April 18th--Pinnacles to Parkfield

Hoo-nellie! What a day! In the end, i rode about 98 miles over numerous intense climbs, but i finally made it to Parkfield.

The day started out well enough in Pinnacles nestled in some chapparal along the Cholame river. I packed up and rode down the road to the Peaks View site to make breakfast. Breakfast was about 3/4 cup of amaranth flour, cooked into gruel, with some salt and honey added. At first, i didn't add enough water, so i had to boil some more on my Esbit stove to water it down. Unfortunately, i also didn't add enough honey, so it was a bit bland. I'd also forgotten about the freeze-dried blueberries i'd packed. I was quite hungry, though, and ate it right up. I also made some matÈ with a two-day old used tea bag. That was a mistake. It made me a bit nauseas, but not as bad as drinking several swigs of olive oil had.

I went to the drinking fountain to clean my dishes and was surprised to find the water slightly warm. Apparently, the water from this fountain is kept a bit warm to keep it from freezing in the pipes.

I got all packed up and was disappointed to find that i had lost one of my cycling gloves. I dug through the bag that i had opened the previous night (having not used it at all this morning) and couldn't find it. I resolved that i must have dropped it where i had camped out, despite my efforts to check the site carefully to make sure this exact situation didn't occur. I stashed all of my stuff in some bushes and set off back up the hill (about 2 miles, perhaps?) At the trailhead were some offial-looking people, so i thought it better not to ride on the trail that was specifically marked "No Bicycles". The 1/4 mile hike to the site isn't obviously that bad, but any amount of hiking or walking in my cycling shoes was beginning to worry me because of the somewhat sensitive Crank Brothers cleats (i had removed them for the hike through Bear Gulch the previous day). Besides, i was concerned about getting on the road quickly, with 73 miles to go to Parkfield (the discrepancy will be explained later).

In any case, the glove was not there, so i headed back to Peaks View and rummaged once again through my bag to see if i hadn't overlooked it. Indeed, there it was, there it was in the very bottom. The bag is not that big, making this oversight even more agravating.

I set out and headed to the payphone (there being no cell phone reception for me) at the commercial campground to call the Parkfield Inn and Cafe. Unfortunately, there was no answer. There was also nothing particularly identifying in the outgoing message, and given the age of some of the information on my GPS (which is where i got the phone number), i was concerned that the place was no longer in business.

I carried on, nonetheless, at around 10:30am. Upon meeting up with Hwy 25, i was immediately assaulted by some political propaganda: two signs out in front of a private home right at the corner. One read "No Amnesty For Illegals" and the other was an American Flag, with a soldier's helmet perched on an upright rifle and the numbers (older versions crossed out in succession) of US soldiers killed in Iraq. In bold letters, the latter read, "They didn't die for open borders." I presume a concise and non-meaningless description (ie, not "for our freedom") of their reason for dying will be forthcoming on a third sign.

Actually, the third sign, on the opposite side of the driveway, was a For Sale sign, annotated at the top with "Reduced Price." Apparently, the American Dream of living at the gateway to a National Monument was fraying for these people in more ways than one. When Cheney indicated that the American Way of Life was not negotiable, i don't think he understood the extent to which real Americans are having to negotiate this "way of life" every single moment, often through refinancing or in bankruptcy court. All throughout this part of the state (indistinguishable in many respects from the rest of that mythical "Middle America"), i saw countless similar For Sale signs, often in those places with the nicest gates and the biggest, newest cars, wine vineyards included--everywhere the signs of a fading ideal on the home front of an unraveling empire.

But, back to the ride. I continued on Hwy 25, through more pasture, dry lakes, slanted oaks and clanking windmills, followed by the curious eyes of cattle. I passed through the tiny town of Bitterwater, near what i presume to be the northern end of Bitterwater Creek. There was a school there, serving both Bitterwater and the community of Tully, down the road. Elementary schoolers ran to the fence to wave as i went past. From here to Lewis Creek, i would get a beep from my cell phone at almost every wash, indicating a weak, errant cell phone signal, probably from King City over the ridge.

