation vibe, uncorrupted by crass commercialization, we have come to highly regard. There’s also the issue of the lack of water sustaining a population of 22, modulating the delicate balance between local habitation and the visitation of Death Valley bound tourists with preservation.

Day 7, October 28, 2024 Shoshone to ?

Shoshone to Coalinga, Huh?

Our plan was to camp at Taboose Creek, midway between Independence and Big Pine along the Eastern Sierra, then make our way to Kernville overnight before returning home. At a stop for lunch in Panamint Springs, another of our favorite “balanced” destinations, we overheard a conversation by a couple of locals of 50 mph winds stirring up that afternoon. Thus confirmed our concern that a rapidly developing frontal system would likely close Tioga Pass and would require changing those plans. New plans: We would bomb to Kernville for the night, some 288 miles, and get a roof over our heads.

Setting out, the predicted winds materialized and our ride down Panamint Valley and Wildrose-Trona Rds eventually to CA-14 and CA-178 over Walker Pass was like riding a bucking bronc through drifting sands obscuring the road with fine dust breaching the seals of our helmet’s visors. I’ve ridden in rain in the Rockies, fog in the Central Valley, searing heat across the Mojave, and snow flurries on the Paunsaugunt Plateau. I’ve pedaled across the Big Horn in Wyoming in a thunder shower with hail pelting me on a bicycle, exposed to lightning. I’ve weathered a Sierra thunderstorm and cross country skied in a whiteout. Maybe because I survived all of those, my fear of calamity was only slightly moderated. I was scared s*#tless. But, as of this writing, I survived!

I was in the lead and when we arrived in Lake Isabella where a right turn onto CA-155 would have taken us to Kernville. The wind, menacing dark skies, and light precip compelled me to forge ahead our next stop, Hart Lake, just north of Bakersfield to fuel up and make a plan for the night. We had made 276 miles and the afternoon shadows were lengthening. Our three options were to slab back to Merced on CA-99, the Bloody Highway, to zig and zag through the foothills ensuring a well after dark arrival home with the specter of a collision with Bambi, or shoot across the Tulare Lake basin to Coaling to stay at the Best Western Plus, where we stayed on the infamous, A Moment’s Inattention ramble.

North on CA-65, west on CA-46 and north at Blackwells Corner, the last place James Dean was seen alive, an on to CA-33 where we arrived at the Best Western just as the sun set, 391 miles later.

We arranged for a room and after unloading the bikes we headed into Coalinga for our ritual of finding nourishment and refreshments. It had been a long day of “riding hard” as Pete would snarl, and I was completely exhausted making decisions. Taking the lead, rather than hitting the State Foods Supermarket or any of the fast food joints or taquerias, Pete pulled into the Coalinga Valley Market on Polk St.

Entering this store, after such a long day and our decision making capacity compromised, we wandered around in circles through the floor to ceiling canyons of packaged food items. The market was well stocked, but the only thing fresh in this store was at the carniceria.

Such a colorful desert…

We found the beverage selection limited, but that didn’t stop us from landing a couple of 24’s. As for food, I ended up getting a tin of smoked oysters and Lays Kettle Jalapeno chips, striking a nutritional balance between proteins, fats, and carbs. Pete got a can of low sodium Spam, preferring a balanced saturated fat, protein, and even at 25% less sodium, salty fare. The rest of the evening is a blur…

No wind, crickets, ravens, or coyotes at the Best Western Plus in Coaling Station A

Day 8 October 29, 2024 Coalinga Homeward

Homeward Bound

Approximately 91 miles north on CA-33 to Hudson Rd, a zig and a zag to CA-152 & 59 and presto, home from an 8 day odyssey that may seem from this narrative that at times wallowed in disappointment about the vibe, but, was by any definition an adventure: an exciting ✔ or very unusual experience ✔; a bold, usually risky undertaking ✔; hazardous action of uncertain outcome ✔; filled with peril ✔, danger ✔, risk ✔, chance ✔, fortune ✔ and luck ✔. All the boxes checked!

I harken back to a conversation during the relaxation, rehydration, reflection hour(s) around a campfire in Three Rivers a few years ago where we met Chris Baer, a white water adventurer who was running the Kern during a massive spring runoff, who when asked, “So, what’s the favorite river you’ve paddled?” His reply, without hesitation, “The next one…”

I’m looking forward to a winter of bicycle riding and maybe I’ll hit the slopes, mended ankle permitting. Until then I’ll be searching my AAA maps, Butler Maps, Google Maps, and fellow moto-touring YouTubers for what will invariably be my favorite, next ramble. Until then, thanks once again to Pete for indulging me as a brother rambler, only slightly overwrought .

All the Best,

Sisyphus

sisyphusdw7.com Sisyphus and Associates, Much Ado About Nada

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2024 Red Rock Canyons Spring Ramble: Ride, Camp, Repeat

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, a proverbial phrase fittingly describes the writer’s extensive desert adventure. Facing wintry challenges, they embarked on a meticulous journey, blending familiarity with the unfamiliar for an enriched experience. From Red Rock Canyon State Park in California to the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area in Nevada, the trip featured unique geological landmarks, encounters with motorcycling enthusiasts, and unexpected surprises along the way. Amidst the landscapes, historical sites, and wildlife encounters, the narrative captures the essence of exploration, camaraderie, and personal reflection. Reflecting on both the joy of seasoned travel and the allure of venturing into the unknown, the writer shares their aspiration for a future adventure, blending nature’s diverse offerings and the prospect of new companionship.

