My ride to find the Last Train To Ultra left me in Bakersfield overnight, and gave me many many options to get home. I checked the weather along the possible routes, and as is my wont, I chose the hottest one that also supplied me with trains a-go-go. This I got, but the real kicker was getting to finally return the very awesome Priest Valley, a place that distinguishes itself on many levels, even among a collection of valleys that I have long used as an easy connection to God himself.
Please keep in mind y'all, when I get into all that "Nature helps me to deepen my faith in God" stuff, I am not being glib. It really does. I am in California precisely because it is one of the points at which I see The Master's Hand at work, and my connection to it is clearest. Yes, today I get a cheap pop because the Zen Valley du jour happens to be named "Priest" Valley, but I am yet to get from most human priests what I routinely get from nature as it stands (MLK Jr's words have created a bit of transcendence for me - a few other priests have that power too - but things like that are rare.) Yeah, I will get a little sloppy with the agape here, but there's more to it.
Not every moment in every valley leaves me overwhelmed with joy - some of them are choked with the nasty exhaust stink from the engine of Murikan commerce.
After spending all day Saturday following empty, rusty rails without seeing any real train-nerd action, I simply could not resist the temptation to start the day Sunday by heading southeast (the exact opposite direction of home) so that I could go spend a little time at one of the meccas of train-nerdom: Tehachapi. I caught the line out to the Tehachapi Pass right out of Bakersfield and it was on almost immediately.
In coming over the first hill, I caught a long freight just sitting their waiting its turn to go up over the grade. Just so you might grasp a little of why I dig Tehachapi so, the engines you see in this shot are not actually heading up the hill...no, these are "helper" engines on the back of the train. The grades these trains are about to hit are so steep that they have engines on the front to pull and a set of helper engines on the back to push the train. This is good livin' on a scale rarely seen in North America.
By the time I passed the helpers and made it down the straightaway, the locos on the head-end were powering up and getting ready to make their assault on the climb up to the high desert. To be there and have my car and body vibrate in time with the great subsonic rumble of a lineup of brutes just coming under power does for me what good drugs do for others. Truly, I get a dense sensory overload which I just ride as long as I can. I can appreciate bass at least as much as anyone (likely more), but no song coming from any speaker ever smothers me quite like the bass that comes out of a lashup of engines does as they get wound up and put to work. You get the sight, the sound, the smell, and then something tactile that I simply can't describe. Hummmmmmmmmmmm.
Following trains out of Bakersfield on their way up to the high desert is an oft-photographed pursuit. I lack the skillz with the camera to convey just how photogenic this stretch is, but there are dozens and dozens of places where one can see a marvel of both engineering and train engineers at the same time. One of my favorite spots is in the curves and tunnels on the grade leading up and around the little town of Caliente. Seeing that train go up so quickly, to hear the locomotives straining, and to see a huge train grow small as it snakes its way across your horizon is amazing. I wish I could sit out there and watch it all day, everyday. It used to be that it was easy to do out there.
For years and years, at the best part of the climb, The Tehachapi Loop, one could sit trackside and watch the trains come up so quickly that they snake up and over themselves in a single coil (type in Tehachapi Loop on your search engine of choice and you'll see plenty on it.) It was a great spot for train watching where people would pull up their RV for the day, people would picnic, and railfans could shoot the breeze while watching train after train. It has long been a very special place. While I admit I was always surprised that they allowed people anywhere near the tracks, this year is the year that the long party seems to have been snuffed out. The miserable toe rags running the Union Pacific Railroad have finally closed the area to railfans and turned hallowed ground into just another place for yard dicks to harass train nerds. My father worked for the UP towards the end of his career, and to hear him talk, I suspected that eventually they would take this place away from railfans - they just seem like the kind of pus sacks who would take something long a part of railfanning, and suddenly decide that - now that they took it over from the old Southern Pacific - it is time to shut it down. I am truly heartsick to know I likely have spent my last sunny day in train paradise enjoying myself. There is one little spot on the hill to watch, but there is parking for no more than 2 or 3 cars and the view is second rate compared to the old one. This is a favorite destination for me - a place that makes me molecularly happy, and now I see that it is gone. It makes me wanna vomit. F the UP.
While the loop area itself is now off limits, I did add a new favorite spot to my list; one that allows both train and bird watching. In the foothills at the very southern end of the Sierra, right below Tehachapi proper, I found a spot below one of the rail tunnels that had a huge tree which had become a favorite of the local birds. I saw an oriole that was so orange I can only guess it is a subspecies I haven't ever seen before. It was spectacular, and it was one of loads of birds I was catching glimpses of that I believe were new to me. I have been scoping out places where I might go and just spend the day relaxing with a book and my camera, be it for bird or train watching, and along a meandering country road out there, I found one sure to allow mastery of both. Indeed, this is the very essence of good livin'.
