It's never a good sign when Bugs Bunny is right.
We are riding high spirits from some bowm-chicka while the edge of the Milky Way slowly rotated across the top of our tent the night before, and it left both Bubbles and I with some serious momentum in the morning. We are both new to packing up this particular set of camping gear, but found a happy symbiosis quickly. I roll, she fills the sack, I load. It's satisfying, and we both usually finish our jobs at the same time. I still was able to successfully Jet-Boil us some drinkable coffee (with a couple of stolen 7-11 creamer pods), and be on our way pretty early. Thankfully this would be our saving grace as the sun set on us weary, cold, no where to sleep, on this very evening. But we didn't know that yet.
A quick and curvy backtrack to James Store in Kernville for a re-supply of fuel, water, and snacks, even a few of those dreaded phone call internetting things we are trying to escape so badly, and then finally, some blessed relief from the heat once the speedo read more than zero as we followed the lazy winding river up into the Sequoia Nat'l Forest and past the Trail of 100 giants.
Not much traffic but plenty of swimmers, campers, all just side by side with strangers, partying away, oblivious. Does denial count as oblivious? Because these people were pretty happy. I'd still venture guess it's better than going to Sturgis...
We saw the sign. Hell, it felt like it was just out of town and it even conveniently said "395" and had a cute yellow arrow. In fact, it was so close to town, we questioned it, stopped, and had a whole discussion about it, checked one of the four paper maps we had,, then promptly continued on forward with the confidence there would be another one.
Paper maps are great, they don't even need batteries or a cell signal. Since paper maps have been around for so long now, they must be very, very, accurate right? One of the mysteries of the universe that this insignificant little Cooter will never understand, is that they aren't. I concede that the tiny little cherry stem roads that I like so much could be missing, but inaccurate?? NO info is better than bad info. As a young man, and pre-cell phone, I have 'navigated' home before from Laughlin, NV using only the back of a cocktail napkin from The Colorado Belle (RIP)... The fact that every single paper map isn't perfectly accurate in 2020 just makes my mind wobble. I can see it now in the giant dark underground room where shitty maps are printed:
"Sir!, we need to write a word here over the road marking!"
Well then, just delete the road under where you type the word.
"But Sir! Isn't that ruining the whole point of a map?"
LET MY LITTLE TIMMY SQUIGGLE WITH HIS SHARPIES, AND DON'T QUESTION ME JOHNSON, OR I'LL SEND YOU BACK TO THE PAYPHONE FACTORY!
It took 3 hours. The lovely twists and bends, giant Sequoia trees, cresting past a cool 7000', cute little Ponderosa (pop 94), and finally getting to some sort of civilization enough to see a sign and now know that we were nowhere near the destination of Kennedy Meadows that we had aimed for. The roads were so twisty and bendy that in the 3 hours after leaving Kernville, we had only gone 70 miles and dropped right into quaint little Springville, CA. On the wrong side of the Inyo mountain range.
The. Inyo. Mountain. Range. It's not too often I get lost, but they do say "go big or go home", and I am not going home so...
Bless the Bubbles for a pretty consistent positivity. We are on an adventure after all, but this does leave us very late in the day and a very, very, long way to go, or sleep with the bears. We did end up sleeping with a bear this evening... but for now it's the ritual of topping off the tanks, topping off the waters, and heading out to an uncertain destination. Because there is absolutely no way back over the mountain range besides backtracking the entire way we came, I decide to be happy enough to carve my way back to our starting point that morning.
The same Poderosa, CA we had passed earlier gets the easy choice for a pretty awesome lunch. We end up sticking to a light breakfast/late-big-lunch schedule because having dinner available is always questionable when you bite off more than you can chew. Thats a pun, people. As we enjoy a perfect clear day eating on their expansive deck, watching some poor boy working to split what seems to be an entire Sequoia tree on the parking lot, I let any stress of a destination fade away. It is whatever its going to be, we are prepared, comfortable, and ready for anything! Let's do this!
One of the new additions to our camping gear is a 1/2 gallon gas jug and it's a fantastic peace of mind to know theres a 25-ish mile reserve with you. If you fill it. Which I keep forgetting to do. Because it's a new addition to the camping gear. I do ultimately remember it though, just as we finally get to our turn off to the Sherman Pass towards Kennedy Meadows, because the sign says "no gas for 78 miles". It should have been around 10am when we got to this point... well it was... but I digress. Now it's 4pm, and simple mileage addition makes me sweat just a little even in this cool, thin air. Bubbles will be fine with her trusty Ninja sipping 55mpg, but with my big Buells original engine architecture dating back to 1950's means a slightly less efficient conversion of dinosaur bones-to-noise ratio. Whatever, we are currently 'going big'.
And so well worth it. Neither one of us can believe this is basically our backyard. Never mind the 4 ridiculous days it has taken to get here this time, we could be here in about 3 hours via freeway nonsense to revisit anytime we wish. And we will.
Truly stunning. Silent and empty. Panoramic views. We had forgotten all about the hot desert floor and packed on layers of clothing as we rode up past 9200' of elevation and back down through chilly, shaded tree lined roads. I'll admit I was keeping an eye on the sinking sun as sunset can change drastically depending on which side of the mountain you're on and we had been on both sides of this one. Today.
Miles ticked off as I coast-raced in neutral down the back side towards the only town before the dreaded 395. More for fun than efficiency, daring myself not to touch the brake and scrub off speed before every one of the thousand corners, scanning for bear scat and calling out potholes to Bubbles on the comm. Finally a house. Then 2, then a group, ahh a sign of people. Its been awhile, hello people! Every state campground is closed (because you get the flu from camping, I guess) and every private campground is full because all the state ones are closed, duh. And the only gas station is closed for us too. No matter, we're really going big now. I want to go see the Grumpy Bear. Always the first stop when dirt biking with good friends years ago, and I know they have some supplies, possibly some local guidance for camping, and definitely a cold beer after this long day.
It's getting dark pretty quickly, so just a short ride down the only main street. Theres cars in the lot, so we can rest easy knowing they aren't closed like the gas station was. They must have seen us coming, unfolding off the bikes and taking off our gear to shuffle our dusty selves up the wooden steps because we meet Micheal across the fence that says "Sorry guys, we're closed. Having a private party tonight"
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