The content provides insights into the challenges and pleasures of the extensive desert trip, offering a captivating blend of personal experiences, historical references, and geographic details.

April 7 – 12

**Red Rock Canyon State Park, Kern County, CA**

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step” is a common saying that originated from a Chinese proverb. The quotation is from Chapter 64 of the Dao De Jing ascribed to Laozi, although it is also erroneously ascribed to his contemporary Confucius. (Thanks Wiki…)

This saying teaches that even the longest and most difficult ventures have a starting point; something which begins with one first step.

This spring’s first step took place as the holidays (Thanksgiving and Christmas, 2023) following Austin Bound, Austin Nevada That Is, launched me into planning our next winter/spring desert adventure. Winter’s heavy snowpack was still blocking the familiar Ebbitts, CA-4/Monitor, CA-78, Sonora, CA-108, Tioga, CA-120, and Sherman Pass Rd, Forest Rte 22S05, all passes we’ve taken from our home in the Central Valley of California to cross the mighty Sierra. Late winter/early spring storms threatened closing our more familiar southern routes including Alta Sierra, CA-155, and Walker Pas, CA-178. Tehachapi, CA-58 would only be considered in desperation to avoid defeat.

Timing, as they say, was everything. Variables informing my route planning included setting a week’s worth of time for a journey of a thousand miles with calendar approvals from the invitees, a cautious eye to 15 day weather forecasts, securing what has become the nuisance of a campsite reservation (given our age induced entitlement, we don’t boondock), and deciding what new features of riding, camping, and repeating would make this spring trip to the Mojave different from those of the past.

I’ve always wanted to compare California’s Red Rock Canyon State Park to Nevada’s Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area. Note that there are “Red Rock Canyons” in California, Nevada, Arizona, Colorado, Utah, perhaps multiple-named features in each state and probably anywhere else there’s oxidized iron in the soil through which a river once flowed. Laozi would be proud of narrowing the scope of our journey of a thousand miles to just two red rock canyons in two states.

This tour’s invitees included Pete and Andy. Pete was “from-the-get-go” a go after prodding him to actually look at a calendar and check in with his partner Cheryl to clear seven days. Andy was crickets until two days before our planned departure after indicating he’d be available after his wife Toni’s birthday in early March. But he bowed out due to an odd impairment from dragging baggage in Guatemala. That’s an excuse for the books…

If you have followed the exploits of Sisyphusdw7.com, then you are familiar with Pete and Andy. Pete rides a Suzuki V-Strom and Andy sports a Moto Guzzi Norge while I mount on a Moto Guzzi V85-TT. You’ll also be familiar with Andy’s absence on all but one trip, Riding Under a Fool Moon, and Pete’s perfect attendance on each moto adventure I’ve chronicled on Sisyphusdw7.com since its inception in 2016. Next time, eh Andy?

Click the links of the daily headings to see the route maps.

Day 1, Merced to Red Rock Canyon State Park

The first leg of the journey of a thousand miles began at our usual meeting place, the Chevron station on G St and Yosemite Ave in Merced. There happened to be four fellow bicycle riders who were meeting for a Sunday morning ride when I arrived to meet Pete. Loaded and ready for rambling, as is often the case describing our plan to our cycling friends, a faraway look in the eyes of one of the bicyclists was punctuated by, “I wanna go! I wanna go!”

This first step of the journey included some 200 miles through the San Joaquin Valley floor skirting farming communities of Dos Palos, Firebaugh, Mendota, Tranquility, Lemoore, Corcoran, Allensworth, and Wasco. We even passed near the community of Neufeld, perhaps named for members of Andy’s farming lineage. Passing by Corcoran, a lake called “Pa’ashi” by the indigenous Tachi Yokut tribe, that had disappeared 130 years ago from California largely by way of the diversion of the Kings, Kaweah, Tule, and Kern Rivers for irrigation and to a lesser extent, periodic drought, and now, after a series of severe weather events in 2023, the lake had returned.

Images from NASA’s Aqua satellite orbiting the earth show the progression of flooding in the Tulare Lake Basin from March 2 through April 28, 2023

As a result of mitigation by stakeholder groups, the lake is now receding. What may also be receding are dreams of high speed rail in California as funding of the controversial project is questioned. Below is a drone image courtesy of hsr.ca.gov taken near Wasco in the southern San Joaquin Valley where the viaduct is being constructed to raise the rail-bed above potential flooding.

**Could this become the high speed rail to nowhere?**

Leaving the valley, we traveled another 100 miles through the pump-jacks of the Kern River Oilfield, along the outskirts of Oildale, through the Kern River Hart Memorial Park, and then meandering through the Kern River Canyon past Lake Isabella, over Walker Pass on CA-178, to south on CA-14, all en route to our first campsite at Red Rock Canyon State Park. The California version of a Red Rock Canyon.

**These images are within a mile of one another, the Kern Oilfield and Kern River-Hart Memorial Park. You decide which is which…**

Many of the pump-jacks appeared to be new and they were dipping and rising en masse in what must be the expression of how us ‘Meri”can”s have nearly achieved oil independence. Who needs high speed rail when up through the ground comes a bubblin’ crude? Just in case, I’m joking. Though I ride a fossil fuel consuming motorbike, I support alternatives for mass and individual transit (high speed rail and bicycles) that don’t entirely depend on the crude.

