I must admit, the weather kept me indoors a bit on this one.
The magic began for me when I was bicycling up to Alpine Forest in the late afternoon. I prepared for a bit of a glum ride, as the clouds filled the southwest sky. As I trudged up Arosa Road, the sun broke through on the western side and filled the northern mountains with the late afternoon color (that was identical in hue to the hills themselves) that originally made my heart yearn to one day return. That one day was today. Once I got to Alps Road and came to an opening between the foothills, what I saw to the north was so deep orange-red and warm. It was cold but my rekindled Tehachapi heart was emboldened. I rode downhill back to the CA 202 and headed west. I decided for a less car-travelled road and sunk down to Cummings Valley Road. It was dark and enchanting. I loved the cold air and the music playing on my iPod. The pure white light coming from my headlamp made things seem cozy and alright somehow. It was a gentle downhill ride almost the entire way to the entrance to Bear Valley. What a pleasant surprise! It allowed me a breathtaking survey of what was around me. It was peaceful and dark. A kind of enveloping comforting dark.
The next night was anything but contentment. Freezing rain. It was the beginning of a weather pattern that kept me inside for the better part of the next two days, as I had mentioned. The next morning I went for walk and was in awe. Everything had the appearance of glass. The trees, the shrubs and rocks, even the grasses were covered in a thin layer of ice, often stuck in bent position, frozen in the direction of the winds. I walked and explored this winter wonderland for an hour or so, coming to a dirt path near the side of a drop-off. It was blocked with rocks and trees, so I scrambled to the other side of the blockage. I slid behind a rock and came to thicket of tree/shrub growth with the past season's foliage crumpled up and soft on the ground, dry on top and damp beneath. It was enough to crawl through, but not to walk. I sat down beside the rock, out of view of the rest of any potential wanderers. I was overcome by a feeling to relax and close my eyes. The sun was just coming out, and shining harmoniously between the branches of the thicket. A final leaf hung onto a branch and was spinning rapidly, suspended in the sunlight. As beautifully cozy and recluse as it was, I'm glad I did not fall asleep. I may not have woken up!! The temperature never rose above freezing all that day and most of the next. I returned to the home to sleep.
The magic began for me when I was bicycling up to Alpine Forest in the late afternoon. I prepared for a bit of a glum ride, as the clouds filled the southwest sky. As I trudged up Arosa Road, the sun broke through on the western side and filled the northern mountains with the late afternoon color (that was identical in hue to the hills themselves) that originally made my heart yearn to one day return. That one day was today. Once I got to Alps Road and came to an opening between the foothills, what I saw to the north was so deep orange-red and warm. It was cold but my rekindled Tehachapi heart was emboldened. I rode downhill back to the CA 202 and headed west. I decided for a less car-travelled road and sunk down to Cummings Valley Road. It was dark and enchanting. I loved the cold air and the music playing on my iPod. The pure white light coming from my headlamp made things seem cozy and alright somehow. It was a gentle downhill ride almost the entire way to the entrance to Bear Valley. What a pleasant surprise! It allowed me a breathtaking survey of what was around me. It was peaceful and dark. A kind of enveloping comforting dark.
The next night was anything but contentment. Freezing rain. It was the beginning of a weather pattern that kept me inside for the better part of the next two days, as I had mentioned. The next morning I went for walk and was in awe. Everything had the appearance of glass. The trees, the shrubs and rocks, even the grasses were covered in a thin layer of ice, often stuck in bent position, frozen in the direction of the winds. I walked and explored this winter wonderland for an hour or so, coming to a dirt path near the side of a drop-off. It was blocked with rocks and trees, so I scrambled to the other side of the blockage. I slid behind a rock and came to thicket of tree/shrub growth with the past season's foliage crumpled up and soft on the ground, dry on top and damp beneath. It was enough to crawl through, but not to walk. I sat down beside the rock, out of view of the rest of any potential wanderers. I was overcome by a feeling to relax and close my eyes. The sun was just coming out, and shining harmoniously between the branches of the thicket. A final leaf hung onto a branch and was spinning rapidly, suspended in the sunlight. As beautifully cozy and recluse as it was, I'm glad I did not fall asleep. I may not have woken up!! The temperature never rose above freezing all that day and most of the next. I returned to the home to sleep.
