Sisyphus and Associates

When we were younger… Part 1, 1993 Tour de Basin Grande, 1994 Tour de Pomme de Terre, 1995 Tour de Pomme, 1996 Tour de Saguaro, and 1997 Tour de Ute

“I could remember anything whether it happened or not…”

What follows are my recollections of bicycle rides organized by Larry Johnston with a varying cast of characters over a period of nearly 30 years. Larry has since ridden the Burr Trail into the Mystic and so my tribute has taken form. My first summer cross state adventure with this intrepid though mildly warped contingent was a pedal across Nevada in 1993 and our last together, in 2015, a loop ride in Utah.

A wee bit of history… What would become an annual ride across a western state began in 1988 with the Tour de Sierra featuring Dale Soria, John Holbeck, Mike Sullivan, and Larry riding from Merced over Tioga Pass and back to Merced via Sonora Pass sagged by Dale’s wife Catherine. Larry’s adroitness for naming the rides improved following the Sierra crossing with The Tour de Montagne Blanc in ‘91 with the original riders in touring in the vicinity of the White Mountains and in ‘92 The Tour de Pahoehoe across northernmost California featuring John Adams and Steve (Ganong?) added to the “A” list crew as “B” members, with John Holbeck dropping out.

In 1993 I joined the cast as a “B” rider (invited by an “A” rider) along with Dale, Larry, Mike and Glen Rothell, Richard Vaughan, Don Lundberg, and Dave Moss as we made our way on the Tour de Basin Grand across Nevada. I modestly resented being a “B” guy since the reason I wasn’t an “A” guy was because the first two rides were scheduled when I had to return to work. Given the temperatures in Nevada, an earlier ride in July allowed for me to make this tour. It was bad form to skip the opening of the school year and abandon my newly minted sixth graders to join the prior rides typically beginning around Labor Day as school was commencing. So for the next 9 years Idaho, Washington, Arizona, Utah, Oregon, Colorado, Montana, New Mexico, Wyoming became my greatly anticipated summer cycling adventures as Larry conceded a mid-summer calendar, my own personal Tour de Life adventures.

Alaska and Hawaii itineraries subsequently surfaced, sadly (I think), I was unable to make those rides. Nevertheless, inspired by Larry I organized a ride in 2003 while Larry’s bunch were cycling from Valdez to Prudhoe Bay in Alaska. In 2008 Larry pitched a fall ride from Ventura to Death Valley over Sherman Pass and once again, plans were made and rides followed though less frequently as life off the bike became more complicated for all of us.

I am eternally grateful to Larry’s spirit, great humor, and generosity for planning and leading these rides and his memory will live with me, and all who were fortunate enough to join in these merry prankster tours, until I take my last ride to some border, which could be charitably described as bleak, dreary, isolated, and forsaken. A familiar feature of the end of most of these rides…

Tour de Basin Grande 1993

Riders: Dale, Dave. Don, Glen, Larry, Mike, Richard, Tom SAG: Glen’s Suburban

Edward Bellamy, whose words grace the above caption, apparently never recreated in Nevada. It was five days of pedalling for miles and miles across miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles. And bread, generally white and fried, sustained us over the six days…

Larry considered routes very carefully planning for terrain, climate, lodging, and traffic, and our routes were always majestic with reasonable challenges. In Nevada there were no reasonable challenges. Distance and terrain were unreasonably severe. However, the sag was always a welcomed sight. We could usually rely on the sag being at roughly twenty mile intervals where water, snacks, and tools were available to repair thirst, hunger, and mechanicals. This was unlike Tonopah which appeared on the horizon early in the day and remained there, a distant oasis, throughout the day until we finally arrived late in the afternoon having crossed what seemed an infinity of fault block mountains along the way.

How to capture the epicness of riding miles and miles through nothing but miles and miles? From the comfort of the sag of course. Sporting bad-ass style is our leader, Larry.

Our days began early as soon enough we would grow weary from the sun relentlessly beating down upon us. Don, the senior member of the ride who was then into his seventies (on the far right side in the photo above), rode his vintage Peugeot steel frame with a homespun carpet wrapped foam saddle, in running shorts, a chambray shirt, and running shoes. He routinely lost the shirt during the hottest part of the day. He was the master of the “duck-landing-on-ice” dismount at the sag. Don was truly inspirational for us thirty-somethings. After suffering from the affects of the desert, and by that I mean food desert along the Nevada byways, I was determined to influence where our meals were to be had on future rides.

Tour de Pomme de Terre, 1994

Riders:  (L-R) Dale, Don, John, Glen, Larry, Chuck, Richard, Steve, Mike and Tom behind the lens. SAGs: Glen’s Suburban, Larry’s 4-Runner

There was mischief afoot in the land of apples…

Not only was Mike’s bike defiled by some reckless prankster. Larry’s rig was profaned by a banana and a beloved John Denver cassette of his accidentally unspooled out of a window when his sag was driven by the guy in the white jersey (Dale) holding the banana. Yes, the very banana pictured in the top and bottom bottom photos. Perhaps this was some vestigial behavior from their 10 Days on the Muir Trail.

Of note on this ride was Don’s 79th birthday celebrated in high style. Flame broiled burgers were an improvement over fried iceberg salads.

This ride concluded on the Montana Idaho border after a long flat rendering gravel road. Murphy Mack and the current lot of gravel riders have nothing on us.

These rides variously involved five to seven days of riding sometimes over 100 miles in a day. At the conclusion of each ride, we’d wipe down, down a cool beverage, and get in the Sags for several hours of driving on the homeward bound leg… With seized legs bound by lactose where at fuel stops we would mimic circus clowns tumbling out of their tiny circus cars.

Tour de Pomme, 1995

Riders: Larry, Glen, Steve, Don, Richard, Chuck, Tom, Pat, Gordy*, John A. SAGs: Glen’s trustworthy Suburban and Chuck’s Explorer**

A harbinger of things to come?

The value of planning cannot be underestimated. Nor can flexibility in an itinerary. The Tour de Pomme itinerary began, “Larry and Steve will proceed at 4:00 am from Mammoth to Yosemite Valley on Saturday, August 5, 1995 and rendezvous with Dale and Glen at 6:00 am. Glen’s Suburban will be taken from there to Richard’s house in Waterford arriving at 8:00 am. Mike and Tom (from Merced – a 45 minute drive) and Don (also from Waterford) will be waiting and ready to head north as the “Suburban Contingent” (eight people total).”

It continued: “The Suburban Contingent will travel to the Portland vicinity on August 5th, staying that night in a mutually agreeable Motel 6 or equivalent”. “On Sunday August 6th, the “Suburban Contingent” will arrive at Chuck’s house in Bellevue, Washington at 11:30 am… Chuck will supply the second sag vehicle (the “Northern Contingent” vehicle with at least four bike racks (this vehicle will return to Bellevue from the end of the ride with Chuck, Gordy, John, and Pat). Chuck somehow will have retrieved John Adams from the SeaTac airport that morning (John will be flying from San Francisco). Gordy will also be at Chuck’s helping Chuck get organized (or possibly retrieving John). All will proceed to the Anacortes start point, stopping briefly for a fast food lunch and last minute supplies, including three additional disposable ice chests (which may have to be carried on our laps to Anacortes). There was even a ferry from Vancouver involved in Larry’s complex plan.

The “Suburban Contingent” departed for Washington with the plan that we would travel deep into Oregon, get a room then make our way to Anacortes in the morning, pick up the “Northern Contingent” fresh from a good night’s rest along the way to our starting point in Anacortes. However, it was Fleet Week in Washington (how did that detail go unnoticed?) and nary a room was to be found, including the phantom room we booked in Vancouver, Washington on Mike’s credit card (company no doubt, he was afterall the CEO of a Mega Rural Health Care congromorant), after trolling the AAA Guidebook, at around 2 am. Staggering into the motel office with the one room that was available between Redding and Vancouver, we were told there were no rooms available. Alas, we found no room at the inn. A misprint in the guidebook had inspired a frustrated homeowner into falsely booking rooms on behalf of the hotel.