The Kern River Oil Field covers an area of 10,750 acres (43.5 km^2) in a rough oval extending over the low hills north-northeast of Bakersfield, in the lower Sierra foothills, hills which are now almost completely barren except for oil rigs, drilling pads and associated equipment. This area is the densest operational oil development in the state of California: Midway-Sunset southeast of the Kern River oilfield, which has more wells, is almost three times as large in surface area, for a lower overall density.

There are others, like the McKittrick fields I’ve featured in a previous Super Bloom post. Yielding a cumulative production of close to 2 billion barrels (320,000,000 m^3) of oil by the end of 2006, it is the third largest oil field in California, after the Midway-Sunset Oil Field and the Wilmington Oil Field, and the fifth largest in the United States. Its estimated remaining reserves, as of the end of 2006, were around 476 million barrels (75,700,000 m^3), the second largest in the state. It had 9,183 active wells, the second highest in the state. The principal operator on the field is Chevron Corporation. (Thanks Wiki…)

The contrast between the verdant ag lands of the valley floor and the desolate oilfield, from which the last barrels of carbon were being extracted, is striking. For a detailed history and updated production figures, check out: Kern River Oilfield. Our impact on the environment for feeding our civilization is fragile when you consider that as few as 150 years ago the indigenous peoples of the region lived in relative harmony with nature.

The temperatures were just right until we began climbing up to Lake Isabella. Clouds and a passing cold front made for a chilly section of CA-178, the Kern Canyon Road. Along with a couple of “Roadwork Ahead”, “Prepare to Stop” signages as two lanes merged into a single lane, a chilling scene unfolded as we came upon a motorcyclist who was writhing on the road having apparently been thrown from his bike that was lying against the canyon wall some hundreds of yards away…

Be careful out there… (Pardon the expletive), with the Steve Miller Band, Further On Up the Road

Once we made it to the divided four lane portion of CA-178 as we approached Lake Isabella we experienced a brief respite from the twisty canyon road traffic traveling down the Kern River Valley with a lunch stop at The 178 Bar and Grill.

**In moto parlance, I believe this gallimaufry would be called a one into four…**

The sun broke through the clouds and we enjoyed a little thermal respite besides that transmitted through heated grips on the motos. It’s always a challenge to insulate against the cold and heat when moving from one elevation/climate zone into another, namely the Sierra to the Mojave, regardless of the season. Passing through the small lakeside communities of South Lake and Waldon, we then passed through the more rural agricultural communities of Onyx and Canebrake. It’s there we began the climb over Walker Pass (el. 5250 ft) where, coincidentally, the Pacific Crest Trail intersects.

The pass was charted as a route through the Sierra in 1834 by Joseph Rutherford Walker, a member of the Bonneville Expedition who learned of it from Native Americans. Walker returned through the pass in 1843, leading an immigrant wagon train into California. In 1845 the military surveying expedition of John C. Fremont used the pass. He suggested it be named after Walker. Walker Pass was used in 1861 by cattlemen from the San Joaquin Valley and the Tejon region of the Tehachapi mountains to drive cattle to the silver boomtown of Aurora near Mono Lake. Aside from the paved road, the pass is essentially unaltered since Walker mapped it in 1834. (Thanks Wiki…)

Join Sisyphus with Dwight Yoakam and Neil Young on a hyper-ramble over Walker Pass

The view from Walker Pass to the vast expanse of the Mojave desert is stunning.

At the intersection of CA-178 and CA-14 we headed south, arriving at Red Rock Canyon State Park in just a few minutes. This state park has no reservation campsites, however, each site has a table, potable water and pit toilets are available, some even open air stalls! There is a fee that we paid, including a $2 senior discount and our reasoning that since a second vehicle added $6, our two 2-wheeled motos were the equivalent of a 4-wheeled vehicle requiring no additional fee. Having no pen or pencil we left the envelope in the drop box (duh) keeping the tag just in case a friendly ranger or maintenance worker checked in with us suspecting turnstile jumping dirtbag motorcyclists.

**The campsite at Red Rocks State Park in eastern Kern County**

The area was once home to the Kawaiisu people. Some petroglyphs and pictographs are found in the El Paso Mountains and represent ritual sites from ancestors of the Coso people were early indigenous inhabitants of this locale. They created extensive carvings in rock within the El Paso and neighboring mountains of Red Rock Canyon and conducted considerable trade with other tribes as far as the Chumash on the Pacific coast.

The colorful rock formations in the park served as landmarks during the early 1870s for 20-mule team freight wagons that stopped for water. The park protects significant paleontology sites and the remains of 1890s-era mining operations.

Providing several unique, dramatic areas, and close to Los Angeles, since the 1930s Hollywood has frequently filmed at Red Rock Canyon, including motion pictures, television series, advertisements, and music videos. (Thanks Wiki…)

And of course, here’s one of my very favorite programs filmed in the Red Rock Canyon State Park, Huell Howser’s Golden Parks episode

A blustery welcome to our first night campsite on the Red Rock Canyons Ramble…

**Pete’s selfie-ish photo that might have broken the internet if only he had social media…**

The nearest provisions were at the Jawbone Canyon Store, whose motto is, “Let them eat dirt!” around 7 miles further south on CA-14. That is where we thought we were going to get our dinner and 3R’s beverages after setting up camp. By then the wind was howling out of the south. When we arrived at the store that is popular among the ORV crowd around 5:30 pm, on this Sunday, the store was closed, so I guess, eating dirt was our option.

