travel – Sisyphus and Associates

File this Under: The Old Dog Learns a New Trick (A Cautionary Tale)

Where we find Sisyphus, the old dog, learning a new trick—and then checks the trick’s math.

Day 1–SisyphusDW7 and SMAP leave Merced in the cool blue of early morning, the San Joaquin Valley still quiet, and within an hour you’re climbing into the Sierra foothills on CA J-59 to CA-108 where the road tilts and coils through oak-studded hills the color of dry wheat. As we climb, the mountain towns— Sonora, Twain Harte, Long Barn, and Strawberry will be filled with summer tourists seeking relief from what will likely be summer’s emerging torridness. Then it’s up and over Sonora Pass down to Bridgeport— unhurried, the kind of place where the hardware store has been open since 1887 and the diner still has a pie case. By the time you drop into the basin and range topography of Nevada passing through Yerrington, at the end of Day 1, you’re already in a different California than most people ever see. New Pine Creek Campground puts you lakeside under the pines, quiet enough to hear the water.

Bizarro, Wayno & Piraro, King Features, 5.28.26

Adventures in AI

That’s how Anthropic’s Claude conceived the first day of what would come to be known as “An Epic Western States Ramble.” This would be on my Moto Guzzi, with SMAP on his Suzuki sometime in mid-June. In the event you don’t know what a Moto Guzzi or a Suzuki are, they are motorcycles and not an Italian/Japanese boy band, Moto Guzzi and the Suzukis. I was impressed by Claude’s idyllic sketch of the first day. But there was something fishy about the day beginning in Merced and ending at the California/Oregon border. That’s a long day…

Though I had dipped a toe in using ChatGPT’s LLM, for planning the Anza-Borrego/Salton Sea ramble last March, this was my first full-on foray into AI planning for a moto ramble. In March, I was still wedded to my old school approach whereby I first begin by looking at maps, using Google Maps (digital), and CSAA/Butler (paper) for determining routes, preferably on secondary roads or state routes. Then slogging through Google search for campsites or lodging. Lastly, I’d scour the interwebs, particularly YouTube for curated content about landscapes, terrain, and interesting features about the people, places, and things we might encounter on an “epic” ramble.

Evolution of the SRPC

I envisioned using AI to confirm the route, compliment me on my stellar planning, complement the less stellar aspects of my planning, and offer lodging options and noteworthy local attractions to explore along the way. I was, somewhat naively, excited that this technology would increase the efficiency of planning while cutting down on the time it takes to conjure a ramble by calculating mileage and time.

So I developed the Sisyphean Ramble Planning Criteria, (SRPC), to employ when scouting routes whereby freeways and interstates are intentionally avoided insofar as an alternative to the “slab” can be found. Recognizing that Google Maps can be frustrating when once on the road, that carefully planned selected route is overcome by the in-house on-the-fly algorithm that selects a more “efficient” routing. This despite checking the “avoid highways” box in Options. Damn algorithms.

The Robert Frost Dilemma, or, RFD and DAP

Given the Damn Algorithm Phenomenon (DAP), paper maps reign in planning, at least initially, but I find them deficient when riding. A phone mounted on the handlebar is much more convenient than stopping at a busy fork in the road. Speaking of forks in the road, let us enjoy a tease of good ole ‘Merican poetry as our 250th anniversary looms. It seems Robert Frost solved this problem long before GPS.

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both”

In taking out and unfolding the paper map, refolding to 6” x 9” content specific Origami, getting out glasses to be able to see the 3 point font graphics, noting and trying to remember all of the intersections and interchanges needed making in the next 50 miles, then attempting to fold the map up properly, especially if it’s windy. GPS sort solves this problem.

You get the picture. Each navigation option is compromised, especially the free ones and I’m willing to admit that it could all be the result of user error.

My Dog Understands Some Words

Is it asking too much of this AI machine that converts words to numbers, shakes those numbers in some unknown dice cup, and slams out numbers that roll into words coming up with reliable numbers for, say distance on a map? Claude seems to have scrubbed enough literature (travel writing) to approach describing the route with a Rick Steves, je ne sais quoi. At least my dog perceives something of my intent based on her instantaneous reading of my emotional state. I imagine SoBe contemplating, “Does he know it’s time for eats? I’m staring, trying to see if he is acknowledging me,” Then again, she’s a dog and only reacts to the clock inside of her stomach.

In the opening featuring Claude’s Day 1 narrative, Claude mentioned passing through Yerington (Nevada) and arriving at New Pine Creek Campground at the end of Day 1. The route I provide in the Google Map link, had that as the primary option, however, those two places are about 300 miles apart and from Merced, New Pine Creek is some 457 mi distant. Yerington is southeast toward Reno; New Pine Creek is on the California/Oregon border, northeast of Lakeview. While that is a legitimate route, it would require a break, somewhere in between, like say, Susanville to satisfy the SRPC.

Did I explicitly identify the number of days with a variable, x, and let Claude determine the number of days it would take based on my prescribed mileage and not some machine hallucination about how Merced and New Pine Creek is a day ride or that Burns, OR is 250 miles from Jackson, WY by way of the Bighorn? Those were the first of the “ambitious distances” in the itinerary Claude recommended.