This whole trip up to Tehachapi was an unplanned little detour. I really didn't have time to linger out there since my goal for the day was to get in some virgin mileage on the way home, and the way home was the total opposite direction I had been traveling all morning. In looking at the atlas, I decided that I would cross the very southern end of the Central Valley so I could see some of the towns out there I had never seen. Then, for the north-south part of the ride, I would head back via Coalinga and the Priest Valley, a place I had left some photo work undone a few weeks past. My main motive for wanting to cross the valley at the very southern end was to take in a town which holds a very dubious distinction indeed. I wanted to see The Smog Capital Of America, Arvin California!
I have long found sick-sad the cloud of stink which clings to the Sierra and the Coastal ranges (at the point the two ranges meet) in the far southern Central Valley. That cloud obscures the amazing sight that the uber-flat Central Valley can be when you descend into it on I-5, coming out of the Los Angeles Forest & Tejon Ranch. What should be a marvel to behold - an endless flat valley - from the top of the grade almost never looks that way. Almost always, one simply descends into a disgusting cloud of crap. The way in which California has treated its beauty is beyond contempt, but to be out in farm country and find the place choked worse than the City Of Los Angeles is criminal; or it should be. Literally.
Arvin isn't the source of the shit they have to breathe. It comes from elsewhere. It comes from people who wouldn't be caught dead riding a bus, people who wouldn't consider living in a high population-density development, corporations who would choke their own worker's families with this crap if it would make an extra nickel, and politicians who make sure they all can get away with it for a big enough donation. The usual suspects. Throw in the fact that Arvin is populated almost entirely by working class Hispanics, and you not only get the smug, but a big shrug of the Murikkkan shoulders at the impact the smog has on the people living there.
That we allow fellow Americans to live like that when it doesn't have to be this way speaks most ill of our character. That they have AGAIN extended the deadline for cleaning that shit up until 2030 in the county should warm the hearts of good Murikkkans elsewhere - the Okies that came out after destroying their land have certainly been keeping the faith and holding it down for the Heartland Values out in California. I give Arnold some credit for firing the asshat who led the passing of the extension, but even so, he could do way more than he has done. What makes this most depressing is that the solutions for these things exist. It isn't that we can't get rid of it, it's that we won't. Well, it isn't "we" that won't...it's the "Me Me Me"s that won't. It is the petulant children on their acre plots, watering their grass in the desert, plowing under the forests and farms to build their McMansions in the middle of nowhere - all the while saying that the negative impact they create is no one else's business - who cause this. America's soul is deeply sick at this point. If you doubt me, pay a visit to good old Arvin. I GUARANTEE, you can't miss it.
Eventually, I got far enough east of Arvin that I could see the hills and mountains once again. As is often the case, I got a bit of a late start in the morning (it is a weekend dammit! I gotta right to sleep in a little!), so I couldn't explore to the degree I had hoped I would. Eventually, south of the town of Taft, I came upon a fairly surreal landscape in the oil country of the southern Coastal mountains. The map said it was the Naval Petroleum Reserve, which I understand not to be oil that is yet to be extracted, but rather oil that has been pulled out and stored in huge pools in and under the mountains. I couldn't get close enough to anything to get a shot which proves out the value of re-visiting the area, so you are just gonna have to trust me. Other than The Buckin' Elk, there literally ain't ANYTHING out there but strange machines, pipelines, and dust. Much of it is build right into the mountains themselves. On the other side of those mountains the awesome Carrizo National Plain, which I have heard is jaw-dropping on its own. I will plan on getting back out there ASAP. It just looked too good - or at least "good" as I define it in these matters.
Eventually, I swung almost due north, caught up with CA highway 43 going north, and began the highball home. I stopped for lunch in Shafter, which was all-quiet on Sunday, but as you can see, there is every reason to believe, Shafter is hella-hoppin' on Saturday night. After all, The Foxy Lady has a beer garden!
If the bar itself was named for a local, I didn't bump into her during my visit to town. I may get other chances however since the Foxy Lady is not just a bar, it is also a poker room! How sweet would it be for me to go into the Foxy Lady and clean the place out some Saturday! Hell, the chips have to worth more than face value simply for saying "The Foxy Lady" on them. I definitely can see a good night of Texas Hold 'em at The Foxy Lady as a potential solution for any cash flow problems I might run into. Things were a little too slow on a Sunday afternoon to check in on the action, but you can damn well believe I will return and BE the action if I have to.