A quick search of Google Maps indicated that California City, about 14 miles further south, appeared to be a settlement of some consequence, so off we went battling sidewinds as the sun began to hug the western horizon.

After fueling up, procuring our favorite beverages, along with a bag of Fritos and a bundle of firewood at the One Stop Market, apparently in the midst of billion dollar lottery fever given the size of the crowd buying quick-picks, we headed back to camp after a 340 mile day. Fritos would have to do as our hearty lunch in Lake Isabella would sustain us…

Day 2, Red Rock Canyon State Park to Shoshone

Twas a bit windy through the night, however as the sun arose on Monday morning, the wind had settled down.

Good Morning Red Rock Canyon State Park

Neither Pete nor I are paleontologists, but are both fans of the Flintstones. We agreed we had found the remains of *stegosaurus rubrum*…

**There are some rocks worthy of being described as red…**

A shorter day by ~100 miles lay ahead as we planned to sprint south on CA-14 to Redrock-Randsburg Rd en route to dawdle a bit in Randsburg on our way across Death Valley to Shoshone, one of our favorite stops.

Randsburg California, or Rand Mining District as it is also known, is considered to be a “Living Ghost Town”. Holding on to the very brink of existence, this small mining community is located in the Northern Mojave. Outdoor recreation booms here: ATV, dirt bikes, 4x4s, motorcyclists. RVers & car clubs are welcomed. Weekends can be busy with tourists, local horsemen & desert dirt boys, but on week days you’ll have the place to yourself. An old fashioned soda fountain at the general store & a real old west saloon, hours vary with season. The Joint is the local bar. Randsburg is a great place for interesting desert photography. (Thanks to the Randsburg.com website, the domain for which is 4-sale)

It was around 9:00 am on a Monday morning and in spite of the promotion about how people are dying to go to Randsburg, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Wait, there was a dog barking at us from afar. We did pretty much have the place to ourselves except for a couple of local spirits.

Pete was intrigued and wondered how much was that little Yamaha in the window. The Bulltaco was probably a better deal…

**Is that an apparition appearing in the photo?**

Next we were off to Trona on, what else but, Trona Rd and our favorite Trona cafe, Esparza’s for breakfast. You could consider that Exparza’s has a lakeside location. Except for the fact it’s Searles Lake. What the restaurant lacked by way of a view was more than compensated by the delicious fish tacos. I only hope they weren’t fresh from Searles Lake…

**Eclipse? What eclipse?** **I’m here for the tacos**…

From there it was off to Death Valley via Trona-Wildrose Rd with a tailwind for a change. At the intersection of the Wildrose entrance to the park and the CA-190 Townes Pass entrance, there appeared a sign warning against the faint-of-heart tackling that route. We came upon a couple who we speculated were on rented Harleys, harleying their way to Death Valley, in full Haley regalia; riveted black leather jackets with fringe and matching chaps, hers with fringe, the chap’s, fringeless. They came to a sudden and mildly confused appearing stop as we approached at customary cruising speed on those long lonesome straightaways, safely under 100 mph. We passed, losing their tableau in the rear view mirror. I hope they chose well. It would be sad if they suffered like those bleached Randsburians…

Right on CA-190 and the first real “super-bloom” was evident.

Geraea canescens, commonly known as desert sunflower, hairy desert sunflower, or desert gold, is an annual plant in the family Asteraceae that was showing off. Telescope Peak from the west, sporting some late spring snow, is still feeding Lake Manley on its eastern flank.

Death Valley was in the very pleasant mid-60’s when we arrived in Furnace Creek for a fuel stop. Ill Mio Rosso likes expensive stuff. Pete’s V-Strom uses the budget stuff.

**Yikes! The downside of supply and demand**…

We contemplated taking CA-190 to Death Valley Junction, then CA-127 south to Shoshone. But, seeing an actual Lake Manley in Badwater was something worth the slightly added distance, heat, and traffic.

Channeling Ansel Adams, Pete busied himself composing a photo of the Seldom Seen Lake Maley as we pealed away layers of insulation.

It’s sometimes hard to capture the scale of the vastness of terrain, especially that of Death Valley. Below is Telescope Peak from the east at 11.049 feet taken from 282 feet below sea level at Badwater with Manley Lake in middle-ish ground.

**The remains of Lake Manley’s source topping Telescope Peak in the Panamint Range**

In no time we made our way on Badwater Rd to Jubilee Pass Rd, the continuation of CA-178 to CA-127 then south to The Shoshone Trailer RV Park. I’ve noted that Shoshone is one of our favorite destinations. The campground is perfect, the Crowbar has the best eats east of Trona and the Chas Brown Market can provide for all occasions including offering a geode for $2800. If I had space for it on the Guzzi, well, maybe. We settled on procuring beverages for the 3-R’s. I’ll ask my grandaughter how to take a selfie without looking at your trigger finger… The lens needs some attention.

Day 3, Shoshone to Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area

Good Morning Shoshone!