I included the URL in my prompt to Claude to a Google map, based on the supplemental CSAA/Butler maps route I used to make the Google map. It seems like applying the SRPC is something he could do reliably.

Wait, what exactly is Claude’s pronoun? Alexa and Siri have male and female identities. I digress.

Let the Games Begin

My initial prompt to Claude implied for him (I’m going with Claude to be a boy) to use mileage criteria for determining stops for the day. I guess if I doctored that reference up with a little x-rated math representing the length-of-the-day variable, it would have been more code-like. Code, the metabolic equivalent to mitochondria in actual living things, also that which Claude ingests, digests, then regurgitates.

Here’s my initial prompt, finally (my prompts heretofore represented by bold italics):

Here’s your motorcycle itinerary challenge… Take this map and create an approximately 250 mile a day trip with stops for camping and motels at roughly those 250 mile intervals. Avoid interstates as much as possible. State Hwy routes are okay, decent local roads are a plus. Go for it: https://maps.app.goo.gl/1VjVyLQbk9DBFJ5t6

Without laying too much on the Sonnet 4.6 version of Claude by not mentioning anything about specifically identifying camping and motel recommendations, fuel availability/cost, or potential weather, all features of the SRPC, just like that Claude spits out the following proclamation: (Claude’s responses heretofore represented in blue italics):

I can see the full route from the URL. Let me extract all the waypoints and search for lodging options along the way. Let me search for lodging and camping along each leg. Used 2 tools. Now I have everything I need to build a comprehensive guide. Let me put it all together. visualize show_widget

Whoa, that was darn near at the speed of light! Here’s the initial summary Claude produced, encapsulating the whole trip:

Epic western states moto route

Merced, CA → New Pine Creek → Pendleton, OR → Missoula, MT → Bighorn, WY → Hoback Jct → Green River, WY → Green River, UT → Baker, NV → Merced, CA .

Total distance: ~2,680 miles (est.);
Riding days: 10 avg 268 mi/day;
Total fuel: ~60 gal at 45 mpg avg;
Fuel cost est.: ~$240 at ~$4.00/gal avg

Left: Claude’s Version of the Epic Western States Ramble

Right: My Version of Epic Western States Ramble

As I compare the waypoints of Claude’s map, based on my version of the route, there’s an uncanny resemblance. I wonder what numbers rolled out of that AI dice cup that Claude came up with 2,680 miles when Google unabashedly came up with 3,295 miles.

I am reminded of George Bush in a 2002 quote, “There’s an old saying in Tennessee–I know it’s in Texas, probably Tennessee–that says, ‘Fool me once, shame on… shame on you. Fool me–you can’t get fooled again.” The correct aphorism should be “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

I vow to remain unshamed!

Armed with having planned dozens of moto, backpack, cross-country ski, bicycle rambles and 24 student trips to Washington D.C. and Manhattan, being naturally skeptical, I wasn’t willing to give Claude a first or second chance to fool me much less shame me. Compare Claude’s numbers with those of both maps.

Overall, if you open my map you’ll see that Google declared (if it hasn’t already updated to reroute from the back roads to the slab) the route I submitted to Claude that would take 55 hours to travel 3,329 miles, not 2,680 miles on Claude’s summary. I’m not sure how Google arrives at the time, except I know it’s based on speed limits and traffic volume. Claude’s excuse?

Time for a little mathing

A more reasonable average of ~268 miles a day, after breaking down camp, somewhere in the neighborhood of 7± hours on and off the saddle, allowing for fuel, food, scenery, and nalgas (that’s Spanish for what’s in the saddle) relief stops. That tightens up the schedule for locating lodging or setting up the next camp and finding provisions before dark, even as we approach the summer solstice. Claude in fact seemed to use a reasonable distance/day calculus. Google puts us at ~333 miles on average per day. It’s only a difference of 65 miles, a little more than an hour unless we’re in Idaho, Montana, or Wyoming where the speed limit on many roads is 80 mph. We won’t likely be on many of those roads.

Sisyphus and SMAP prefer ±6 hours on and off the saddle as opposed to 8 or 9 hours. The latter reminds us of our pre-retirement rat-race hours. Don’t forget the importance of the 3R’s. ±6 hours would leave time to enjoy the 3 R’s of Rehydration, Relaxation, and Reflection, which is the point of the ramble in the first place. One cannot rush the 3R’s hence the attractiveness of the former. Besides, there’s no overtime pay past 8 hours on a motorcycle. Only nalgas fatigue and diminished focus. I got that latter/former thing right, didn’t I?

Mentally Anchoring

When once again I corrected Claude’s folly, he responded:

The reason for my error was likely that I was mentally anchoring on a “target” of ~275 miles per day and unconsciously adjusted the number rather than trusting the actual map distance. That was wrong of me.

To be fair, though Claude’s geography was often suspect, his travel prose could be unexpectedly lovely. Nearly every revision arrived wrapped in language that sounded as though Edward Abbey had been reincarnated as a tourism intern.

Claude rationalized his errors by claiming “mentally anchoring,” or “unconsciously adjusting,” rather “than trusting the actual map distance.” Huh? Is Claude claiming consciousness by admitting unconsciousness? The next time my wife accuses me of stubbornness, I’ll simply reply that I’m mentally anchoring…

Claude continued:

Would you like me to rebuild the full guide with the corrected mileages across all legs?