With dreams of running the table at The Foxy Lady dancing in my head, I got back on CA43 and headed north. I love CA43 for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that it runs alongside the Santa Fe railroad mainline up the gut of the Central Valley. I wouldn't say the line was exceptionally busy or anything, but I caught a little action here and there. I also saw a few locomotives just sitting out on sidings here and there for no reason I can discern. I suppose they are safer way out there than they are in the yard at Bakersfield, but I would guess they are out there for local work during the week. I could see myself signing on to be the engineer on that run...for most of the work you can see both the Sierra to the east and the Coastal range to the west from the same spot. Again, that's some solid good livin.
At this point in my north-south travel in central CA, almost never take I-5. Indeed, it has the highest posted speed limit, but that usually doesn't mean it is the quickest way between SF & LA. I also think one can do better with the scenery than I-5 - at least to the extent that you can see much the same stuff from other roads, while also getting stuff you can't get from I-5. Most often these days, I either take CA99 for the bulk of the ride, or I do a sort of stair-step route in which I go due north, due west, due north, due west, and due north til I get home. This was just such an occasion. At lovely Hanford, I caught CA198 west and crossed that marvelous flat of cotton fields until I made it to the eastern slope of the Coastals. Super flat, super straight, and usually sunny and beautiful. CA198 is one of the best roads in the state; it almost always finds a way to make here-to-there special in some way. In this case, it would be taking me through Coalinga, across the San Andreas Fault and then to CA 25 to Hollister and home. Along that way, I would make a return to the very awesome Priest Valley.
The Priest Valley is awesome for lots of reasons. For example, it is set in a fairly remote area - at least rural enough to lack a gas station or grocery store. No, gas. No, groceries. Yes, Dance Hall. I gotta say, whoever lives there has their priorities straight in my book. Originally when I passed that Dance Hall I thought it now hosted only ghosts of dancin' past, but this time, I got a shock of shocks to hear music coming out and the sound of hard heels on the wooden floor gittin' down! So awesome! I am pretty sure it was dance lessons rather than a dance, but even so, I am totally jealous! To be able to have a place like that in the middle of the surreal beauty of that valley says much about life there. There is a little restaurant connected to it, and I am assuming it is the same owner. There was no other commercial interest anywhere else that I saw around, but I gotta say, if I had a choice of businesses I would try keeping open if I could only have 2, I can't say that these two wouldn't be my choice. It might have yielded much more eye candy for me, but I am too big a chicken to stick my head into places like that when I am out by myself. That said, now that I know it is there, I definitely plan on paying them a visit.
The Priest Valley itself appears to mostly run north and south, but there isn't a through road that I could find. I did find a little single lane road leading out to the local ranches which was bloomin' like crazy with little yellow flowers. All day long I was seeing the flowering of spring all over the place. Tons of California Poppies were out - they are definitely a favorite - and there were patches of flowers in just about every color you can imagine. I was taken by the sheer size of this patch, so I decided to get out of the car and try taking pictures from as many angles as possible so as to try and convey how huge it was (I didn't succeed and I muttered about it to myself the whole way home...I really need to take a photography class.) I laid on the ground, knelt, held the camera overhead, and did just about everything I could think of to try and get a shot I like. I guess I musta got caught up in the task since I became oblivious to what was going on around me.
The horses that had been WAY down at the other end of the pasture had decided I was interesting and began gettin' kinda close. I musta been playing with the camera settings or something as they approached because when I turned around, one of them had come almost the full length of the field and was clearly scoping me out.
For the most part, that was pretty cool. It was even cooler when the other horses galloped down after their buddy. Horses are beautiful creatures and I enjoy watching them as much as anyone, but in this case, the fence I was near was one they EASILY could have leaped if they wanted, and I started to get the sense that my presence there wasn't welcomed by the beasts. They started getting quite vocal, and I wasn't sure if any of it was directed at me. I wondered if I might have them confused for Rancher Bob, and maybe they were expecting me to feed them or change their shoes or give them a carrot or whatever it is Rancher Bob does with them. I took a step back from the fence and the black horse took a step forward as I did. He did it again after I took a few more steps back. I am sure it is just my ignorance of horses which allowed to imagine they were gonna hoof it over there, leap the fence, and give me a mega-Donkey Kick or something. I decided that I would return to my little pony and hotfoot it back to the main road. This I did.