So what’s another 3 hours following 18 hours crammed into a Suburban? At the conclusion of the marathon drive to Chuck’s home in Belleview, we arrived and were graciously welcomed by his wife Gail who had prepared their home for a brief respite before embarking the next day on the Tour de Pomme.

The other details of airports (John Adams), ferries (Pat), and accommodations in Marblemount remain fuzzy. Forgetting must be evolution’s way of keeping humans from collapsing into embarrassment, or worse, despair, I suspect… Nothing that ice cream can’t cure.

I don’t recall so much sunshine…  I do recall hustling a nearly hypothermic senior member of the ride into the vehicle from freezing rain before he actually would need to be wrapped in a bag and mounted on the rack.  We always darkly entertained having to carry out that contingency with said senior… Hypothermia wasn’t going to keep us from another festive birthday celebration…

By now you’ve perhaps noticed scant evidence that we actually rode our bikes. We did ride and discovered Washington has a few mountains. We climbed over 30,000 feet (descending just over 28,000 feet). Another feature of this ride was the enlistment of a rider expulsion clause. It became known as being Gordy’d. Suffice it to say that to be Gordy’d from a bike ride made up of such a motley crew must have involved some sort of enormous indiscretion. Not really. One just had to be observed doing just about anything annoying, annoyingly all of the time. Like not participating in The Flip…

*It’s a long story but Gordy was replaced by an Oscar Meyer weiner whistle at the conclusion of the ride. **Dale Soria should never drive impaired by memories of his youth jumping from airplanes into burning forests.

The Tour de Saguaro, 1996

Riders: Dale, Don, Glen, John, Karen, Lance*** Larry, Mike, Richard, Steve, Tom SAGs: Dale’s Explorer, Tom’s C-2500

We had a huge lead in the RAM despite riding in debilitating heat until we decided to sleep…

Moving from the northern portion of the Western States to decidedly warmer climes, beginning a ride in Parker in August is ill advised. As described in Larry’s itinerary, “flat and fast” our first day was more like “dehydration and hyperthermia”.

This was the year Larry introduced the “Vaug-han” and “Mega Vaug-han”.

A Vaug-han is a verb described in the itinerary as: “A cunning bicycle touring maneuver involving use of sag vehicle; bicyclist leaps ahead in vehicle thereby taking advantage of favorable riding terrain or weather conditions, involuntarily requiring other tour members to care for sag.”

The Mega Vaug-han is described as a Vaug-han involving three or more cyclists.

This was also the first year a woman arrived on the scene.

It was also the year Tom used his intuitive epicurean sense (IEP) to locate food…  IEP preceded GPS, another ride innovation, however developed a much less expense than the Big Brother’s effort to keep track of us all…

Team Salsa, though we only sported Salsa jerseys, represented the Westies.

The Race Across America happened to be making its way across Arizona coincidentally as we were beginning our way across Arizona. It was kind of a big deal in 1996 and was being covered by mobile television crews. As we encountered “three intense grades between Congress and Prescott” television cameras were positioned to capture the agony of the RAM riders as they ascended Hwy 89 out of Wilhoit. We did our best to mug for the cameras, posers that we are.

The ride ended on the Arizona New Mexico border east of Springville, AZ which could be charitably described as bleak, dreary, isolated, and forsaken. A familiar feature of the end of most of these rides…

Up next, Part 2

Out with the younger and in with the older (new) millennium… 1997 Tour de Ute, 1998 Tour de Castor, 1999 Tour du Grand Ligne de Partage, 2000 Tour du Pays du Grande Ciel and 2001 Tour du Pays Enchante (A Spacey Odyssey)

Tour de Ute, 1997

Riders: Larry, Lance, Chuck S., Don, Chuck T., Richard, Glen, John H., Tom, and Ron. John A. was a last minute cancellation.

Vehicles: Glen’s Suburban, John H’s Tundra

For this episode of the Tour de Life, I’ve chosen to recall the tour across Utah through Larry’s words as described in the detailed itinerary and update he provided all of the participants.

Tour de Ute (pronounced; “toor do ü-tay”

When: August 12-17, 1997 (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday); 4.5 days cycling.

Where: Across Utah State beginning at Uvada (about 150 miles northeast of Las Vegas) ending at the Utah-Colorado border near Hovenweep National Monument. Best map: “Indian Country” by AAA.

Day 1: Travel to Panaca, Nevada for 1:00 pm rendezvous; proceed east in sags on Hwy 319 to NV-UT border at Uvada (el. 5,500’± and ride via Hwy 56 to Cedar City (el. 5,600′). Stay the night at the Super 8 ($30±/person). Distance: 58 miles Terrain: Mild, rolling; warm ’em up, let ’em drift.

Day 2: Ride Hwy 14 east and up, up, up to Midway Summit (el. 9,896′) – a definite “Vaug-han”. Check out nearby Cedar Breaks National Monument. Proceed down then up to Long Valley Junction (el. 7,900±). Turn north on Hwy 89 to Hwy 12. Ride east on Hwy 12 through tunnels, over the “summit” (el. 7619′) to Bryce near Brice Canyon National Park – stay the night at the $30±/person Fosters Motel (you know, Al Foster’s place). Distance: 70 miles (don’t you love it?). Terrain: Big climbs, big descents; watch out for tourists.

Bryce Canyon, John H., Larry, and Ron, and Al’s place

Day 3: Follow 12 east and north through Escalante and the new National Park to Boulder (el. 5,000′?) Stay at Poles Place, $25±/person. Distance: 72 miles (don’t you love it even more?). Terrain: Up and down and all around; time to play…

Day 4: A short cut’s in store, who could ask for more? Ride east from Boulder on the Burr Trail and shuttle the 20± mile dirt section through Capital Reef National Park. Ride south to the ferry at Bullfrog Basin; swim or take the ferry across Lake Powell ($9/car – free/swim) before heading east on Hwy 276 where the day’s adventure can end at Hwy 95. Shuttle northwest or ride to the only place to stay for miles, the Fry Canyon Lodge (it’s near Natural Bridges National Monument); maybe $40+ a piece… it ain’t cheap. Distance: 103+ miles not counting the shuttles and ferry; pring paddles/swim suit. Terrain: The Lake Powell crossing will be flat.

From a recent correspondence with Chuck Thuot, “Some parts of ALL the rides leave edible memories, but that morning in Utah riding with you (…we were first out together) when we both dropped in to the entrance of that canyon on the Burr Trail was, for me anyway, perhaps the most ‘spiritual’ moment I’ve ever known in a wilderness setting (… and that’s after traveling on all 7 continents). At that moment I felt like I shouldn’t even speak so as to not desecrate experience. I remember us stopping and observing with profound awe at our stunning surroundings without a word be said between us…. thanks for being there !!“

Day 5: Spin 12 easy miles back to Hwy 276 and continue east on Hwy 95 past the Natural Bridges cut off (Hwy 275), the Mule Canyon Ruins, the Arch Canyon Ruins, and the Butler Wash Ruins to Hwy 191 at Blue Mountain (el. 6,000’±) just south of Blanding. Take Hwy 191 to White Mesa. Turn left (east) on Hwy 262 for a while (9± miles) then take the road that leads to Hovenweep National Monument (more ruins) on the UT-CO border. Pack ’em up and head south and west through Monument Valley, Page, and Zion National Park to Saint George or thereabouts. Find a place to stay… Distance: 93 miles unless it’s more or less; 396 miles total. Terrain: It’s probably all paved… Rock and roll, watch out for Navajos.