**Aerial view of the Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area near Las Vegas, Nevada, looking northeast** (Thanks Wiki…)

A short 86 miles to our next destination, the Nevada version of a Red Rock Canyon, commenced by heading east on the Old Spanish Trail Hwy. We soon learned there was no breakfast to be found until we reached Blue Diamond the nearest community serving the National Conservation Area. The community includes a park, private pool, library, elementary school, event hall, church, and a mercantile/gas station. The mercantile (general store) was built in 1942 and originally sold household staples and sundries to residents who were mostly miners at the Blue Diamond Mine. The store has maintained its original external look. Walls inside the store showcase many of the town’s historical photos, courtesy of the Blue Diamond Historical Society, an all-volunteer organization.

Cottonwood Station is a local scenic eatery in the historic village of Blue Diamond, minutes from Las Vegas. Near Red Rock Canyon and Spring Mountain Ranch State Park, Blue Diamond attracts many hikers, mountain bike riders, road cyclists, and guys on motorcycles, like us. There was, to our surprise, a large upscale Trek store next to the eatery. Drop by the Cottonwood Station for a latte while waiting for the wrenchers to adjust your electronic shifters and hydraulic brakes I reckon…

**The breakfast pizza was killer! Pete still searching for the eclipse…**

From Blue Diamond it was just a few miles to our campsite in the Red Rock Canyon NCA. After procuring a couple of whistle wetters at the Blue Diamond Market where the cashier shared that they would be closed by 5:00 because the owner didn’t want to pay her until 8:30, her preferred closing time, we strategized our dinner plans that would follow a tour of the Red Rock Canyon Loop. But first, a couple of whistle-wetters.

Onward to the Campground… with Sheryl Crow

**Electrolyte replacement is very important**

Didn’t make it to Las Vegas so we didn’t need to leave. But, life was so bright on a Tuesday afternoon…

Dropping off our gear and setting up our tents, we headed for the park. We passed through an entrance station that boldly displayed a sign indicating reservations were required to enter the scenic loop through the canyon. I noted to the attendant that we had a campground reservation to which she replied that wasn’t enough. So, in my best, “You can’t possibly deny us entry into this fine geological feature of Nevada that would have to take second place to the okay geological feature of California that wasn’t even red if we cannot enter to determine its superiority” plea.

She asked if I had a park pass. I whipped out my National Parks and Federal Recreational Lands Senior Pass and with that she said, “That’s two dollars.” and waved me through.

Nearly speechless, I thanked her, pressed once forward on my shift lever and moved to allow Pete to pass through. When he pulled up next to me he said that he had just paid $10 to get into the park. I later consoled him by acknowledging that his additional $8 contribution to the National Conservation Area helped to support the tricked out bicycle repair station that was installed in one of the turnouts. I assured him it was less than the latte back in Blue Diamond that he was supporting the people’s repair stand.

**Still smarting having been fleeced out of $8 by the Feds**

Always eager to make new acquaintances, I met Marlon Ma of Wu Tang Chinese Martial Arts Institute. He approached us admiring Ill Mio Rosso Bela, which, by the way, gets noticed far more than Pete’s V-Strom these days. When Pete first toured on his Triumph T120, my little Kawasexy Versys was hardly noticed despite its candy orange color scheme with matching panniers and drybags. It seems that everyone we would meet would get all misty-eyed recalling their love affair with a Triumph from yesteryear. No longer do we see misty-eyes but eyes of wonder and bewilderment as curiosity is voiced, “What’s a Moto Guzzi?”

**A new friend Marlon, a Wu Tang master**

Marlon was a sport bike guy who also owned a BMW and a Harley. I wasn’t going to hold that against him after I requested and he obligingly shared his first stance and move when encountering a foe that was in every way, vintage Bruce Lee. Marlon no longer lived in New York where he founded the Wu Tang Institute. He now lives in Las Vegas where, coincidentally, the Wu-Tang Clan can be found in their historic, first-ever Las Vegas residency, at The Theater at Virgin Hotels Las Vega Rolling Stone Wu-Tang Residency.

Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area Loop with Donald Fagin and Walter Becker

After moseying through the park loop, we made our way into Angel Park Ranch, a tony North Las Vegas zip code and found an Albertson’s to procure the evening victuals and, of course, the 3R beverages that would complement the grub as the relaxation, rehydration, and reflection hours awaiting.

**Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area campground**

**Our evening stroll took us to new heights**

Descending the hillside, we ambled through the campground coming upon what appeared to be a tent worthy of gale force winds. Indeed, the gentleman who excitedly shared his tupik said that since he often camped in windy deserts, he found this Swedish Expedition Tent to be ideal. It was designed to withstand winds up to 70 mph. Though it looked somewhat complicated, he said it was a snap to set up. He had a luxurious mattress that covered the entire floor! No blustery tent flapping, rocky floor night’s sleep for this fellow. I guess he could have slept in his van, but if you’ve got a Hilleberg Tara why would you?

A man, a tent, not just any tent, a *Hilleberg Tara*, and pride…

In the distance we could hear jet fighter aircraft, ostensibly from Nellis Air Force Base just a few miles to our east. As night fell, the maneuvering jets quieted having practiced their tactics, we kindled a fire and reflected as we relaxed and rehydrated viewing Jupiter and the waxing crescent moon.

On the western horizon, **Jupiter and the waning crescent moon**

To the east, the bright lights of Lost Wages

Good Morning Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area!