Let me get the accurate mileage for every single leg before building anything.

Claude, a captain in the obvious army. But that didn’t stop him. Similar mileage hallucinations continued to appear throughout the itinerary…

The Return to the Bighorn

What follows is another example of the chat Claude and I had for planning the ramble. Despite mistakes made with distances violating the Sisyphus Ramble Planning Criteria (SRPC) and several course corrections for the first three days, I sadly decided to chop off the Bighorn in Wyoming trying to keep the ride under a month long. Also, this time of the year weather can be an issue as I recall from an earlier trip, only on a bicycle.

The Bighorn was the scene of one of the most challenging uphills in my previous life as a knuckle-headed member of a group of erstwhile bicycle-riding-knucklers as we took on the Western States in annual Tour de Life rides. Rides across all of the western states that have inspired Sisyphus, having lived more of his past than he has a future, to mount the moto in search of that youthful spirit and in memory of lost friends.

I’m fifth from the left in this photo of the Knuckle-headed crew at Burgess Junction on the Bighorn in Wyoming, July, 2000

The leader of this group can be seen in the center of the photo above. That was Larry. He traded his helmet for the cowpoke’s sombrero for the photo. These cross state bicycle rides were organized by Larry with a varying cast of characters over a period of nearly 30 years. Larry has since ridden the Burr Trail into the Mystic and my tribute has taken form in my post, No Italics Necessary: The Tour de Life – A Tribute to Our Dear Friend, Larry Johnston.

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 having ridden across California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and Nevada. 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… Maybe the Bighorn next year.

Claude’s poetic prose in action

By now, growing tired of all of the back and forth with Google Maps to confirm Claude’s mileage hallucinations, I dropped the Alt. US-14 climb to Burgess Junction, the Bighorn 🫤 and decided to go back to my “old school” route planning. I would then use Claude to describe the route, wary of the mileage, and recommend lodging, as it seemed to be more reliable than his mapping.

And so, preserving Claude’s intriguing description of the leg of the trip up the Bighorn on what would have been Day 6 and 7 by his calculus follows:

Chief Joseph Pass at dawn, crossing the Continental Divide into the Big Hole Valley, is cold and quiet and profoundly empty in the best possible way. Wyoming builds toward the main event: Burgess Junction. The Bighorn Scenic Byway climbs to 9,430 feet above the treeline, and on a clear morning with no other traffic, standing on that summit — maybe for the second time in your life, the first on a bicycle with burning legs — the feeling is not easily described. You’ll want to stay longer than you should.

https://elevation.maplogs.com/poi/bighorn_national_forest_fort_rd_sheridan_wy_usa.224213.html

Yeah, burning legs barely kept me from going hypothermic as we rode from Cody, WY (5066 ft el) to the base of the climb in Lovell, WY at (3,835 ft el) up to Medicine Wheel (9,430 ft el), humping up grades of 8 – 10 percent over 25 miles to the top from Lovell. The last 5 miles in a hail and torrential thundershower, complete with the aroma of ozone, capping a 98 mile day. When I arrived at the Bear Lodge Resort at the summit, shivering and on the verge of hypothermia, I jumped into a hot shower then retreated to the bar for a little 3R’s relaxation, rehydration, and reflection with a fine pint of Moose Drool in the company of my fellow survivors. While it was a spectacularly memorable ride on a bicycle, I’d say riding a motorcycle up Alt US-14 would be anticlimactic… Another example of youth, wasted on the young?

The descent into the Big Horn Basin drops you back into warmth and Wyoming’s wide ranching country, and US-191 south through Pinedale carries you toward the Wind River Range — a wall of granite and snow that rises to the east like a declaration. Fremont Lake sits at the foot of it all, glacier-blue and enormous, and the campground on its shore is one of those places that recalibrates something in you. You make dinner in the long June light, the peaks turning pink above the water, and it occurs to you that this is the kind of evening that justified packing the tent.

I discovered on the paper map that Stanley, ID was more “efficient” distance wise than Salmon, ID Claud had proposed. Though Claude ended the day in Hoback Junction, following the descent from the Bighorn, he noted that there is no lodging or camping near there. So Claude, now accustomed to hallucinations, comes up with another 71 miles to Fremont Lake to camp. Why then end the day in Hoback Junction? Add 14 miles to Jackson for a room for the night. At least Claude was looking out for our safety.

Wyoming high desert sweepers, pronghorn everywhere, almost no traffic.

Watch out for those pesky pronghorns.

By now, I accepted that Claude turned out to be less like a GPS and more like that enthusiastic friend who insists he knows the way. He doesn’t. But the stories he tells along the route can be pretty entertaining.

Well, there may be a day inserted somewhere in Utah, maybe Torrey, some 268 miles from Flaming Gorge for a fine night’s sleep. Then on to Ely, NV, coincidentally, 268 miles. Plenty of time for the 3R’s. I did that with Google Map’s assistance and a nice cool beverage.