Ed. note, Thus ending a ride at another bleak, dreary, isolated, and forsaken border.

Day 6: Return to places of origin…

Reply by: July 1, 1997. Ride will be self-sagged; sags to be arranged (sag providers pay for no gas). A deposit of $20 is requested from all others; gas to be shared.

Misc: All participants should bring their own individual lunches, riding food, drinks, ice chest (shared). During ride, morning and evening meals are planned to be purchased at local commercial establishments. Driving to be shared by all riders. Reservations for motels during the ride are already arranged; pay upon arrival. Slower riders should leap-frog ahead; final logistics to be arranged depending on participants. This will be the best yet!

Larry, ever the master of precision logistics, provided an update posted August 05, 1997 Mojave, CA:

-Update- Tour de Ute

All is in a go mode for les Tour! There are 11 participants. The sag vehicles will be provided by John Holbeck (south vehicle) and Glen Rothell (north vehicle). Sag drivers pay no gas.

Logistics looking like this:

On Monday the 11th, Lance Vaughan (son of the originator of the infamous Vaug-han move) will proceed to Waterford from the Bay Area with his bike, John Adam’s bike (John A. please coordinate with Lance on bide transport) and probably Chuck Thuot, but not his bike (Chuck T. may find his own way to Waterford; Chuck, please coordinate with Lance and Richard). They will rendezvous with Richard Vaughan (of “Vaugh-han” fame) and Don Lundburg at Richard’s house in Waterford, hopefully around 4 pm.

Leaving Richard’s house at 4:30 pm, they will proceed (wiht 4 bikes and gear) to Crane Flt in Yosemite where they will meet Glen Rothell and Tom Jones at 6:30 pm. Tom Jones (from Merced) will have earlier joined with Glen Rothell in Mariposa and helped prepare Glen’s Suburban with racks for 8 Bikes (Tom and Glen please coordinate departure from Mariposa to be at Crane Flat by 6:30 pm). Richard’s vehicle (or whoever’s) will be left at Crane Flat, all proceeding to Larry Johnston’s house in Mammoth Lakes, arriving at around 8:30 pm; all will stay the night at Larry’s house (voulez-vous acouches avec moi?).

On Tuesday the 12th, Chuck Satterfield (from Mammoth) will arrive at Larry’s at 5:30 am and join the rest of the north contingent in leaving Mammoth Lakes no later than 6:00 am. Breakfast will be enroute, maybe in Tonopah. The north group will arrive around noon at Panaca, NV. There’s a small restaurant on the southeast corner of the intersection of Hwys 93 and 319. Lunch and rendezvous with the southern contingent will be there.

Meanwhile on Tuesday morning, John Holdbeck and Ron Burien will leave (with 3 bikes; john H. will be bringing a bike for Chuck T. along with extra bike shoes) from Calimesa in time to get to the Las Vegas airport by 9:35 am. This is the time John Adam’s plane arrives form the Bay Area. From Las Vegas, they will proceed to Panaca and meet the north contingent at the restaurant at eh corner of Hwys 93 and 319 (see above). After lunch all will proceed to the UT border and bike to Cedar City as planned.

Larry’s update continues: There are a couple of notes on the remainder of the trip. First, the 2nd day’s route will be slightly different. Instead of continuing on Hwy 14 from Cedar City to Long Valley Junction, the route will turn north on Hwy 148 at Midway Summit through Cedar Breaks National Monument and then on Hwy 143 to Panguitch. From there, it will proceed south on Hwy 89 to Hwy 12, then to Bryce.

At Bullfrog Basin (at Lake Powell), the ferry supposedly leaves ont he odd hour; 9, 11, 1, etc.

Lodging has been reserved on Saturday the 16th for 11 people at the Best Western Travel Inn in Saint George (Exit #8 from I-15). There will be 3 – 3 bed rooms and 1 – 2 bed room; around $30 per person.

The south and north vehicle people have each been asked to provide a large water container (5+ gallons), bike tools, two ice chests, and a floor pump. The south vehicle has been asked to provide an extra set of wheels (one front, one rear). A CB radio will be available for each vehicle at Panaca (via Larry).

For the north vehicle, baggage space will be at a premium; please go light.

Any questions, please call. Au revoir mes amis!

Four days and 1147 miles in April 2019 from the Central Valley to the Pacific coast, across the Carrizo Plain, over the Tehachapis to the Mojave and Death Valley, returning back home along Sierra…

The 2018-2019 rainy season in California proved to be a bit shy in the early months however by January the atmospheric rivers roared. With record breaking snow levels in the Sierra and above normal rainfall in the rest of the state, the long dormant seeds of California’s native vegetation exploded as the days lengthened and temperatures began to rise. Considering the ravaging fires of last summer, the landslides associated with burn scars were limited and the verdant landscape was renewed.

The maps above show how this year’s precipitation (top) is substantially greater than in the past 20 years (bottom) that have been considered drought conditions for much of the Western U.S.. Note the scales. (Northwest Climate Toolbox)

All of the rain gave me the opportunity to consider this spring’s moto to view the best of the super bloom. Joining me on this two wheel road trip was fellow rider Pete, on his Bonneville T120, and I on the Kawasaki Versys. This was to be our third loop around California to enjoy what the state has to offer in terms of the best two seasonal transitions: fall to winter and winter to spring…

Day 1 Merced to Cambria (Approx. 266 miles)

Selecting a route that would showcase the variety of climate zones in California wasn’t a difficult task. Our route would take us from Merced, our home in the Central Valley, on SR 59 and 152 to Dos Palos where we traveled south on N. Russell Rd. through South Dos Palos then west on W. Shields Ave., crossing over I-5 continuing west on our favorite back road, Old Panoche Rd. through Panoche Valley and the Coast Range foothills.

Old Panoche Road is a winding road through open range, blue oak, and gray pinion pine foothills where golden eagles, Western bluebirds, the oak titmouse, the Lewis’s woodpecker, yellow-billed magpies, and phainopepla are resident. Mammals in the area include three federally endangered species; the San Joaquin Kit Fox, Giant Kangaroo Rat, and Nelson’s Antelope Squirrel. The American Badger is also native to the valley. Endangered reptiles in the valley includes Blunt-nosed Leopard Lizard. When approached from the west slope during winter you’ll see mountain bluebirds and flocks of sparrows down from higher elevations. During spring, Swainson’s hawks nest along this road.

Not all of the sunlight goes into photosynthesis as the controversial Panoche Valley Solar Farm is now generating 130 megawatts of power serving San Benito County. Originally proposed at 399 MW, the cost was estimated at approximately $1 billion. The project faced lawsuits from three environmental groups who charged that project would harm native species such as the giant kangaroo rat, blunt-nosed leopard lizard, San Joaquin kit fox, and various bird species. The project was downsized to 247 MW and eventually 130 MW in 2017 after a settlement was reached. [Wikipedia]

Once over Paicines Pass, twisties and sweepers made for a quick descent down to the Paicines Store. Now likely powered by the PVSF, the store’s kitchen produced wonderful chili verde and asada burritos that powered us until dinner. Controversies are abundant in our changing world. It’s nice to have something like a small country store making a legit chili verde to reassure that as some things change, some things remain the same. Well, maybe now the lights are solar powered.

It was on to Hollister, San Juan Bautista, and Castroville for a fuel stop for the machines and our connection to the iconic SR 1. With more traffic than we prefer, Hwy 1 is a beautiful route to enjoy especially exposed to the elements as one is on a motorcycle. The winding road to the Big Sur, Lucia, Gorda, Ragged Point communities, often isolated by the ravages of rainfall induced landslides, all dodged atmospheric bullets this wet season as closures were temporary unlike in 2017.