Day 4, Red Rock Canyon to Caliente, NV

*A fellow motorcyclist sharing stories over coffee. That lens needs attention again..*

We’re accustomed to the sound of military aircraft doing tactical maneuvers as the former Castle Air Force Base is located near our hometown in Merced. The one-time Atwater Air Force installation was home to the U.S. Strategic Air Command, a part of America’s Cold War nuclear triangle. For a time a fighter squadron occupied the base too. With the base closure in 1995 the Strategic Air Command picked up and flew the coop. Nowadays there is a commercial pilot training facility, the Castle Air Museum, UC Merced facilities, the U.S. Penitentiary Atwater, along with other portions leased to Google for development of self-driving technologies (known as Waymo), the County Animal Shelter, and a few local businesses including a brewery, The Tarmac. The fighter jet scream was familiar.

We made our way east through North Las Vegas on NV-604, avoiding I-15, skirting the Las Vegas Motor Speedway and Nellis Air Force Base, home of the USAF Thunderbirds. As noted, all the previous afternoon into the night and the following morning we heard the distant thunder of aircraft, most likely fighter jets, perhaps even the Thunderbirds, working on maneuvers, tactical or otherwise…

Satisfying our machine’s thirst for fuel, we decided to save time and look to the Loves Fueling Center store to select a “delightful” Loves Fueling Center breakfast that we ended up eating in a dog park. Rushing through a fruit cup and blueberry yogurt, we then headed up US-93, the Great Basin Highway, to our next destination the Kershaw-Ryan State Park near Caliente, Nevada.

Back when considering the route, searching maps on the interwebs, taking those first steps on this journey of a thousand miles, I happened upon an Atlas Obscura Article about an interesting property next to the Western Elite Landfill that serves Las Vegas. It’s known as RyanHenge. This Stonehenge-inspired solar calendar stands alongside a landfill, in the middle of the Nevada desert. Along with the replica of the ancient Neolithic henge monument in Wiltshire, England with a twist, can be found beautifully restored rail cars once used by Teddy Roosevelt, Annie Oakley, and Wild Bill Cody. There are other vintage vehicles and an interesting collection of animals at the site, including a camel.

Arriving at our campground at the Kershaw-Ryan State Park, yet another novel feature of this ride of the familiar and the unique satisfied, we were disappointed to find our reserved campsite was occupied by a monster motorhome of the lumbering mastodon sort. We knocked about trying to find a ranger and searched for an alternative site checking to see if any of the reservation tags indicated a vacancy for the night. Finally, we did see that the Ranger’s vehicle was at the entrance and so it was fitting to tell him the tale of our misfortune. It all began with a faulty 404 error on the Nevada State Parks Reservation system…

Situated in a colorful canyon, with towering walls up to 700 feet high and a long, verdant valley in between, Kershaw-Ryan State Park is an oasis in the desert, a sharp contrast to the rugged landscape that surrounds it. Natural springs grow a garden of wild grapevines, white oaks, fruit trees and willows, and a spring-fed pond provides a refreshing children’s wading pool. It is not unusual to see wild horses, deer, and other wildlife come to the water. (From the KRSP website that worked…)

Back in early March I was unable to make the reservation on-line due to a glitch on the Nevada State Parks Reservation website. So I called the Parks HQ in Carson City making the reservation over the phone. The delightful parks employee I spoke with assured me that she would send a confirmation email for the site, post haste. Two days later no such email had appeared. I checked the spam folder: nada. I called back to get a different parks employee at the Carson City office who said that her computer was down (hmmm) but that she would check and resend the reservation confirmation by way of email. Just in case, I requested the site and confirmation numbers from her. A few moments later, she gave me the site number, 10. I never received that promised confirmation but my credit card had been charged. I figured that was good enough.

I explained all of this to the very helpful Ranger Evan who was on a Zoom meeting but happily left the call to check his records. I had arranged for one night at the campground. He shared his paper reservation roster that indicated that I had reserved a primitive campsite for 6 days. What-what?! He thought that unusual since they never reserved primitive sites, they were on a first-come first camp basis and besides the fee charged was $60 instead of the $10 single night fee. I was actually charged $25. What-what?!

The remedy was that he handed us the reservation list and said that several sites were available for the night that were reserved for the next couple of nights. He wink-wink, nod-nodded us commenting on the frequency of glitches on the Nevada State Parks Reservation system. He was of the opinion that a cheaper, less robust system was purchased by the State and that was the cause of all of the errors. Alas, a campsite would be found, tents would be pitched, and we would head into Caliente for dinner and 3-R’s provisions.

**Take your pick of any of the empty campsites…**

**Found one next to the donation based fire wood shack…**

Just as we departed the entrance shack with roster in hand to select our homestead for the night, an interesting “conversation” piece rolled up, right out of the Black Rock Playa… When I stepped up to the pick-up towing this unique trailer, I inquired, “That’s quite the conversation piece ya have there,” to which a passenger replied, “So you wanna have a conversation?” with a British accent.

**Montana Slim’s Traveling Robot Orphanage**…

If there’s something that looks a little familiar about this aircraft converted into a Traveling Robot Orphanage by Montana Slim, well look no further…

Amelia Earhart disappeared over the South Pacific in a Lockeed Model 10 Electra. Montana Slim’s plane is a Beechcraft Model 18. Though they look alike, there were only 149 Lockheed Model 10 Electras made primarily in the 1930’s. There were 9,000+ Beechcraft Model 18 manufactured from 1937 – 1970. (Thanks for the checked facts Wiki…)

*Montana Slims Traveling Robot Orphanage* makes a stop at the *Amargosa Hotel* and the *Angels Ladies* brothel just north of the famous hotel.