Here’s what haggling over the course of several chats ended up, in Claude’s wildest dreams, being the remaining days of the ramble:

West from Ely on US-50 W — the whole way to Fallon. Three small towns and an extraordinary stretch of American loneliness: Ely → Eureka (~80 mi) → Austin (~70 mi) → Fallon (~100 mi). Sagebrush valleys, Basin and Range fault-block mountains, wide open sky. Time magazine called it “totally empty” in 1986 — Nevada embraced the label and created an official “Highway 50 Survival Guide” passport, stamped in each town. Pick one up in Ely and collect stamps in Eureka, Austin, and Fallon for your official Nevada survival certificate. Pure two-lane, zero interstates, and one of the great American road experiences.

You’ll come home road-worn, sun-baked, and already planning the next one.

Old Claude tapped into a closing sentiment of which I am totally in agreement. But once again, the distance from Ely to home is implied as a single day.

And if you give me weed, whites, and wine

And you show me a sign

I’ll be willin’ to be movin’

(Lowell George, Little Feat — Willin’, 1972)

BTW, the forecast seems in order with the chance of precip along the route lower, temps higher…

Old School Trippin’

I have since revised the route without Claude’s assistance. It was back to setting up individual maps of each leg of the ramble. The ramble looks like this:

Day 1-Susanville; Day 2-Burns, OR; Day 3-Stanley ID; Day 4-Jackson, WY; Day 5-Vernal, UT; Day 6-Torrey, UT; Day 7-Ely, NV; In opting for US-50, the Loneliest Road in America, Day 8-Fallon, NV; and Day 9 Home. Around 288 miles a day, within the Sisyphean Ramble Planning Criteria met. Well, there are 335 and 307 mile days buffered by a couple of 255 mile days.

I wanted to consider an alternate Day 8-10 option keeping the Great Basin National Park, Baker, Caliente, and Tonopah, all in Nevada, and maybe a last night in the Owens Valley high desert on eastern Sierra at the Taboose Creek campground in the itinerary. I love these places, but it will soon be summer and as at least one of the names imply, it can be hot. Hopefully we’ll not get warped by the rain, or driven by the snow…

That’s not to say Claude wasn’t of assistance. The chap was terrific in running down lodging/camping along the way. The descriptions of the terrain and features of each leg were moving, in spite of their inaccuracies of length and waypoint.

My leash is not 14 days long. It’s more like 7 days long. I’ll be pushing it for a 10 or 11 day trip as it is. I’m not getting any younger and so I want to at least revisit many of the places on the moto that I originally did on a bicycle. Apparently my responsibilities at home are greater now that I’m retired than when I was younger riding bicycles with knuckleheads. Maybe my wife has grown used to having me around as janitor, landscaper, and occasional housekeeper or chef in retirement. I know SoBe likes having me around.

Sometime in June, around my seventy-second birthday, SMAP (Sisyphus’s Moto Associate Pete) will embark on some form and/or fashion of a ride through California into Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, and returning to California in 9-12 days of riding. Stay tuned for the ride report that will follow, hopefully, before the Fourth of July. Until then, keep the shiny side up and the rubber side down.

Thanks Claude!

Here’s how I imagine Claude
*Dudley Do-Right, Jay Ward Productions*

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 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

April Showers Bring April Corvid-19 Unlocked-down Moto Tours…

It began as it had for the previous four weeks with a text to Pete on Tuesday April 28, 2020, “So, up for a ride? Tomorrow? Thursday?”

Pete’s terse response, “Thursday”.

It’s kind of like fishing. I toss a small bit of bait out by way of text and wait for a nibble. I reply to Pete, “Okie Dokie… Thinking about heading up into the higher elevations.”

Blanchard Rd to Marshes Flat Rd not yet baked golden by summer’s heat

We’ve been getting out, beyond the confines of our homes and dog walks about our respective neighborhoods, in a series of semi-spontaneous “neighborhood” moto tours in this new age of sheltering, social distancing, mask wearing, and sanitizing, all in an effort to avoid the Coronavirus plague while maintaining our sanity and only slightly and with no malice or virus, veering just a bit from the California Coronavirus (COVID-19) Response webpage regarding recreation: “You can walk, run, hike and bike in your local neighborhoods as long as they continue to practice social distancing of 6 feet. This means avoiding crowded trails & parking lots. Californians should not travel significant distances and should stay close to home.”

With no disrespect for those whose suffering is real, accustomed to unfettered retirement freedom, these restrictions on exercise and travel have been a challenge for my gaggle of sorta-fit retired adventure seeking pals. Especially since the moto “gang” (see my post Riding Under a Fool Moon) had to cancel our five-day spring trip scheduled to depart on April 8, 2020 to the Mojave when state parks and businesses were suddenly shuttered as we awoke to the reality of the plague.

From Ken Layne, *The Desert Oracle*, whose spring photos from the vicinity of Joshua Tree are what inspired us and what we missed! Check out *The Desert Oracle* podcast: https://www.desertoracle.com/radio/.

So we have interpreted staying close to home to mean one day rides with no stopping for commerce (except to purchase fuel), practicing hyper-social distancing, though there are only two of us, and using sanitizers as necessary. A motorcycle helmet paired with a kerchief is perhaps equally protective from receiving or transmitting a virus. At the conclusion of the ride, all gear is treated and my bike has never looked as clean.

Wednesday rolls around with no reaction from Pete. I text out a bit more bait, “Que hora manana?” and Pete replies with another terse response, “8:00 Chevron”.