The Mud Creek Slide, which rained debris in one of the state’s largest landslides, destroyed a quarter-mile section of the roadway. The road had been blocked since May 20, 2017 near the tiny town of Gorda, 65 miles south of Monterey, where the slide occurred when a quarter-mile section of the two-lane road fell into the Pacific Ocean at Mud Creek, along with 50 acres of hillside. The Soberanes Fire in 2016, along with other slides along the route, including an eight-month closure that bisected the town of Big Sur in 2017, meant an even longer wait for an uninterrupted drive along the cliff-hugging highway that kept us on an interior route last year.

The road was open and though we may have wanted to lean a bit more into the curves, sightseeing tourists kept us vertical as we slogged down the highway. Though it was cloudy and cool and the traffic slow, we dressed for the conditions and, making the best of the slog, enjoyed the vistas down to Cambria which were stunning.

How about some witnessed natural history?

Acorn Woodpeckers (Melanerpes formicivorusare) are very unusual woodpeckers that live in large groups, hoard acorns in granaries, and breed cooperatively. Cooperative breeding is defined as more than two birds taking care of nestlings in the nest. At Nepenthe, a group of acorn woodpeckers gathered acorns by the thousands last fall and wedged them into holes they’ve made in tree trunks, telephone poles, or side of the restaurant. Several were flitting about perhaps inspecting their cache or catching insects, another source of food. These birds will mate in the fall when the acorns are plentiful that is unusual for most birds. I suspect this display was less to impress than to capture a tasty insect or a vintage acorn. It was at Nepenthe afterall…

And now for some cultural history…

State Route 1 was one of the most difficult routes to build particularly along the Big Sur coast. The state first approved building Route 56, or the Carmel-San Simeon Highway, to connect Big Sur to the rest of California in 1919. Federal funds were appropriated and in 1921 voters approved additional state funds. San Quentin State Prison set up three temporary prison camps to provide unskilled convict labor to help with road construction. One was set up by Little Sur River, one at Kirk Creek and a third was later established in the south at Anderson Creek. Inmates were paid 35 cents per day and had their prison sentences reduced in return. The route necessitated construction of 33 bridges, the largest of which was the Bixby Creek Bridge. Six more concrete arch bridges were built between Point Sur and Carmel.

No wonder infrastructure doesn’t get done like back in the day…

After 18 years of construction, aided by New Deal funds during the Great Depression, the paved two-lane road was completed and opened on June 17, 1937. The road was initially called the Carmel-San Simeon Highway (Route 56), but was better known as the Roosevelt Highway, honoring the current President Franklin D. Roosevelt. A 1921 law extended Route 56 south over the county road to Cambria. [From Wikipedia]

We made it to the campground just in time for fish tacos in Cambria at the West End Bar and Grill. As state campgrounds go, the San Simeon Creek Campground is nearly perfect. Just a few miles from Hearst Castle and Cambria, it’s a fully equipped campground. The ocean lullaby ensures a great night’s rest.

After a hearty breakfast at Cambria Mimosas Steak & Seafood and fuel at the local Shell Station, day two beckoned… sans mimosas.

Day 2 Cambria to Panamint Springs (Approx. 342 miles)

From Cambria we would head east on California SR 46, south on US 101, and east again on SR 58 detouring south of Bakersfield through McKittrick, Derby Acres, Maricopa, Taft, and SR 166 to Mettler and weaving in and around back roads through some serious agriculture to Arvin. The southern Central Valley (San Joaquin Valley) is ironically home to fossil fuel production and large scale farming often in the proximity of, if not on the same, acreage. Descending from the foothills, pumpjacks and pipelines dominate the landscape. Further down slope orchards of almonds, avocados, walnuts, pistachios, oranges, tangerines, lemons, and fields of potatoes, carrots, lettuce, garlic, and onions with an occasional pumpjack interspersed. We saw cattle and calves, sheep and lambs grazing on rangeland where oil extraction was taking place. Hopefully, as the roadside banners remind us, the food will grow as this year’s (abundant) water flows.

In spite of large scale oil production and agriculture, it was on the outset of this leg of our spring tour that we were astonished by the super bloom. The coastal foothills and westside plains were ablaze with color, the density and scale of which I’ve never seen. The timing of the this year’s rain on the plain was exquisite.

After a quick fuel stop in Arvin, we began the ascent over Tehachapi on SR 58. The darkened skies were intimidating as we wove through truck after truck slogging up the pass. Once over Tehachapi Pass, north on SR 14 and 395 the skies cleared. However, confronted by brutal headwinds, we were buffeted to and fro through Bradys and Brown, with a blustery stop at Pearsonville for gas where our helmets came in handy to deflect the wind causing other patrons at the Shell/Subway to grimace as they were pelted with sand and other debris while filling up. Somehow we missed seeing the Uniroyal Gal (a.k.a. the Hubcap Lady) in Pearsonville. That’s the sort of thing that will turn a grimace into a smile…

From Pearsonville, just south of the 9 Mile Canyon exit on US 395 that takes you over Sherman Pass, a route I’ve taken on a bicycle three times, it was on through the Red Rock Canyon, Little Lake, Coso, Coso Junction, Dunmovin, Haiwee, and Grant in increasing headwinds blasting us to Olancha where SR 190 took us east to Panamint Springs. I made the best of the conditions as I tucked in the slipstream behind a Jeep Wrangler. With a taller windshield and the Jeep, my ride was a bit more pleasant than Pete’s with his swave minimalist cafe windscreen. Given the frequency of the winds in this region, I’m pretty sure the number of settlements named on the map outnumber the residents on that stretch of road. Not so much of a super bloom there as the timing of the considerable rain that occured in the desert wasn’t as prolific in the production of wildflowers. Or maybe the wind blew all of the flowers’ seeds away…

As we began the descent into the Death Valley Monument the winds tapered, yet once again our desire to lean into the twisties was stymied by a group of gentlemen tourists cautiously riding their shiny Harley Davidsons as we shared the road. Once again we enjoyed the vistas freed from having to determine the line and apex of the next turn.

If you look closely you’ll see the Father Crowley Overlook in the Google Map screen capture below. I wonder what it was that was overlooked with this Father Crowley fellow…

Arriving at the Panamint Springs “Resort”, all was forgiven and forgotten about the raging viento as we were greeted with calm. Once our tents were pitched and sandwiches and a cold beverage were consumed at the definitely desert funky Panamint Springs Restaurant we were ready to enjoy the big sky perhaps to see a stealthful F-18 or F-15e from the nearby Nellis AFB, Edwards AFB, NAWS at China Lake, or NAS at Lemoore buzz this Star Wars Canyon.

The Panamint Springs Resort was originally owned and operated by Buffalo Bill Cody’s cousin, Agnes Cody. The motel was opened in 1937 when the first toll road was constructed traversing the Panamint Valley. A post office operated at Panamint Springs from 1940 to 1946. Change comes slowly to the desert, but who needs a post office when you have free WiFi?

As the sun was setting the light reflected off of the harsh desert terrain softened as the warmer wavelengths of the spectrum illuminated the landscape. Snow topped Telescope Peak glowed in the setting sun.

We were invited to share a campfire with our campground neighbors with whom we shared stories of our travels. As we watched meteorites flash across the night sky with the Milky Way as the backdrop while contemplating the planets, stars, galaxies, clusters, the question of how big is the universe and then what? What defines a “thing” and how big can they get? The next “thing” I knew it’s morning in the space time continuum and it was time to Jet Boil some java…

After sharing itineraries with our other campground neighbors we packed up the gear and headed south.