I know very little of the history of Priest Valley, but I get a sense that it must have been a very tight-knit community at one point. Perhaps the land was sold of in parcels at the same time, and there was an influx of people who came in at the same time, bringing children to the area with them. I can think of no other reason for there to be an abandoned school like this out there. Clearly by the "style" of the building, it isn't all that old; and also, by its size, it may yet have been a one or two room school when it was in use by the locals. Again, my fascination with abandoned structures took over, and I walked around trying to look at the building from as close as I could legally get. There was no sign on it or near it with a name or a history, but again, I was convinced by the style and the layout that it wasn't very old or used for a very long time. It also didn't appear to have been out of service for all that long either. The amateur anthropologist in me wants to write up the history of the area and find out what it is about Priest Valley that distinguishes it this way. Clearly, the valley was once quite vibrant for a rural, mountain community. That they still hang on to the dance hall surely means that the pilot light is still flickering in there somewhere. I am utterly fascinated by it. Maybe someday I will grow a pair and ask around for a little history. I walked Brooklyn doing the same thing and learned that people are generally cool and want to talk. so why wouldn't Priest Valley indulge a nerd such as I? We shall see.
My hope was to make it home before sundown, so I headed out. Climbing up and out of the Priest Valley opened up the heart of the hill country south of Hollister and east of the Salinas Valley. To me, this area has become all but sacred of late. If I'd had all day, I would have headed south towards the Indian Valley and the place where the San Andreas Fault is marked. I didn't have all day, so I jumped onto CA25, a road that brings me a deep, meditative pleasure every time I am on it.
My usual lament that all of these wonderful places seem unvisited by anyone was to be set aside as I rode 25 north. It pleased me greatly that I had that road all but to myself at sundown on a perfect evening. There are plenty of curves in the road and there is no real shoulder, so one has to pay attention to the road; but even so, I feel as if I am not even in my skin (let alone at the wheel) as the land passes by me.
That the land is still green is good because, as I often say, these places are usually a perfect California golden color. Either way, the ride has a sort of slow, narcotic feel to it for me. It is when I get the most quality thinking time in. It is here that I do something akin to defragmenting my mind, and this is something my melon desperately needs.
I have not been living my life as I know I should. I know I should be getting over all my worldly stuff and connecting with the ecstasy of living which I know to be there for the taking. This is hard to do only because choosing that makes my daily grind impossible to withstand. Trying to accomplish the mundane shit that makes up work-a-day life while in a state of one-ness with the goodness in the world is something I haven't yet mastered completely. I always end up needing to have my head and heart in one or the other. Since I know I have no real out yet from work-a-day life, I have to keep myself from letting go and giving over to my softer instincts. On this ride, I began contemplating the nature of the changes which will be coming for me. In just over a month, I could be in a position to start life afresh, with all of my inner-strength deployable in the world. That would be optimal. By the same token, I could find that my surgery did little to change things, and then I will need all my inner-strength just to maintain an ability to service basic human needs. This takes a lot of processing time for my brain to sort out. To have places like these is a big help for me. Much of what is to come is out of my control, so I need to be able to take an inventory of what it is that I can control. I realize this seems cryptic and/or flaky; I hope to be able to make sense of it in time. Just know that I am proud to be mush. The question is if I get the chance to live with my mush on my sleeve or not. Actually, lemme rephrase - the question is one of how long it will be til I can live that way. Ha. Y'all are really in for it if things go well for me!
I made it to the Bay Area interstates just as the sun was setting. Coming north out of Hollister, I got an incredible view of Purple Mountain Majesty, and I hoped on hope that I would finally get a real photo of it so I could show all you flatlanders what that looks like. It is one of my favorite things to see and I never really saw until I came out here in recent years. There is much good to be said for the Amber Waves of Grain, but I admit to becoming partial to Purple Mountain Majesty.
It is simply too difficult to drive those roads and get a good shot, so I took a quick snap (which didn't really catch it), put the camera away, and joined the interstate scrum until I made it home to those kitties of mine. I love Priest Valley, Tehachapi, and nearly all I took in over the weekend, but I was also ready to be back in good old Oakland at mi casa. I came home to cat boxes that had nearly become mountains of cat-business (no majesty of any kind was in evidence); and to hear the whelping of my beasts crying out for 'wet' food, you'd think an air raid was on. What I came home to couldn't be called serenity, but I can just as easily connect to my inner sap while trying to get caught up on all the petting which was missed because of my little adventure. I suppose if things don't work out for me on the slab, I will always have my little ecosystem of domestic snapping tabbies and the adventure the colony surely provides in ample quantities. You will forgive me if you find that they don't photograph nearly as well as the horsies of the meadows would.
Posted by rudayday at April 16, 2008 08:49 PM