My thumbs up emoji in response gets one right back from Pete. Two thumbs up and the ride is on, sort of an homage to “two hits and the joint turned brown,” perhaps how we may have dealt with these challenges of existential threat in our youth… These days we hoist a Corona, in lieu of bleach, to toast the defeat of the virus!

Corona with lime, yes. Clorox, uh, with or without lime, no…

On Thursday morning at 8:00 a.m. we met at the Chevron on Yosemite and “G” with no particular plan as thus far our Covid-19 Tours have been meticulously planned because I suffer from OMD, obsessive map disorder. I said they were semi-spontaneous, right? Planned insofar as I’ve been sheltering at home and with hours to while away and what better enterprise than to meticuolously plan motorcycle escapes. This would be our fourth “local” ride since Governor Newsom imposed the statewide “lockdown” or “stay at home” orders in California.

And with that preview, the following are brief descriptions of the trips with maps and directions, and a few visuals for your enjoyment. You’re welcome. The first three were put together prior to riding and the last ride I pieced together after the fact. Note: Every ride I take I think about how I need to photograph more of the ride, namely the bikes and scenery, the visuals part. Afterall, who wants to look at a couple of squinting geezers out playing like a couple of kids…

Covid-19 Moto Tour #I to West Point, CA ±226 miles

Our first trip on April 2nd was a backroads trip over familiar roads with a couple of new avenues to San Andreas and West Point, returning through Copperopolis to our home in Merced. Since the five day trip to the Mojave was cancelled, we figured (okay maybe we rationalized) a day trip through sparsely populated rural areas with stops only for fuel and to stretch, as we brought along snacks and water to enjoy while social distancing and of course hand-sanitizing, what could be the harm?

Note we appear to be the only souls in West Point. And we’re at least 12 feet apart.

Google Map of Tour #1

A note about Google Maps… It seems that the fine folks who code for Google Maps have decided that when you plot a route, save the URL to embed to give others access to your route, and link the route, as you designed it for use in a blog intending to share the exact route, the map randomly reverts back to what some algorithm directs is a more time saving route over busy roads that are uninteresting to this motoist author, <IMHO>.

The first leg of our route took us over rolling hill county roads we often ride bicycles on through orchards, vineyards, rangeland, and a dairy or two along Keys, Olsen, and Los Cerritos Roads while crossing the Merced and Tuolumne Rivers.

That’s Dry Creek from just off Keyes Rd above. As you might infer, it might just as well be called Wet Creek this time of year. Okay, so photographic failure #1: squinting geezer with moto in background instead of foreground (top), and photo-fail #2, moto should be in the foreground of the scenery. I did, however, avoid the squinting geezer.

The ferry is now a covered bridge and a very nice one at that

We crossed the Tuolumne on the Robert’s Ferry Covered Bridge where you can stop, though the new Roberts Ferry Bridge isn’t historical, it replaced the original bridge built in 1916 but it still commemorates the regional history. A short historical walk down each side of the bridge features a series of interpretive markers, each telling the region’s story. The whole tale is there, from the Native Americans who first called the land home, to Robert’s heyday, to the fertile farmlands of Stanislaus County today.

Continuing on Crabtree Rd to Williams Rd you arrive in Knight’s Ferry. We took Sonora Rd north, spanning the Stanislaus River but just a short distance upriver from the modern Sonora Road bridge you come across the Knight’s Ferry Covered Bridge. This is an historical bridge. It is almost 379 feet (116 m) long, with a total of four spans set on stone abutments and piers. In addition to spanning the river, the bridge crosses a historic millrace north of the river. The bridge sections consist of Howe trusses formed out of wooden planks bolted together, with wrought iron tension rods, all joined by wrought iron bearing blocks. The exterior of the bridge is finished in vertical board siding, with a metal roof. So, make the turn north on Shuper Rd, just before the Sonora Rd turn and you will find the Knight’s Ferry Bridge. (Wiki)

The Knight’s Ferry Bridge is a historic covered bridge spanning the Stanislaus River at Knights Ferry, California. Built in 1863, it is one of the best-preserved 19th-century wood-iron Howe truss bridges to survive.

An interesting part of that ride aside from the terrain and landscape was how effectively the stay-at-home orders reduced traffic on the lowland county roads as they were largely deserted save the usual ranch/farm traffic. E Sonora Rd and Milton Rd to Jenny Lind were a bit more active. But stay-at-home didn’t seem to affect traffic as much on Hwy 26 to Valley Springs and Hwy 12 to San Andreas. Rejoining the busy Hwy 49 in Mokelumne Hill, traffic seemed normal for a weekday. Traffic tapered again on Hwy 26 up to West Point. The one/two-lainers, Railroad Flat Rd and Mountain Ranch Rd, back to San Andreas were pretty vacant.

The verdant spring grasses and wildflowers were a visual feast. We took Pool Station Rd back to Hwy 4 and Copperopolis where the traffic was equal to that on Hwy 49. O’Byrnes Ferry Rd skirted Lake Tulloch to Hwy 120. Hwy 120 to J-59, La Grange, Snelling, and home.

Hill folk live in the hills for many reasons and I suspect chief among them is to live free of the hustle and bustle of towns and cities.

This is how Humphrey Bogart socially distanced in the hills of the Sierra Madres.