Day 3 Panamint Springs to Three Rivers (Approx 256 miles)

Day three would take us southbound on Panamint Valley Rd. also known as the Trona/Wildrose Rd. (SR 178) through Trona, the absolute garden spot of the Eastern Sierra Mojave region.

Entering Trona one is at once struck by the industrial mineral production and isolated feel of the place. Passing by multiple roadside dumps of the remnants of times of greater prosperity cast something of a pall over the town despite being a very pleasant sunny, windless spring morning. I’m pretty sure automation and international markets have some responsibility for the decline of Trona. There is a high school. In fact it’s one of the best maintained facilities in the town. The baseball and football fields were sand. I can’t imagine taking a short hop as a shortstop or what being tackled as a receiver would feel like. Then again, it’s probably preparation for the hardscrabble life that awaits after graduation…

Pete has quite an appetite for such a compact fellow. Since earlier we hit the road without breakfast we decided to stop in Trona for a bite to eat where he recalled his first stay at the now closed Pinnacles Motel some thirty years earlier. Since the Esparza’s Family Restaurant was one of two eateries in Trona, we dropped in. There didn’t appear to be any evidence of a thriving community as we rode past shuttered businesses after abandoned houses. The server was very pleasant and a couple of mothers and their “free range children” arrived as we were seated. A few minutes later a couple of auto-tourists dropped in. Take out orders were dispatched. I guess their business model works for what appeared to be a town on its last leg. We discovered that in its previous life the restaurant was a fancy Fox Movie Theater (opened in 1954–my birth year–so it wasn’t exactly ancient history). The boomtown appeared to be considerably busted but my Belgium waffle, two eggs, and bacon were delish.

Some more history courtesy of desertusa.com:

Trona is home to the Searles Lake playa located in the Searles Valley on Hwy 178 in the Greater Mojave Desert. Searles Lake is one of a chain of pleistocene lakes which were formed during the Ice Ages. The dry lake bed contains a plethora of sodium and potassium minerals of the carbonate, sulfate, borate and halide classes, due to long sedimentation and evaporation processes which occurred over a period of about 150,000 years.

The dry lake also contains the Trona Pinnacles National Natural Landmark which consists of more than 500 tufa spires. Trona Pinnacles has been the site of many movies and commercials because of its prehistoric mystical appeal. Over thirty film projects a year are shot among the tufa pinnacles, including backdrops for car commercials and sci-fi movies and television series such as Battlestar Galactica, Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, Disney’s Dinosaur, The Gate II, Lost in Space, and Planet of the Apes.

A short jaunt south on SR 14 brought us back to last spring’s route over Walker Pass on SR 178 to Wofford Heights and Kernville with a slight variation. Stopping in Kernville for fuel and a lesson in credit card fraud prevention, we got conflicting reports about our intended route on the Great Western Divide Highway over the Sequoia Crest. Since we knew that the Sherman Pass Route over the Sierra was snowbound, we had planned to take Mtn. Hwy 99 to Johnsondale catching the GWDH to where it becomes California SR 190 through Camp Nelson and Springville joining Yokohl Valley Drive to SR 198 and Three Rivers for the night. Alas, the road to Camp Nelson was closed for the winter as reported by a young fellow on an Yamaha Fz07 or was it an 09? Despite my checking with CalTrans before departing and being assured the route was opened, he said that there was a gate across the road that morning and that he turned back.

Instead we traveled over Alta Sierra on SR 155 through Glenville and Old Stage Rd. into Porterville. North on SR 65 through Strathmore, Lindsay, and Exeter we then turned east on SR 198 to Three Rivers for the night. The compensating feature of missing out on the Great Western Divide Highway was that the air was deliciously scented by the blossoming citrus in the region.

Just as we were anticipating arrival and setting up camp in the Sequoia National Park at the Potwisha or Buckeye Flat campgrounds, we encountered a long line of stop-and-go traffic near the Kaweah Terminus Dam. Damn, it must have been Spring Break traffic filling the park! As we rolled on we discovered that a terrible accident involving a pick-up that appeared to be smashed in some sort of head-on collision. We later learned that medi-flight responders evacuated victims.

Rolling on, the traffic cleared in Three Rivers however, upon approaching the entrance station to Sequoia National Park, we noted that only two of the fourteen campgrounds in the entire park were open (see the introduction about snow) and they were full. The friendly ranger referred us to a couple of private campgrounds in Three Rivers and lo and behold we discovered the Three Rivers Hideaway right on the Kaweah River.

We shared a section of the campground with a fellow who introduced himself as Chris, based in Colorado, who was kayaking the spring runoff in California. After dinner we sat around the campfire sharing what brought us there and came to find that he was a professional kayak river guide. He proved to be a fascinating adventurer, at once humorous and humble. His website, whereisbaer.com, is filled with content of his many world wide wet adventures. When asked if he had a favorite river Mr. Baer simply replied, “Yep, the one I haven’t yet run.”

That’s a line I’ll steal when I’m next asked about a favorite moto tour!

Day 4 Three Rivers to Home (Approx. 283 miles)

Our final day took us on another variation of last year’s route to SR 216 to Woodlake where a delightful breakfast was enjoyed at Dora’s.

This year we continued north into the hills instead of staying in the valley through Auckland, Badger, Sierra Glen, Pinehurst, and Cedarbrook, all quaint Sierra communities along right-wrist-fatiguing-twisties and sweepers. North through more of the same sorts of wee settlements named Dunlap and Squaw Valley. A short westward bump on SR 180 and north again on Ellwood Rd. and Piedra around Pine Flat Reservoir through Trimmer on E. Trimmer Springs Rd. to Maxon, Watts Valley, and Burrough Valley Rds. delightfully adorned in best springtime array.

Enroute to Tollhouse Rd. we discovered that Dry Creek was wet. We also noted several folks on a springtime ramble who were picnicking along side of the bucolic Maxon Rd., or was it Watts Valley Rd. or Burroughs Rd.? Regardless, the spring splendor was evident on any winding country road in the vicinity.

Reaching SR 168 a quick right hand turn took us up to the Cressman’s store on the way to Shaver Lake where some caffeine chased by a lime Bubbly hit the spot.

After the caffeine-sugar rush at Cressman’s, we turned tail on SR 168 and headed, north on Auberry Rd. Before dropping down to Auberry and New Auberry (?) to Kerckhoff Lake we encountered a view of the Sierra crest that competed with the many twisties for our attention on the namesake road, which was neither new nor old, as we headed down to North Fork. This view is comparable to that of the Mile High Vista on the Sierra Vista Scenic Byway that you can access in North Fork or in Bass Lake on Beasore Rd..

More twisties up Rd. 274 to Bass Lake and Yosemite Forks where we joined SR 41 through Oakhurst zipping onto SR 49 into Mariposa for petrol for the Triumph.

Like Sea Biscuit returning to his stable, we continued zipping on SR 49 to the Mt. Bullion Cutoff where we dropped down Guadalupe Grade on SR 140 to Catheys Valley being careful to slow our zipping as that section crawls with CHP anxious to ticket unaware tourists. To avoid the speed trap, we took Hornitos Rd. to Merced Falls and Snelling Rd. to G St. finally arriving at home sweet home to the affectionate gaze of SoBe eagerly awaiting a reward for being a good dog (and only driving Toni, Kyndra, Luna, and Dakota just a little crazy).

Four days and 1147 miles from the Central San Joaquin Valley, across the Coast Range to the Pacific coast, bisecting the Carrizo Plain, up and over the Tehachapis, to the Mojave and down to Death Valley, & back along western slope of the Sierra home.