The turnoff to Lewis Creek Rd., shortly before reaching Lonoak, sported a sign indicating the distance to each of the residents of note. At Lonoak, the road turned east and followed San Lorenzo Creek, flanked by mountains and grain fields on either side, with the road following a mostly straight path over rolling terrain. I would occassionally get cell phone reception and at one point stopped to pee, refill my waterbottle and to try the Parkfield Inn again. Still no luck.

Shortly thereafter, i reached the intersection with Hwy 198, a fairly major road between San Lucas, in the Salinas River Valley and Coalinga. It was not on my route, but just thinking of riding on that road, where i could see numerous big rigs hauling cattle, gave me the fear. Luckily, i had only to job briefly over on Hwy 198 to Peach Tree Rd., which followed the same course along San Lorenzo Creek. This road was idyllic, with even less traffic than Hwy 25, where i had been passed by perhaps 10 vehicles. After only a few miles, it became a single-lane road. There was a nice tailwind, occasional fluffly clouds and miles and miles of pasture.

The creek gouged out a path in the middle of the valley, reaching its headwaters around Coalinga Mineral Springs. At around this point, i was surprised to get a call from Theresa (of Theresa's Messenger Service), inquiring about the whereabouts of some paperwork i had not filed properly. The cell phone service, it turned out was quite good here, so i made another attempt to call the Parkfield Inn (no luck), and then called and left a message with Adrienne.

On the other side of the ridge, the road followed Slack Canyon, as i climbed steadily to about 1800' at Split Rock Spring, where a small structure was built over the spring itself. Crossing over the river, the Canyon turned to a shallow river with more pasture land and denser oak woodlands.

A few miles down the road, i reached my first major disappointment of the trip. My planned route took me another 20 miles or so along Slack Canyon Rd. into Parkfield. When i got to the turnoff, however, i was met with a "Road Closed" sign, with a "Private Property: No trespassing" sing behind it. I puzzled for some time until a worker came driving by from the road (the gate was open). I asked him if it was possible to get down the road to Parkfield and he answered in broken English that there was only ranches and a few houses down the road. I asked him how i could get there, and he pointed the direction i had been going, where Peach Tree Rd. becomes Indian Valley Rd. and heads toward San Miguel in the Salinas River Valley. I asked for further directions and he said he didn't really know. He was from Hollister, so he really only knew the other direction.

I resolved after a moment of thought to continue down Slack Canyon Rd. to ask at one of the houses he mentioned about access to Parkfield, there being no obvious or easy detour. I passed some more workers who paid me no mind and figured i should probably search out the white folks who were more likely to actually own the property (it being called "Pearson Ranch"). A short ways down the road, i found a group of houses and turned off into the driveway, undeterred by the various security warnings. I spotted a man on the telephone get up somewhat hurriedly and got off and walked toward his home. He came out in his sweats, still holding the cordless phone, to meet me, cordially enough, and i asked him if there was any access to Parkfield. He said that the road had been washed out and was inaccessible, and besides was private property, and had been since the late '60s. I asked for alternate directions to Parkfield and he directed me, as the worker had, to Indian Valley Rd. to San Miguel, somewhat evading the question, or at least truncating the answer. He did mention that it was a lovely ride, though. I asked about Big Sandy Rd., which looked on my map to be a possible detour back to Slack Canyon Rd. He answered that it was a similar situation, with private ranches, etc. After a few words about my bike (its skinny tires, primarily), we parted ways, as cordially as was our meeting, and i headed out to Indian Valley Rd.

It was quite steep in that first section, and i waited to get up that first crest before trying to figure out an alternate plan, in the confidence that i really didn't want to head back to Coalinga and then back over to Parkfield. I wanted to stay along the San Andreas rift zone, so even though it would have been quite possible to ride down to San Miguel and stay there, with a relatively easy ride to the Carrizo Plain, this was not at all my first choice. I could also have taken the road most of the way down to San Miguel and then taken Vineyard Canyon Rd. back up to Parkfield, but this was some 45 miles out of the way. I had a good deal of energy left, but didn't think i could hack that, having already ridden about 60 miles.