The plane that’s full of graffiti at the brothel is the same plane as Montana Slim’s a.k.a. Sean Gurrero, a Beechcraft C-18. Check out artist Sean Gurrero’s work:

Montana Slim, aka Sean Gurrero or @seangurreroart Instagram

After a fine dinner at The Side Track Restaurant in the rail town of Caliente, Nevada, a charming and remote ciudad pequeña in the Great Basin of Nevada, we took a quick tour of the burgh as we made our way back to our campsite. We came upon a restored/updated motel Pete had stayed in some decades ago, formerly the Midway Motel, now known as Patty’s Motel. We met the proprietor, Patty, who seemed quite cordial inviting us to check out the venue.

We declined Patty’s invitation to stay as we were camping, however, this property is on the checklist for our next Nevada ramble! Mixing a little of the new with the familiar, I say…

Another evening around the campfire, relaxing, reflecting, rehydrating and knowing our skies are safe! True to the labyrinth in RyanHenge, Life is Good!

Day 5, Caliente to Panamint Springs

**A corvid friend greeting the new day…**

Another gas station fuel-up at Dino’s Sinclair for the bike and a breakfast of cranberry juice and a Kind Bar for the pilot began the long 350 miles across what would be increasingly warm, from the mild spring weather we had thus far enjoyed, speedfest across Nevada.

**I would love to have a Sinclair Dino for my grandkids to play on in our yard, in our front yard, and for all the kids in the neighborhood.**..

This was to have been our longest day, riding some 350 miles from Caliente on the Extraterrestrial Highway, NV-375, through Rachel dropping by the Little A’Le’Inn for a whistle wetting ginger ale and to drop off the morning rental coffee.

From Rachel it was on to Warm Springs on US-6, then to Tonopah where at a stop at the Beans and Brews Coffee House for a turkey croissant samie and RedBull light, we met a fellow on a well traveled DR 650 Suzuki who had made it from Ushuaia, the capital of Tierra del Fuego in Argentina to Tonopah on an epic ramble. Except for shipping his bike from Brazil to San Diego skipping the Darién Gap, he was on a circuitous route back to his home in Salt Lake City after months on the road. He was by all accounts road weary, but given his youthfulness and efficient looking rig, I’m sure the final miles to Salt Lake City would be a fly by.

From Tonopah it was down US-95 through Goldfield, past the shuttered Angel’s Ladies Brothel outside of Beatty.

The Interesting Case Of The Abandoned Aircraft And The Brothel

Angel’s Ladies was a 5,000-square-foot legal brothel situated on a 70-acre ranch which was located three miles north of Beatty, Nevada. It was known as Fran’s Star Ranch until it was renamed Angel’s Ladies in 1997 after being purchased by Mack and Angel Moore. It has been closed since August 2014. Prior to the 1970s, the brothel had been known variously as Circle C Ranch and Vickie’s Star Ranch. On May 28, 1977, an accident during a promotional stunt on the property resulted in the crash of a twin-engined light aircraft. The wreck has been located next to the brothel’s billboard ever since, and used as a spectacle to attract customers from the road. Mack Moore attempted to sell Angel’s Ladies in 2007, but ended up taking it over again two years later as a result of foreclosure. He subsequently sold the business again in 2010, this time for $1.8 million, and continued to run it as a leaseholder. On 10 August 2014 he retired and closed the business. (Thanks Wiki…)

I digress. Then it was west through Rhyolite (see Sisyphus and Associates Tour Rhyolite) and Daylight Pass Road into Death Valley with a quick stop in Stovepipe Wells to shed some insulation and enjoy a RedBull Light and some conversation with the proud parents of an Australian Cattle Dog, like my very own, SoBe. The trio was traveling in Death Valley from their home near Huntington Lake. I’ve written about rambles through all of the places in this segment of our ramble in previous postings in my Much Ado About Nada website, Sisyphus and Associates if you’d care to check them out. Maybe someday I can bring SoBe along on one of these rambles as a most welcomed associate…

It seems we would be just in time for the hottest part of the day when crossing Death Valley. If it weren’t for the heavy ATGATT (All The Gear All The Time) the mercury nearing the 90 degree mark when we descended into Stovepipe Wells wouldn’t have seemed fifteen degrees warmer. Visions of a cool beverage took the place of the distortion of light by alternate layers of hot and cool air as wishfulness overtook an optical illusion induced mirage…

**That ain’t no mirage… We just got a jumpstart on the 3-R’s**

Since this trip of a thousand miles was a blending of new roads to ramble with some of our favorite, greatest hits destinations, you can’t travel through Death Valley and not stop at Panamint Springs, just outside of the park on CA-190.

Panamint Springs Resort is a small, rustic, western-style, resort located in beautiful Panamint Valley in Death Valley National Park that provides lodging, camping and RV services, a restaurant and bar, and a gas station with a well stocked general store. (Thanks PSR…)

Just as the refreshing beverage was beginning to sate our thirst, a young mom, with a newborn strapped to her by way of a front sling, walked up the steps to the Panamint Store. I had to acknowledge how wonderful it was to see the little one getting exposed to a desert adventure. Only a few weeks old, the proud mom said that she had already been to three national parks! About the same time the woman’s mother walked up and lo and behold the conversation revealed that I began my career teaching with her mother who was at the end of hers. Furthermore, the young mom was the daughter of a rancher I knew back home. So, Kevin Bacon, beat that… two degrees of separation.