The air was lighter in October than during the early fire season where much of Central California was blanketed by smoke from the Ferguson, Carr, and Mendocino Complex fires in July through September. These fires, just three of the 8,527 conflagrations in all of California, were controlled when the tragic and massive Camp fire erupted in November 2018. In Merced, our home, we’re accustomed to fog in the winter but without the AQI 200 – 300+ ashen particulates you could taste with each breath experienced this summer. The extended summer fire season ironically put a damper of sorts on my usual bicycling, hiking, and moto adventures.

Thankfully, as fire activity rapidly diminished and the AQI resumed it’s more normal “unhealthy” rating in September before raising it’s ugly mane again in November, plans were made to travel through the Western Sierra Nevada with moto/bicycle pal Pete on local roads including Hwy 49 up to Lassen National Park, west on Hwy 36 to the Lost Coast, south on Hwy 1 to Jenner, and finally east to Santa Rosa and home .

Day 1 to Sierraville

The challenge on a four day 1,000 plus mile moto ride is that the riding part will take up a good part of the day that cuts into the stopping parts for fuel, food, and snapping inspiring pics. Most gas station stops, while a necessity, are less than inspiring food or pic ops unless beer is your food of choice.

Hwy 49, the Golden Chain Highway, would have taken us through Jamestown had we opted to go to our usual Bear Valley Rd. junction. Not wanting to deal with the Golden Traffic Chain quite yet, we opted to travel the less traveled roads through Knight’s Ferry following part of our bicycling route on Los Cerritos to Keys Rd., Lake Rd., around Turlock Lake, and across the Robert’s Ferry Bridge. From there on Crabtree, Warnerville, and Willms Roads intersecting with Hwy. 108 at Knight’s Ferry we headed north on E. Sonora Rd. through Eugene on Milton Rd. then rode through Felix, Milton, Jenny Lind, Rancho Calaveras thus skipping a big chunk of Hwy 49 when finally reaching San Andreas. From there it was on to Camp Pardee, Buena Vista, Ione, Latrobe, Shingle Springs, and Kingsville into Placerville where a first inspired smile was recorded. Bob Frost would approve the lesser road smile.

No less admiring of Robert Frost, my fellow two-wheeler friend and I often jest about our admiration for Peter Fonda’s declaration from The Wild Angles that inspires our taking roads less traveled:

Dirtbags that we are, not wanting to be hassled by the man, we figured the tourist traffic along the more established picturesque State Highway 49, say from Coulterville, was best to be avoided in pursuit of our desire to be free to ride our machines and have a good time, even though we’d miss out on Pete’s favorite twisties on Hwy 49 from the Fremont Overlook down to Bagby. From the inundated historic Bagby stop on the Yosemite Valley Railway, more twisties climb up into Coulterville where if you’re lucky, the “mayor” will be holding court on the patio of the Coulter Store …

Plans, like dreams, are easily broken and unlike a movie script we had resumed riding Hwy 49 through the suburban Sierra through Placerville to Auburn. Somehow stop light after stop light dampened our sense of freedom until reaching the Grass Valley and Nevada City nexus where less of the man’s repression was evident. Presumably because fire discouraged tourism was at an ebb.

From GV/NC we headed NE to Downieville as the afternoon shadows lengthened and we were once again free, free to ride our machines and have a good time!

Two wheeling in Downieville inclusively involves pedalling as well as twisting a throttle, although from the photo above, you’d think Downieville a sleepy little foothill burgh. Absent are the two wheelers that I recall outnumbered the school busses something on the order of 100:1 that are mysteriously absent in the photos.

From Downieville we entered the deciduous and evergreen zone of the Sierra having left the grasslands savanna riding twisties and rolling hills through chaparral/oak woodlands of the valley and foothills. We crested the Sierra Nevada near Sierra City, where the vegetation grades from mostly ponderosa pine at the lower elevations on the west side and lodgepole pine on the east side, to fir and spruce at the higher elevations. Después de disfrutar de una buena comida en el restaurante Los Dos Hermanos, we discovered the creeping seasonal change in what resembled alpine conditions that exist on the eastern side of the Sierra crest and at the highest elevations where the aspen beginning to change color telegraphed winter. But where to camp for the chilly night?

A quick stop for provisions, following that delightful mexican dinner, we procured the philosophical musings lubricant known as beer, Negra Modelo as I recall, at the Sierraville Service and Country Store. Here the delightful proprietor happily gave directions to the nearest campsite: “Keep on 89 over the hill and down at the bottom you’ll see the Cottonwood Creek Campground. It should be open.”

Indeed, the campgrounds were open with two other occupants. Running water was not available as nighttime temps were below freezing and the system was shut down. However, our cervezas didn’t have a chance to freeze as we enjoyed spirited conversation of the philosophical sort in recalling 280 some miles of the day’s riding through stunning landscapes ending the day in view of those aspen readying for winter.

Day 2 Bound for the Redwoods

Up and at’em early, thinking we would scoot out of the campground leaving no trace of our stay as did our neighboring occupants who scooted out only minutes before us and who should we encounter? Yep, Ranger Earl seeking remuneration for his dutiful 8 a.m. campground roundup. For our nine hour stay he generously gave us the “winter rate” of $10 instead of the normal $20 fee since there was no running water. Not quite the rate our fellow squatters enjoyed, we suspected our $10 provided the good Ranger with a fine huevos rancheros breakfast at Los Dos Hermanos following our departure.

Returning to Sierraville we sought breakfast at Smithneck Farms Bakery/Cafe for a hearty bowl of oatmeal and a stout cup or two of java.

Our destination was the Grizzly Creek Redwoods State Park to camp for the evening, but first, there was this volcano we wished to see. Heading N Northwest on Hwy 89 we rode through several small communities. For such a sparsely populated region the folks living there sure like to identify their homesteads. We rode Hwy 89 through Calpine, Whitehawk, Clio, Graeagle, Blairsden, Two Rivers, Cromberg, Spring Garden, Massack, East Quincy and Quincy two communities I remembered visiting during my undergraduate days at Chico State. From Quincey we encountered Keddie, Indian Falls, Greenville, Canyon Dam, Lake Almanor, and Chester, the latter two also remembered from the fog of Chico Daze.

Heading west on Hwy 36/89 we climbed up to Lassen Peak the southernmost active volcano in the Cascade Range of the Western United States. On May 22, 1915, a powerful explosive eruption at Lassen Peak devastated nearby areas, and spread volcanic ash as far as 280 miles to the east. Considering California was already smoldering, the potentially eruptive volcano didn’t really cause us any concern, our lungs hardened with forest particulates having endured the summer fires riding our bicycles. What’s a little pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis among friends?

It’s a small world after all and whom should we encounter at the Kohm Yah-Mah-Nee Visitor Center? A fellow geezer and former resident of Merced, our home town, fellow bicyclist, and grandfather who adoringly cares for and celebrates his grandson and their antics on Facebook while my former student, his son, is at work… Ken who eschewed BMW motorcycles for years owning a Honda CBR 1100 XX and who gave up riding motos for bicycles after his second or third mid-life crisis until a fourth or fifth mid-life crisis found him retiring to Lincoln, CA. We serendipitously discovered him astride a BMW beast of a geezermobile pulling into the visitor center parking lot where his riding chaps were waiting. It seems his buddies were frustratedly awaiting his return from the volcano’s summit with spectacles he both lost and later found crushed. A classic geezer move that ended with a surprising encounter and mini-reunion.