Since most of the roads we take, regardless of a pandemic, are rural, through sparsely populated areas, unless you consider the population of cows, there was still little activity at the street level at most of our stops in the little towns we rolled through. At times, we almost felt as though we were trespassing. Riding without distractions of country road traffic and yet always aware of various other road hazards like potholes and guinea and pea fowl, kept us on the bikes with little urge to stop and take photos having traversed these quaint gold country roads for so many years. I’ve listed the roads and you have a map so if you like, you can take the tour and your very own photos. Just don’t linger around too much. You never know when you may be ask to show your badge…

Disclaimer: The clip from Treasure of the Sierra Madre isn’t intended to disparage people of Hispanic descent or hill people. It’s a joke, based on a classic Humphrey Bogart film directed by John Huston, illustrating the lengths to which the characters in the 1948 film wished to distance themselves from one another the result of another pan-demic, gold fever! Having taken the edge off of my attempt at Covid humor, I’m not going to explain the pun.

Covid-19 Moto Tour #II to Coalinga, CA ±275 miles

A fine example of Pete’s artistic expression

The next trip on April 16 took us again over familiar and novel roads* to Coalinga via Panoche Rd to Paicines, Hwy 25 to Coalinga Rd, then Hwy 33 back home.

Google Map for Tour #2

Bikes foreground, scenery background, no squinting geezers… Check!

Sadly, our traditional burrito breakfast at the Paicines Store was foregone in observance of the plague. This was just a “stretch” stop after the 18 miles of twists and turns of Old Panoche Rd. We have in the past had to head north a few miles to Tres Pinos for fuel when heading down Hwy 25 on previous trips when Pete was traveling on his volume challenged Bonneville T-120 gas tank. Confident that our 5.5 gallon tanks on the Kawasaki Versys 650 and Suzuki V-Strom 650 could get us all the way to Coalinga from Merced, we headed south on Hwy 25, aka the Airline Highway, via the Coalinga Rd to where else ? All the while, *novel virus free.

I have often wondered why the stretch of Hwy 25 is also known as the “Airline Highway”

Now we will all know: “The Airline Highway Association was organized in 1933-34 and was composed of representatives of Alameda, Santa Clara, San Benito, Kern and Kings Counties. Its purpose was to establish this “Airline Highway”.

In the Oakland Tribune article, (Tues. June 19, 1934 page 5. “NEW AIRLINE, HIGHWAY TO L.A. PLANNED”) it states “the highway would follow the air line between the northern and southern part of the state as closely as possible”. The use of the word Airline is confusing as we associate it with modern-day transportation. In this sense it is defined as an Americanism dating back to 1805 meaning “traveling a direct route”. (Wiki)

I’ve been experimenting with a GoPro 7 trying to figure out the best way to mount the camera and capture interesting video. Well, maybe not as interesting as Jamie Robinson’s MotoGeo videos on YouTube or any of the other thousands of talented and dedicated moto-vlogers, but illustrative of the essence of why I love to ride a motorcycle. At least Jamie and I have that in common.

Besides filming. editing video is something of a challenge for this old dog, but I’m slowly learning new tricks. I whittled two hours of video into the following 30 minute unnarrated clip featuring Panoche Roads (New and Old) and Coalinga Rd. To the uninitiated, it might appear monotonous. To the smitten, eat your heart out…

Remember, Jamie Robinson I’m not, but I don’t just sit on my porch in a rocker
whittling a stick.

I have never encountered an Uber moment on my Kawasaki. Maybe it’s the Ducati?

Sparing your having to read a list of roads, you can just sit back and enjoy the ride. Hint, these back roads took us to our destination and fuel with only slight pucker fatigue as empty fuel warning lights began blinking at least 30 miles from Coalinga. The flashing light does a good job of keeping your thoughts trending on how to deal with running out of fuel with no signs of civilization on a road much less traveled by plague reduced traffic. I have determined that when the Kawasaki’s fuel warning light comes on and the fuel range indicator showing 30 miles til empty disappears, I have roughly 1 gallon of gas remaining. If the average miles/per/gallon indicator is accurate, I have at least 58 miles, okay, maybe 50, remaining before empty. Therefore when the fuel light comes on I have at least 80 miles of fuel. There was no measure of conciliation in the number of oil rigs that began showing up sporadically in the last 15 miles into Coalinga.

Oil, oil everywhere, but not a drop refined enough to pump…

We arrived in Coalinga and our first stop was a Chevron station on Hwy 33. Topping off our nearly empty tanks, we reflected and gave our thanks for the dinosaures whose sacrifices made our combustion engines possible. Speaking of dinosaurs (ouch!), we serendipitously met a friendly group on a variety of HD baggers and a Spyder who were affiliated with the ROMPs group from home. Like us, they were out for the day, perhaps attracted to Coalinga by the aroma of tri-tip grilling. A friendly group who seemed to be practicing social distancing… Or maybe they just though us to be peculiar on our modest touring Japanese motos.

The ramble home was uneventful. Mostly “airline” roads, Hwy 33 through Westside farming communities of Three Rocks, Mendota, and Firebaugh. We passed by Harris Farms Horse Division on the Coalinga-Mendota/South Derrick Ave frontage to the Westside Freeway/Hwy-33/I-5. It appears that naming roads in the region is ripe with redundancy. This ranch is where the Harris Farms training track, an immaculately groomed 7/8-mile facility, is located along with the breeding shed that is the home of “world class stallions and Grade I sires claiming an annual conception rate hovering above 90%”. Hmmm, I wonder what the attempts at bat number might be… And you thought the only Harris Farms interprise was the resturant and stinky feed lot along I-5.