Now, I imagine for most people, when the word “resort” is used to describe a setting, this might not be what their imagination congers. I, on the other hand, could not imagine a more fitting word, defined as: a place to which people frequently or generally go for relaxation or pleasure, especially one providing rest and recreation facilities for vacationers. It ain’t the Furnace Creek Inn, but for my money, it’s every bit as satisfying! There could be fewer rocks in the campground, but alas, it’s the desert and what would the desert be without rocks?

**Relaxation, reflection, and rehydration on the menu at the Panamint Springs Resort**

No braying burros or noisy Boy Scouts or laughing religious retreaters from our last stay at the resort keeping us up throughout the night: Panamint Spring 2023

Day 6, Panamint Springs back Home

What was to be either a route to Kernville or Three Rivers adding another night to a sixth day’s travel, was now subject to a brewing spring downpour in the forecast for the following Saturday. So we decided to ride some 360 miles after a longish 350 mile day across Nevada from Panamint Springs back to our homes in Merced on our sixth of seven planned days, Friday.

**Another glorious Panamint Range/Valley sunrise**

We decided to ride like the wind (except it was into the wind) retracing our route back on CA-190 south to Trona for a last breakfast at Esparza’s.

I’ve written in the past about how Pete’s metabolism is remarkable. Pete had eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, biscuits and gravy. My chili verde was superb! I gained weight on the trip. Pete lost weight…

There was no eclipse to regale this day but we did meet a local fellow who was a resident of Trona for some 20+ years. When Pete asked what it was like living in Trona he replied that it was all right, that there wasn’t much to do, and he said that he had “caught cancer” and was in need of chemotherapy, which, not surprisingly, wasn’t available in Trona. We assumed he worked in the mineral extraction business, but who knows, living in Trona on the shores of Searles Lake is perhaps carcinogenic itself. We bid him blessings and the best of luck as we headed south to Ridgecrest.

From Trona not far south on the way to Ridgecrest on CA-178 you’ll find an interesting geological feature, The Fish Rocks.

Passing through Ridgecrest, we hopped on to CA-14 south for a few miles before heading west CA-178 over Walker Pass, a reprisal of our first day’s route of this Red Rock Canyons Ramble. Figuring the pass (el. 5,250 feet) would be a bit nippy, we insulated up. It would be at Hart Lake Memorial Park just north of Bakersfield where we stopped for fuel and swallow a RedBull Light that we de-insulated as the valley temperatures were rising.

Saturday in the park, I think it was the Fourth of July… No, wait, it was Friday, April 12. We were in a park though…

North through Oildale, east to Shafter, north on CA-43 through Myricks Corner, Wasco, Neufeld, Elmo, Pond, Kernell, Allensworth, Angiola, past the Tule River Viaduct, Corcoran, Hamblin/Hanford, zig-zagging by way of the GPS through Caruthers, Raisin City, Rolinda, Kerman, Ripperdan, Parkwood, to the Pilot Travel Center on Ave 18¹/₂ where I pulled over for fuel, but was talked out of it by Pete who was tired of stop signs every couple of miles and traffic backed up due to road construction. It had been slow going and was pretty warm, especially having to stop-and-go on several segments of the route.

I had just about enough fuel to make it home and so he compelled me to jump on CA-99, against my better judgment and where at the CA-152 and Hwy 99 exchange we were nearly run off the road by an indecisive cager who did a multi-lane change confused by the left lane exit to Los Banos and the through route north on CA-99, cutting us off and driving us to the shoulder of the road.

At that point, Pete led us to the LeGrand exit where we once again zig-zagged merrily on county roads with little traffic the rest of the way to the security and comfort of our family, pets, and homes.

Epilogue

I began this post by acknowledging that a journey of a thousand (and 212±) miles starts with the first step. For me the first step is in imagining how I might recreate the cheer and satisfaction achieved on all of the other rides I’ve chronicled while recognizing that the balance of the familiar with the unknown and how it brings the greatest ROI. I guess that as a geezer, I enjoy seasoning travel with a sprinkle of sentiment being careful not to overdo it by marinating in nostalgia.

At the same time, I reckon I’ve lost the desire to just hang it all out there and come what may, ride with abandon as I know it’s tougher to assemble a coherent narrative without taking the time to immerse in the adventure. Since on most of these rides, despite being retired and relatively free to ramble, the calendar no longer waits for procrastination or indecision. Hence, we return to the familiar to glean from the present what we overlooked in the past. As for the unknown, there’s always satisfying our curiosity with the novel, offbeat, unique, or strange. Take for instance RyanHenge or Montana Slim’s Traveling Robot Orphanage, not something you come across on a given day.

And as the calendar waits for no hesitation to plan the next moto adventure or my increasingly fidgety travel lust only marginally deteriorating with the specter of another night in a rocky, blustery, and frigid campsite or a smoke filled, sweltering, torturous lonesome highway, I can’t wait to begin planning the next, and perhaps, most epic ride. I think the next one will head north as spring meanders toward summer and where a volcano or two, some redwoods and rivers, and maybe a “popularly priced” motel populates the route. Maybe the forest floor duff will erase the memory of a stoney desert floor and we’ll hybridize our accommodations on this next foray.

As always, stay tuned for Sisyphus and his Associates next episode. Hey, just drop a line if you’d like to join us…

Cheers!