Soon we bid adieu to Ken and his stuffy BMW crew who were returning from some Canadian luxury tour headed to some cushy resort at Lake Almanor to guzzle fancy micro-brews. With miles to go before we sleep, and miles to go before we sleep, we climbed back on the people’s bikes to begin the our westward journey on Hwy 36 to the famed twisties west of Red Bluff. You know you’re on the right road as you leave Red Bluff and see the sign warning…

But before you can enjoy the clutch-wrist, throttle-wrist, and shift-lever-left ankle, right-brake-pedal ankle fatigue, you happen to notice a nail in your tire after fueling next to a motorcycle dealership/shop. Serendipity again? Nah. I had to plug the tire because the shop manager wouldn’t assist me other allowing me to air up the repaired tire citing liability exposure. He couldn’t sell me a tire because he didn’t have one to fit my bike. It was a Kawasaki dealership too! Speaking of exposure, we were exposed to searing heat in the upper 90’s having just descended from the cool of the mountains adding to the fun. Indeed, our delay wrought afternoon sun angle glare directly in our face as we began the best part of the ride.

Soon the arid lee side of the Coast Range hills gave way to mountains shielding the sun with forests giving us a greater measure of confidence in being able to see through the glare the undulations and blind corners we encountered. However, as we continued through the next 100 or so miles of twisting roadways, some under repair and gravelly, fatigue began to set in.

I hastily pulled over near the Mad River Burger Bar needing a brief respite from the constant throttle twisting, shifting to accelerate, braking, and down shifting, repeat and rinse. I used the stop as an excuse to consult the map even though there was only a single road to our destination. Slightly off-balance, my topheavy packed-with-gear bike began to tip just as Pete pulled alongside. Though I had dropped my bike once before on another trip with Pete, that time when he had abruptly pulled over to take in a view on wet gravel along the side of the road on ride west over Ebbetts Pass earlier in the year, I hadn’t since. I wear the scratched hard case as a battle scar of freedom! Timing is everything and so just as Pete pulled up my candy-matte orange Versys domino struck his pristine, shiny chrome, black and white [and in a] Triumph [of gravity] both bikes came to rest, gently on their sides.

Hastily righting our bikes, embarrassed as wouldn’t you know a crowd was assembled for happy hour at the bar, we superficially assessed the damage and were pleased to notice how little damage had occurred. I was somewhat relieved sensing that Pete was none too happy with my faux pas. An eventual clutch lever replacement on Pete’s bike along with a slight headlight realignment and a footpeg replacement on the Versys made it all mo’ better.

Following a brief conversation with a local about camping in the vicinity we decided to clear out from the gawking crowd of 420 bystanders at the Mad River Burger Bar and Off Sale saloon as he recommended we just ride up a dirt road behind the bar and set up camp there… I have no doubt that his overture was sincere. It’s the 420 happy hour crowd who might just have an interest to protect whatever just might be up that dirt road, that we were concerned with. One never knows how territorial Master Gardeners can be…

Hwy 36 follows the meandering Van Duzen River just west of the Mad River through Trinity and Humboldt Counties. As nightfall was descending and not having eaten since a sammie on the side of a volcano, we passed a couple of opportunities to grab the evenings provisions in the belief that Bridgeville, CA, an actual designated town on the map closer to our destination, would have a store and/or restaurant. We were wrong. Bridgeville had been variously put on the market and sold as many as four times since 2002. Apparently legalizing pot was driving real estate speculation. As far as we could tell the only feature of Bridgeville that had any redeeming value was the old Bridgeville bridge over the Van Duzen River constructed in 1875. We declined taking any dirt roads to look for other “value added” features of the town.

Just a few miles down Hwy 36 we came upon Swains Flat Outpost and Garden Center in the community of Carlotta where Royal Gold Bulk Soil could be purchased. Given that the Outpost was along a fertile river plane in a dense forest we wondered why there was so many garden supplies so readily available. It certainly didn’t appear there was a farmers market nearby and the only food available in the Outpost grocery store was from the industrial food chain. So a pre-made sammie, some chips, and the requisite micro-brew, a fine Lagunitas IPA as I recall, were procured as we were given directions to the only campground open in the area, the Van Duzen-Pamplin Grove County Park on the recommendation of a bored yet distracted young proprietor.

We arrived at the campground under the cover of darkness. Arriving in a redwood forest at night is akin to entering a sensory deprivation tank without the water. It was pitch black and silent. Finding a nearby campsite, we pulled in for the night setting up in the light provided by our motos to enjoy an incredibly still evening, the only sound that of the crunching of chips as we ate our mediocre dry and virtually tasteless industrial sammies. The beer, however, was excellent.

Day 3 More Redwoods, But a Coastal Course Change

We had originally planned to ride through Ferndale to Mattole Road then on to the Lost Coast and down and back to Hwy 101 by way of Petrolia, Honeydew, and Bull Creek. But considering my brand new Dunlop Sportmax Q3 rear tire was plugged, we opted to stay on smoother pavement nearer “resources” should my fix fail. So, our day 3 breakfast consisted of delicious handmade sammies from the Murrish Market in Hydesville restoring our faith that a sandwich is nearly the perfect food any time of the day or night unless it comes wrapped in plastic. The sammie meal theme was established.

Intersecting with Hwy 101 in Alton, we began our trek south through the Avenue of the Giants in the Humboldt Redwoods State Park. The otherworldly roadway was sublimely serene with little traffic on our morning tour as mists drifted in and out of this incredible sunlit canvas before us.

Departing the park near Phillipsville we continued South through grove after grove of redwoods crossing the South Fork of the Eel River dozens of times through Garberville, Benbow, Cooks Valley, Piercy, eventually reaching Leggett where leaving Hwy 101 westward we merged with Hwy 1 getting glimpses of the Pacific as we wound our way through Rockport, Hardy, and DeHaven. It was Saturday and the road was filled with tourists and cyclists, though it was a tad misty from fog.

The cool foggy coastal route called for a warm beverage and the little community of Westport was just the sort of funky place you could find a funky cup of fog cutting coffee. And the roadside tire plug repair was holding!

Pete and I entered the store to find a frenzied proprietor behind the counter preparing a couple of dozen sammies for the volunteer fire department’s Saturday training whose CalFire Captain was entertaining us with local knowledge and history of the area. Several other customers were lined up as well. After about 20 minutes of waiting to order coffee, the master deli-man looked up for the first time as we asked his young daughter working the register for a cup of coffee. His head dropped returning to focus on frenzied sammie making and said with only slight derision, “It’s in the back, self-serve.” We decided to forgo sammies…

Wanting to make our Santa Rosa destination for dinner, hoping our friend Dale would prepare something other than sammies, we set off again riding through Newport, Inglenook, Cleone to Ft. Bragg for a snack and fuel where we met several cyclists, one of whom was traveling to or from South America. We suddenly felt small. As the let’s-take-a-drive-up-the-coast crowed continued to crowd the highway, it was on to Caspar, Mendicino, Little River, Albion, Manchester, Stomella, Flumeville, Point Arena, Callway, Fish Rock, Anchor Bay, Gualala, Sea Ranch, Stewarts Point, Walsh Landing, Timber Cove, and Fort Ross. All the names seemed to historically recall past economies of small communities now transformed into tourist stops along a most beautiful and rugged Northern California coastal region.

Reaching Jenner with grumbling stomachs we headed westward on Hwy 116 along the Russian River through Duncan Mills, Seridan, Monte Rio, Guerneville, Forestville, to Guerneville Rd. guided by the GPS to turn right and left here and there to arrive at Casa del Dale.

Dale is a friend with whom, in our other lives, I have skied, hiked, and ridden bicycles along with a group of like-minded outdoor enthusiasts who over the years lived in Merced. Joined by our wives and occasionally our kids, we lived the California dream. We skied cross-country in Yosemite, spending a couple of New Year’s Eves in the Ostrander Ski Hut feasting on unbelievably extravagant and sumptuous meals complete with wine and desserts, all hauled in on sleds and our backs. At other times we would ski out to Dewey Point in the morning then heading back to Badger Pass to ski downhill in the afternoon. Conveniently Dale relocated his family to Yosemite to head a dental practice in the park so a warm fire, mangia and bevi always greeted us following our seasonal trips on snow and into the backcountry. We were hoping Dale had not lost his touch even though it was his wife Catherine who did all of the cooking. Alas, Catherine was out of town.

