Day 37 July 30

The choices of paint samples today were "Irrigated Green", "Foothills Brown" and "Pacific Blue". I learned what cool colors really mean as we zigged across our zag.

The Central Valley puts the food on our tables. The scale of farming here makes our farm seem a back yard garden. Speeding by thousands of acres of laser planted crops, the rows kaleidoscoped by in perfect geometric shapes. Oranges, cotton, grape, tomatoes, nut trees, rice, wheat, corn, cattle .... All to feed us. The soil is so fertile here, it's agriculture on steroids. We passed fields with corn at least 16 feet tall.

The downside of the story is that the California and Federal governments are jealous of the water that has been allotted to the farms because the cities are requiring more. So they have been lowering the rations to the farms and after several years of drought, less and less is being harvested. In this hugely fertile place, we saw miles and miles of fallow fields. The conundrum is, do we starve America so that the cities can thrive? A huge issue.

After the green, which may be desert soon, we headed into the brown. It was hot in the valley, but the water and the plants keep the temperature down. Once up in the foothills the heat pump was on.

Picnics in 100 degrees are not pleasant, so we stopped at the first and only restaurant for lunch. At the junction of Route 46 and 41, the Jack Ranch Cafe houses the James Dean Memorial. In 1955 he crashed his Porsche there and 57 years later people are still leaving flowers and memorials. We ate surrounded by pictures of a beautiful boy whose legend is far more romantic than the 76 year old man that he would be today.

Into the oven, faces parched by desert heat. The foothills were brown, barren, hot, yet so intriguing with their mountain teases. The road was good with many switchbacks, so the journey to the sea was short.

Sweltering through 104 degree heat under perfectly blue skies, the temperature began to drop. Then the fog appeared on the horizon. We were at the ocean again and the respite from the heat was immediate. A few miles later, we were chilled at 55 degrees. My shirt was still sweaty wet, cold against my skin.

Back at the ocean, Morro Bay is home. The fog allowed us a brief view of the rock then took over. The Hitchcock movie, "The Birds", was re-released as raucous seagulls screamed at us from every roof. Tonight our window is open to the mist ..... the seals bark in the night.

Day 36 July 29

Deja' Vu .... All over again.

Antsy to get out on the road, we left from Oakdale at seven. Route 49 begged us to view it from the opposite direction, so once again we headed out toward Mariposa where the snaking highway twisted us back over the mountain. Again, my stomach and my throat met as the bike leaned over open spaces that dropped from ragged peaks to rivered valleys thousands of feet below.

We stopped by a lake for a picnic brunch, complete with Bloody Mary's. Climbing higher, then coasting into the valley, we reached the end of 49 and continued southwest on 41 through Fresno.

The dry heat of the California Central Valley was on. We passed acres of grape ranches that grow in production for the big name wines. There were olives, nuts and oranges, each adding the distinctive color of their leaves to the landscape.

Route 108 sucked us into Sequoia National Forest and Kings Canyon. General Grant, the National Christmas Tree, greeted us and then we spiraled downward into Kings Canyon. Grant, Lincoln and Sherman and the surrounding forest exceed in size and age, any redwoods we have seen. The power of nature makes itself known here.

Then Kings Canyon. Another twined road that wound us down through massive rock and mountain , each switchback blasting a view better than the last. This place grabs your soul and takes it for a ride. It was so hot that I felt like I was free falling into hell, but the hard beauty of the canyon lets you know that there's a higher power that's going to lift you out - and so it did into the amazingly cool heights of Sequoia.

Our long day ended outside of Visalia. An old timer we met on this trip was telling us about the roads we took today and he said, " You'll love 'em - you'll be looking at yourself in every curve". We saw ourselves all day long and I can't imagine a better mirror.

Day 35 July 28

California served up a breakfast of granola and fresh fruit with a generous garnish of goosebumps today.

A very early morning out of Mariposa, as we were headed for the Sonora Pass, a ride we'd been assured was worth it. En route, we needed to take route 49 north ( back on the Golden Chain Highway again). We looked at this part as a means to an end, but it was apparent that we were wrong when we stopped at an overlook that proclaimed to be the site of Fort Fremont.

I stood on a rock, cautiously leaning over to see miles below .... And then I noticed the unraveled ball of yarn that was the road we were about to take. We could see it snake on and around curves, over bridges and then disappear until it ate up another mountain. Fear, anticipation and pure joy got me back on the bike and we began our descent.

As Jules challenged Magic at every turn, we traversed across the mountain again and again. The road sang under our wheels as we experienced a ride made for motorcycles. We met two other vehicles in 50 miles. There were also no guardrails.