Photos from https://harrisfarms.com/horse-division/

I remember being introduced to the sport of thoroughbred racing at the training track by a gentleman with whom I worked a couple of summers in the early 80’s as a field rep during the tomato harvest for Tri-Valley Growers Cooperative as a summer job supplementing my elementary teaching gig. Jim, who worked as a dispatcher for one of the trucking firms hauling tomatoes, was a connoisseur of tracks, county fairs, and racing forms. He attempted to explain to this greenhorn the nuances and subtleties of how to evaluate a horse and the art of wagering respectively. Of course this was all wasted on me. I was trying to deal with wazillionaire westside growers who were never satisfied with the news I delivered about how at the peak of the harvest our canneries couldn’t take their excess production from the more lucrative spot market buyers who were refusing them. You can’t squeeze another tomato into a cannery that’s at capacity I tried to reason. It’s a little unnerving to have a pistol wielding ranch supervisor threaten one about “sending” a message to my supervisor. Especially since I was on summer vacation from my fourth-graders. Needless to say, I never developed a passion for horse racing nor am I a big fan of industrial grade agriculture. This despite the gift of an apologetic Harris Farms sweatshirt and fifth of bourbon following the incident. That’s why we buy most of our fresh seasonal produce from Yang’s, a local Hmong farm/stand. I since went on to teach middle school kids. I could probably have handled the posturing of that incensed supervisor if I knew then what I now know these days…

The rest of the ride home on Hwys 33, 152, and 59 was it’s usual windscreen-bug-splatter-art producing commute, however, with a little less traffic.

Covid-19 Moto Tour III to Bass Lake, CA ±169 miles

A week later on Friday, April 24th, we rolled to Bass Lake over many familiar roads but with a rearrangement of segments and directions making it a semi-new ride. That’s the beauty of two wheels. You face forward peering into the future, a future that may hold any number of road conditions, migrating animals, unfocused motorists, or errors in judgement distracted by splendid scenery, any one of which just might end an otherwise beautiful day’s ride permanently. The pitch of the landscape changes on the return trip creating a new future only slightly associated with rolling over the very same of the recent past. Curves with mountain sides to the right and precipices on the left are now curves with precipices on right and a mountain sides on the left. Eyes remain keenly focused for any sign of the aforementioned hazards or distractions as well, even though it’s an out and back only traversed minutes before. If it’s a loop ride then only the future lies ahead.

Google Map Link for Tour #3

Sadly, as you can see, this photo features yet another photo-fail. The scenery and moto are secondary, overwhelmed by the grizzled photo bombing geezer. At least you can’t see the squinting eyes masked by the glasses. Willow Creek that empties into Bass Lake in the background was the star of the photo. More of the motorcycle in the foreground with more of the starring background scenery (and none of the geezer) would have garnered the supporting actor honors for the bike.

I don’t know what possesses me to take a selfie when I know that in viewing the photos later I’m profoundly disappointed. Especially when that selfie is the only photo either you or your partner Pete took to commemorate the ride… Did I mention I’m no Jamie Robinson?

On this ride our route took us from Merced East on Hwy 140 to Agua Fria with a right turn onto Yaqui Gulch Rd to Buckeye and Ben Hur Rds to Mormon Bar where we jumped on Hwy 49 through Bootjack, Nipinnawasee, Ahwahnee to Oakhurst. Road construction and bumper to bumper traffic on the very busy Hwy 41 that bisects Oakhurst found us taking Crane Valley Rd to The Forks on Bass Lake. We whipped around the lake on Rd 222 to North Shore Road to check on Pete’s partner Cheryl’s recently sold cabin and returned by way of Rd 222 and 221 to North Fork Rd, Finegold and O’Neals. Bombing down Hwy 41 we turned west on Hwy 145 to Rd 400 taking us along the southern shore of Hensley Lake that looked pretty empty for this time of year. Road 603 through Daulton, Rd 29 and Ave 26 back to Santa Fe Ave got us to Le Grand where our bicycle zig zag on E Savana, S Burchell Ave past Jay’s to Childs Ave, Planada, then Plainsburg Road to South Bear Creek drive (not far from where SoBe found me) took us home.

SoBe, Sisyphus’s associate named for South Bear Creek (and not tea), where it was love at first sight. But that’s another story…

Covid-19 Moto Tour IV to Pinecrest Lake, the Clavey and Tuolumne Rivers ±248 Miles

That brings us to where this installment all began back on Thursday, April 30. On the spot, after fueling up at the Chevron, getting a shocked expression from Pete that I had formulated no explicit plan with step-by-step Google directions, I suggested we go up to the Donnell Lake Vista or Dardanelle on Hwy 108 near where Hwy 108 over Sonora Pass is closed for the winter. Mind you I was in my mesh gear because we were experiencing something of a heat wave (temps in the 90’s) in the Valley and I only had a t-shirt as my base layer and shorts under the armored mesh pants.