Lead by our friend Larry, a ragtag assemblage of fellows rode our bikes across 11 Western States on an annual “Tour de (fill in the blank)”. Backpacking was also a feature of our outdoor pursuits. In fact Dale and Larry on a second attempt to hike the length of Muir Trail in ten days was chronicled in a self published narrative penned by Larry. Though a tough little fella, Dale once a Forest Service Smoke Jumper never joined me during my sailing phase. I guess that’s like me giving up on the golf phase. I can’t remember ever seeing Dale swim, though we variously participated in team triathlons. Dale was the designated cyclist. Sadly, while Larry has passed away the victim of brain cancer, his memory is alive in all who knew him and his service to his community, Mammoth. We continue to celebrate his memory in pursuit of adventure. Whether planning or setting about on a moto, hiking, or biking adventure, my thoughts always turn to Larry.

Dale didn’t disappoint as he prepared ribeyes with baked potatoes and wonder salad, right out of the bag! How could he fail? His son Orlando is a talented designer who completely transformed a cramped seventies kitchen into a beautiful and efficient gathering place for the family in their tastefully appointed suburban Santa Rosa home. We dirtbags were honored.

Pliney the Elder was paired with the tasty repast as we lapsed post dinner into conversation of the philosophical kind before retiring. I suspect that’s why Dale’s wife Catherine was absent…

Day 4 Homeward Bound

Anxious to get underway to avoid the Sunday-driver traffic in wine country, Pete and I packed and readied for the final leg of our four day mini-adventure thanking our gracious host.

Though I had roughly planned the course for our previous three days I really wasn’t too sure of the best moto route to take back to Merced from Santa Rosa. It was decided that we leave early to beat the traffic that would blossom as the fog lifted. So it was east to St. Helena skirting Lake Berryessa on Hwy 128 and the Glory Hole. Apparently wine drinkers get an early start as there was much traffic on our way out. Exiting Hwy 128 in Winters we headed south parallel to I-505 on Winters Rd. then east on Allendale Rd., a quick south on N. Meridian Rd., then west on Dixon Ave. West see what Dixon had to offer. Entering the town through what appeared to be a Mendota, CA like barrio, suddenly, and to our surprise, a vibrant yet quaint village square with shops and restaurants emerged from a redeveloped downtown center bustling with Sunday brunchers. Huevos rancheros at Taqueria Adelena hit the spot as we planned our stretch ride route. It’s only sort of weird to have coffee with Mexican food.

South on Hwy 113 to Hwy 12 and Rio Vista was reasonably uncomplicated. However, Hwy 12 across the Rio Vista bridge then west through Terminous into Lodi was a virtual parking lot. To avoid the interstate and freeway we rode through Lodi on Hwy 12 and turned south on Alpine Rd. until heading east on E. Kettleman Ln. to stop for a refreshing cold beverage at the Countryside Mini Mart at the intersection with Hwy 88 attracted to their bold banner screaming FAST SERVICE since by early afternoon we were anxious to get home.

Continuing east on E. Kettleman Ln through vineyards we then intersected with with Jack Tone Rd. south crossing Ruta Estatal California 26 (?) to east on Hwy 4 into Farmington as vineyards gave way to almond orchards and silage fields. South on J-6 Escalon-Ballota Rd. to east on Lone Tree Rd. took us to Valley Home where we then headed south once more. From there it was Valley Home Rd. through Adela and Oakdale continuing south on Albers Rd. on to the Oakdale-Waterford Hwy through Waterford and Hickman down to N. Montpelier Rd. that becomes Oakdale Rd. crossing the Merced River on to Amsterdam and Hwy 59 to home sweet home.

The trip could have easily taken several more days to fully appreciate the terrain, the riding, the nearly perfect weather and the people and communities through which we rode. We might have found something other than sammies to satisfy our hunger. The beauty of living in a state of nearly 40 million residents is that many of them tend to cluster together in coastal metropolitan areas. Aside from a few brief but crowded roadways much of the riding was over good road surfaces with little to worry about except for an unexpected deer crossing. Though it was only four days, spending nearly all of the daylight hours on the bike in the company of a good friend was itself a blast. Next time I’ll use other less traveled roads and maybe take a little more time for the stopping parts and pics…

In 2015-16 California experienced a respite from the worst drought in a century.  As of today, we know that water year was an anomaly on an increasingly warmer planet.  With record precipitation in the state, top to bottom, a super bloom emerged in Death Valley.  It was time to see how the mechanics of rain and snow conspired to instruct the botany and topography of the lowest and highest locations in the continental United States.

Note the delicate, yet hearty structure.  Plants survive in this environment of extremes by dressing up for the pollinators while toughening up to preserve moisture.  Seeds may lay dormant for decades, even hundreds of years, awaiting scant precipitation.

From Zabriskie Point the sunset would soon arrive and the heavens opened in the night to fuel quiet contemplation of just how small we are on this miraculous island in the universe.

In the early-to-mid Mesozoic when the Farallon Plate under the Pacific Ocean started to dive below the North American Plate, a subduction zone was created.  Volcanoes and uplifting mountains were created as a result. Erosion over many millions of years created a relatively featureless plain. Stretching of the crust under western North America started around 16 Ma (million years ago) and is thought to be caused by upwelling from the subducted spreading-zone of the Farallon Plate. This process continues into the present and is thought to be responsible for creating the Basin and Range province. By 2 to 3 million years ago this province had spread to the Death Valley area, ripping it apart and creating Death Valley, Panamint Valley and surrounding ranges. These valleys partially filled with sediment and, during colder periods during the current ice age, with lakes. Lake Manly was the largest of these lakes; it filled Death Valley during each glacial period from 240,000 years ago to 10,000 years ago. By 10,500 years ago these lakes were increasingly cut off from glacial melt from the Sierra Nevada, starving them of water and concentrating salts and minerals. The desert environment seen today developed after these lakes dried up.                                                                    Geology of the Death Valley area from Wikipedia

Next up: a day exploring the terra firma.

Clockwise from upper left: Ubehebe Crater, Desolation Canyon, Mosaic Canyon, Mosaic Canyon (with intruder), Mesquite Dunes, Artists Palette.

Wind and water chiseled features now barren that once were verdant.  It’s all a matter of time, geologic time measured in Ma (millions of years).

Leaving Death Valley we made our way up and over the Panamint Range and across the Owens Valley to Lone Pine.

The next day we would explore snowbound Whitney Portal.

Then Manzanar.  A reminder of how a nation can betray its conscience and constitution.

Another magical winter’s sunset from our campsite on the East Side.

Bracketed by an equally magical sunrise the following morning.

On the way out of the Owens Valley, a stop to see Red Hill and Fossil Falls in this land of fire and ice.

During the last ice age, glaciers formed in the Sierra Nevada. Meltwater from the glaciers pooled into large lakes, including Owens Lake and the Owens River. The river traveled through to Indian Wells Valley, and its course was diverted several times by volcanic activity. The falls were formed when the river was forced to divert its course over a basalt flow, polishing and reshaping the rock into a variety of unique shapes and forms.

A posting from the Coso People on a prehistoric blog?

 

The bloom wasn’t restricted to the desert.  Throughout California’s natural plains, foothills, and mountains the arid and dusty ground sprang to life.

 

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile closer to home, another day and another springtime story awaits about a trail on the South Fork of the Merced River to Hite’s Cove…