Now what really caught me up in the adventurous spirit was what I travelled through as I left Tehachapi on to Bakersfield. I began to enjoy the cold on my face. finally getting used to the cold just as i was leaving it. it would be warmer down below. I got a flat (goat-head. I do not miss those) and had to replace the tube and patch the tire. Because of this delay, some friends who were heading down to Bakersfield saw me and stopped to offer me a ride. I figured to let them help, especially considering I wanted to spend some quality time with them before I left. I decided to cut it halfway and get dropped of in Caliente. Rolling hill country. Yellow and brown hills that caressed my daydreams and told me that I would always come back to them. This is where I rode into "Bakes" from. Lesson: Always enjoy the past for its sweetness
Caliente, California and environs
I looked behind and saw the road curving away. I looked below and saw dry riverbed. Above and afar were tan hills speckled with black dots of leafless shrubs. I stood still for a moment or two. In awe, the riverbed taking the exact same shape and bend as the road and hill. As I passed through all this I came to think about how when I hit tehachapi it was like pressing the reset button. Things were new and non-burdensome.
Just beyond around the next hill was a hidden trove of trees, still green and yellow, like I was looking back one season in time. After that, sights too beautiful for camera lens. It all got more accentuated as the sun got closer to setting. The cattle roads on the other side of the fence were fun just to imagine driving upon. A car passed and carved out the next mile of my travels, hugging the semicircular ridge. Next, a truck passed oncoming, I looked behind to admire it rising into the distance, the sun now casting a white glow on the entire land at my back.
I sit on a thrown away couch typing my thoughts. Looking westward at the tracks along the road, just moments away from the Bakersfield. I begin again, train tracks to my right and open field to my left. The field, frosty white-yellow; and the rise beyond it, a dark tan. The 3pm sun was doing its best work, and it also brought a Truman-show-like quality to the road ahead. It ramped up and disappeared over the horizon. I termed the final rise due west up ahead as "the portal". I belted out this name again and again, giving it saga-like airs. This was the final rise before The Central Valley. It was the portal to Bakersfield. The road gave one final lift (and I had to push to get up this last one), and I was in the Valley. Now, I am being generous with my pictures today, but my iPod died just as before I approached the land ramp. I cannot provide any pictures, but I can give this one oral camera shot:
The sun bathed the entire land. I rode along the orange groves, catching glimpses of forever between the rows. Twenty miles and a dozen hills later, here was I in Bakersfield, and the fruit thereof was most sweet. . .
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| Caliente, California and environs |
Just beyond around the next hill was a hidden trove of trees, still green and yellow, like I was looking back one season in time. After that, sights too beautiful for camera lens. It all got more accentuated as the sun got closer to setting. The cattle roads on the other side of the fence were fun just to imagine driving upon. A car passed and carved out the next mile of my travels, hugging the semicircular ridge. Next, a truck passed oncoming, I looked behind to admire it rising into the distance, the sun now casting a white glow on the entire land at my back.
I sit on a thrown away couch typing my thoughts. Looking westward at the tracks along the road, just moments away from the Bakersfield. I begin again, train tracks to my right and open field to my left. The field, frosty white-yellow; and the rise beyond it, a dark tan. The 3pm sun was doing its best work, and it also brought a Truman-show-like quality to the road ahead. It ramped up and disappeared over the horizon. I termed the final rise due west up ahead as "the portal". I belted out this name again and again, giving it saga-like airs. This was the final rise before The Central Valley. It was the portal to Bakersfield. The road gave one final lift (and I had to push to get up this last one), and I was in the Valley. Now, I am being generous with my pictures today, but my iPod died just as before I approached the land ramp. I cannot provide any pictures, but I can give this one oral camera shot:
The sun bathed the entire land. I rode along the orange groves, catching glimpses of forever between the rows. Twenty miles and a dozen hills later, here was I in Bakersfield, and the fruit thereof was most sweet. . .
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