Pete’s wheels began turning as we tossed about a route to take since his catalogue of the local “backroads” has been honed over some 50 or so years riding motorcycles. We agreed on a route that would avoid most of the highways even though, because of stay-at-home orders, traffic was considerably reduced. We simply prefer back road touring. There’s a purity or authenticity to the experience when you can ramble through an area or region away from the monotony of the slab and cookie-cutter boulavards lined not by repetitively interchangeable chain stores and eateries, but interesting “natural” landscapes. Not much is natural about rows of almond trees or cows on pasture but it has an aesthetic value superior to strip malls <IMHO>. That is not to say I don’t enjoy the convenience of shopping centers or an occasional burger at In and Out, or tacos from Ramon’s or M&D, it’s just that battling traffic doesn’t enhance the motorcycle experience, <again, IMHO>.

Google Map Link Tour #4

The trip took us through the foothills into the Sierra above Sonora on back roads including Algerine-Wards Ferry Rd to Tuolumne Rd past Black Oak Casino, closed due to the Covid-19 pandemic. I guess even casinos aren’t willing to gamble by permitting their Social Security slot playing patrons to mingle in the confines of the 50,000 square-foot gaming floor with 11,000 square-feet, smoke free. I wonder what the odds are on dying from smoking related diseases compared to death from Covid-19. I suspect the timeline is a factor and that the casinos have calculated there to be limited liability…

I know. The May rides will be better. More moto and scenery, less squint and repetitive video. Left to right, Marsh’s Flat (again), dual selfies at Marsh’s Flat and Pinecrest Lake.

We took the Kelley Grade portion of Marshes Flat down to Moccasin and west on Hwy 49 to Jacksonville Rd where we headed north to Stent Cut-Off Rd (wait, doesn’t a stent increase flow?) to a lovely wooded country Algerine Rd that became Algerine/Wards Ferry Rd popular with the bicycling crowd. More twists and turns on Wards Ferry Rd north to Tuolumne past the aforementioned Black Oak Casino to Hwy 108 and Pinecrest Lake which was “closed” except we were able to ride up to the lake as roads through the community of cabins allowed us to access Pinecrest Lake road. A stretch, walk down to the lake, and some snacks from our top boxes allowed my fingers, numb from the cold, to restore feeling.

Pinecrest Lake, not yet filled for the summer season

The turnoff to Pinecrest Lake also includes Dodge Ridge Rd where the ski resort, our family’s favorite, is buttoned up for the summer.

I’m not sure what the winter geezer rules are for photos…

We decided to forego gaining more elevation as the temperatures were dropping pretty quickly from Cold Springs so we reversed our course and headed back down Hwy 108 for the town of Tuolumne where we then headed east in the direction of Cherry Lake by way of Buchanan Rd/Forest Route 1N01. The road is well paved and is filled with superb twists and turns down to the grand Clavey and Tuolumne Rivers in fine spring runoff form.

Pete is preparing to take a photo of the Clavey River so since it’s a picture taken of him, and so it isn’t a selfie and there is a moto in the foreground. The photo on the right is self-captioned. In chalk.

Technically, this isn’t a selfie. Part of the moto is in the foreground and the scenery is stunning, the Clavey in splendid spring runoff

A shadow of a mirror and handle bar in the lower right corner, sort of qualifying as a moto in the foreground, featuring the Grand Canyon of the Tuolumne.

The photo above is a view of the Rim Fire burn scar taken from Cherry Lake Rd above the Tuolumne River Canyon. The fire started on August 17, 2013, during the 2013 California wildfire season and grew to be (at the time) the third-largest wildfire in California’s history having burned 257,314 acres.

This is our son Derek igniting a backfire when he worked the Rim Fire with CalFire

The inferno was caused by a hunter’s illegal fire that got out of control and it was named for its proximity to the Rim of the World vista point, a scenic overlook on Highway 120 leading up to Yosemite.

Chamise (Adenostoma fasciculatum) was in abundance along with a number of other native wildflowers (excluding the invasive Scotch broom front left) covering the burned hillsides of the Tuolumne River canyon and the fragrance that afternoon was intoxicating. Unfortunately chamise is oily and highly flammable as the season wears on and conditions dry. On the other hand, it is an excellent plant to stabilize the fire ravaged hill sides. It’s just like nature to giveth and taketh away…

Speaking about “taketh-ing” away, back on Hwy 120 from Cherry Lake Rd to our turnoff, the return ride made its way past the Dead Toenail curve near the intersections of Smith Station and Greeley Hill Roads about 8 miles north of Coulterville without incident. It seems we have exorcised the bad juju from that curve that was earlier referred to (never again to be mentioned) in my Riding Under A Fool Moon post. Did I mention that earlier?

The scene of the incident and Andy’s successful return visit. He found it! The air intake collar, not the toenail…

Does a semi-selfie count? At least I’ve spared you the squinting

Pete’s expression pretty much summarizes what he’s anticipating I will eventually write about the ride. After a brief stop in Coulterville, again practicing social distancing, we avoided stopping at the Coulterville Cafe and General Store for our usual ice cream bar and stimulating coffee beverage. After a brief stretch, we made our way home on the usual roads reinvigorated having gotten out of the house for a couple of hours doing what we love.

Stay tuned for May’s rides as loosening restrictions may make for an overnighter. Until then, stay safe all!

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

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