I resolved, finally, to try taking Cross Country Rd. as a shortcut over a ridge to Vineyard Canyon Rd., the only other option into Parkfield. This would still be some 30 miles out of the way, but at least i would not have to go all the way down to Salinas Valley and then back up again.

I continued up and over the ridge into Indian Valley and then down through the valley, which was, indeed quite nice, although it was difficult to talk myself out of a bad mood. The occassional out-of-place Spanish Colonial monstrosity with palm trees did not help matters, although it did cement in my mind the determination to avoid the more populous Salinas River Valley.

I passed Big Sandy Rd., which did indeed seem to indicate that it did not go through. I continued on to the intersection with Cross Country Rd., down at around 1000' in elevation. I stopped and ate a number of Lara Bars for a late lunch and filled my water bottle with Cytomax, in preparation for the upcoming climb. Cross Counry Rd. quickly became a dirt road, not nearly as well maintained as La Gloria Rd. a few days previous. This made it rather difficult to navigate and especially hard to climb. Luckily, the hill was relatively short and steep up to a crest at near 1500', so not too much of a problem to walk. Adrienne called me just at the moment when i was reaching a part of the hill where the dirt became too loose, giving me further excuse to get off and walk the last bit to the top of the ridge.

I biked down the hill, which was somewhat harrowing because of the loose dirt and gravel and the tendency to fishtail severely with all of the weight. This, as with some of the washboarded parts of La Gloria, detracted from my enjoyment of the area. After a short descent to Deer Valley Ranch, however, the road became more compacted and easier to travel with a few loose patches. It was also less steep and traveled a nearly straight line through the valley to Vineyard Canyon Rd., back down at 1000'.

Vineyard Canyon Rd. was newly-patched asphalt, with newly-painted center lines. It was a steady climb up to about 1800' and then became quite steep. I walked about a mile up to 2400' and then rode the rest of the way to the summit at 2500'. There were a few things to take pictures of along the way, including a remarkable broken incline which seemed to be a favorite launching point for hunting eagles. There was a wonderful view over Slack Canyon on the other side of the summit and a very fast, and kind of sketchy, ride down to the intersection with Slack Canyon Rd. On this end of the road, there was simply a "Not a Through Road" sign.

The remainder of Vineyard Canyon Rd. wound through and over shallow hills and more populous farmland. At the turnoff to Parkfield-Coalinga Rd., there was a sign saying "Now Entering North American Plate," with a bridge over the San Andreas Fault just beyond. I continued on into Parkfield, passing the USGS station and finding the Parkfield Cafe on the left. Unfortunately, they are closed on Wednesdays, a fact which initiated all manner of annoyances, the first being that i had been looking forward to dinner there.

Across the street was the Parkfield Inn. There was no one around, and a sign indicated to register at (the now-closed) Cafe. It also listed a number to call after-hours. Luckily, at the cafe was a pay-phone, as i had no reception there. Unluckily, the payphone would not accept coins (the slot was broken). I called an 800 Verizon number which charged my credit card $5.86 for the call. I made the call and reached an anwering machine. I left a message indicating that i wanted a room for the night and that they could try reaching me at the self-same payphone.

After wandering around for a while and discovering that all the doors were unlocked at the Inn, i called Adrienne. We talked about a number of things, including trying to find the origin of the name for Negro Hill, which i had climbed up back on Peach Tree Rd. (no answer on that one). Before ending the call, though, i asked her to call the number on the door of the Inn (as i had already spent almost $12 at this machine) and leave a message, if no one were there, indicating that i planned on just staying there and would pay whatever was necessary at a later time.

She did as much and confirmed that there was no answer. I stayed the night there, took a shower and remade the bed upon leaving, half-way between paying for lodging and squatting. For the more adventurous and sneaky than myself (or at least of less means), it would not have been at all difficult to spend the night there at no cost, leaving no trace, of course, as one would when camping.

And now, here i sit, typing this missive in the Inn's common area, surrounded by taxadermied animals, ancient farm implements, western kitch and racist depictions of Native Americans, finishing just in time to make it over to the Parkfield Cafe for opening.