Route 108 east from Sonora, the Sonora Pass, was our next test. An eighty mile ride from Sonora to the end holds it all. We started out in intense dry heat, then rose to pines that immediately cooled. Then huge boulders began sprouting from the earth. We stopped for lunch and ate in a rock garden overlooking a ravine that dropped for thousands of feet.

Carved and painted formations on this pass equal or surpass Yosemite. You are constantly bombarded by new views - jagged cliffs, thrusts of stone, sheer canyon walls. We swayed in unison with every curve and ultimately, we were at the end of the pass. But what? No more thrills? Turning around, we headed back up for another dose.

Eighty miles later we were back down to earth and headed west for tonight's bunk down in the "Cowboy Capital of the West", Oakdale, CA.

North, south, east and west were the directions we wandered today. Called by curves and new heights, we followed the Siren Song.

All bikers know that the road is not a route. The road is the reason.

Day 34 July 27

Cool desert morning called us out early. Riding away from Walker, we headed down 395 toward Mono Lake. The road was a highway, but the kind that you can rip up the hills, then sink into the turns. It was a perfect wake up call and the day kept getting better.

Mono is a saline desert lake. I imagine wanderers in early times trudging toward the water, thinking that at last they would have a drink. Then.....
Beautiful, but deceptive.

Powerful Yosemite drew us in. Crossing the Tioga Pass we reached new heights both figuratively and literally as we climbed to 9000 feet. Now the view was landscaped with sand-castled rock that rose improbably out of granite sheets wrapping the mountain.

The masculinity of Yosemite made itself present at every turn. We rose and fell through vaulted spaces where hard stone jacketed us. As we leaned into hairpin turns, I was shocked by yet a another geological heave. Lunch at Tenaya Lake, surrounded by massive outcroppings. Happy campers swam and sunbathed.

El Capitan! Zooming into view, hard, massive and cold, the master of Yosemite deemed to allow us in his presence. I tried to imagine how early visitors felt, without the traffic, the tour buses and the RV's. Awed as I was, rapture must have enveloped them. I am envious of that primeval experience, yet I feel so honored to be here now.

Yosemite allowed us to leave via route 140 that headed the bike to Mariposa where we sleep tonight in what boasts to be the town's oldest motel.

Day 33 July 26

"On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair...." And that's how our day ended.

Tahoe shone in the morning light as we left our motel. It was difficult navigating around the lake because of traffic through Tahoe City and construction, but it was worth it for all that came later.

Following the shoreline, we began to climb higher and higher. The terrain changed and granite formations became more impressive at every turn. One curve took us over magical Emerald Bay. The green water, the backdrop of granite and the fairy tale island all combine for a mythical setting. Looking down from our vantage point far above the bay, I felt like I was spying on a medieval stronghold where knights fought dragons and ladies swooned.

Back on Magic, our noble steed, we continued to climb. At one point we were on a narrow ridge with views of sapphire water on both sides. I wasn't sure if it was the altitude or the scenery that was stealing my breath.

We skirted into South Tahoe and Nevada. How different the two sides of the lake are. The state line immediately takes you from beautiful rustic private homes to a Harrah's high rise casino. Not our cup of tea, so once again, we headed for the hills.

Luther Pass was our next challenge and it was a beautiful one. Pines and geology rule here. Granite formations scatter across the hills and evergreen patches compete for space. We found a secluded campground, miles off the road, for our picnic. Rocks and red barked pines were our companions.

Back on 89, my heart soared with every turn as we climbed to 7700 feet and views of the Sierras honored us with their beauty. Down into the valley and intense heat. Green circles indicated irrigation and ranches sparsely populated the land.

Another mountain to climb and another pass! Monitor Pass announced that snow removal was not happening there. That gave us a clue as to what type of road we were meeting. Up into the High Sierras, Monitor did not disappoint. As we climbed and swooped, the pastels of this mountain range shocked me with their beauty. We crested out above 8000', then dove down through mountains whose colors could not be created on any human palette.

Mountains have guided us on this trip and the constantly changing personalities and appearance of them confirms the variety of wonder available to travelers in this vast country. From snow to sere pastel, the majesty of all is unequalled.

Over the pass and into the valley. Desert heat smacked us down from our mountain high. Route 395 is a straight, hot highway with no towns for miles and miles. But then, out of the shimmering heat, a small, old motel appeared. We pulled in and found an oasis. The rooms are shaded by spicy Eucalyptus and resident quail and deer are the entertainment! Such a lovely place.....

"Welcome to the Hotel California...."