April 19th--Parkfield to Selby Ranch

Everything worked out more-or-less alright with the previous night's stay at the Parkfield Inn. The woman at the cafe, across the street, was a bit surprised that the Inn had been left open, but appreciated my honesty in dealing with the situation. In this case, honesty didn't pay too well, as the room was $82, a bit more than i had expected.

However, the tab for the room was not nearly so much of a shock to my constitution as the hamburger and fries i had for lunch at the cafe. The fries were actually quite excellent, and the salad was pretty good, and, actually, the burger wasn't so bad, either, but i don't think it was a good thing to eat right before a longish ride over some mountains.

Nevertheless, i set out, feeling a bit bogged down. Out of Parkfield, i took Cholame Rd. through Cholame Valley for some time, passing through more pasture and taking note of the extent to which the local golden eagle population relied upon cars and the suicidal tendencies of squirrels to provide them with a steady supply of carrion.

Approaching Cholame, the road ran adjacent to an alkali marsh, well-populated (in today's terms, at least) with estuarine bird life. The redwinged blackbirds were nearly deafening. Beyond the marsh, i could see through heat waves coming off of the valley floor the traffic on Hwy 41. Having scarcely been on any road where any motor vehicle had sight of the one before it, this was a daunting reality. Luckily, it was just a short jog on Hwy 41 over to Bitterwater Rd., which i followed for most of the rest of the day.

The road climbed gradually up to about 2000'. I stopped momentarily at the Cottonwood Well, which did not, as far as i could tell, have any potable water. It did have several cottonwoods, however, with their fluffy droppings strewn about the access road. It also had the ubiquitous No Trespassing signs of Jacks Ranch. Names describing the area included Twisselman and Stil. There was an old, abandoned general store which, for as much as i could read the sign, had once served Greenburg (unless this was the name of its propietor or something else). This was at the junction of Bitterwater Rd. and Annette Rd., the latter continuing straight and up a hill to Annette. Turning right (but staying on Bitterwater), there was a large road cut, labeled on my map as Palo Prieto Pass, though it was not actually at the summit of this ridge.

From the pass, the road descended into Choice Valley, a place name for which i would like to hear the history. Somehow, i think it has little to do with reproductive rights. Over the next ridge was the community of Summers, and beyond that a strenuous climb up to Pinole Springs. The springs themselves are still there, though the seem to have migrated somewhat from the location of the stone buildings erected around them. The hills were mostly dry here, so the verdant washes, populated with thirsty cattle, watercress and waterbirds were all the more striking.

I had planned on going straight on Soda Lake Rd. from the summit the rest of the way down into California Valley and the Carrizo Plain. Unfortunately, it was blocked off by fences, marked as private, BLM-managed land and looked largely impractical besides. So, i continued on Bitterwater Rd. (which again made a sharp right), past Pinole Ranch at about 2325'.

The road made a long, slow descent toward the Carrizo Plain. I faced some headwinds here, due in part to the worsening weather. Thanks to the late start in waiting for the Parkfield Cafe to open and the sluggishness brought on by the burger consumed at the same, it was nearly 6pm by the time i reached California Valley. I was pleased to find a store here, because i had hoped to get some water before making camp, as i knew that the Plain in general was not an easy place to find water. However, i was displeased to find that they had closed at 5:30pm. I exchanged a few words with some locals regarding what a nice to it was for a ride (even though it was kind of crappy). I passed by them just down the road, filling up a barrel with water at the CDF fire station. Not yet feeling particularly desperate, i didn't stop to ask for some.

The sprawling community of California Valley followed, with its extensive gridded road system, complete with road signs. There were, however, more For Sale signs and WARNING: Transcontinental Fiber-optic Cable signs than actual standing structures. A huge community had been planned here while there were still notions that an aquaduct would be transporting water to the area. The later never materialized, and so neither did the actual community, rights-of-way and street signs notwithstanding.

The miles through the Carrizo Plain are for some reason incredibly long. The were probably lengthened by my impatience to find some sort of visitors center for the Carrizo Plain National Monument so that i could look at a map and determine where would be best to camp. Upon riding by Soda Lake, i considered camping along its shoreline, but wanted to make a bit more progress. There was absolutely no one around, so i could have camped just about anywhere. Still, i had heard about non-potable water at some of the campsites (and i carry a water filter to remedy its non-potability). In my haste, i unfortunately never got close enough to Soda Lake to see the detail of its crystaline surface.

Some ways down the road, i saw an old windmill, which previously had indicated water pumping. As i approached it, however, it became clear that it was much more useful as raptor habitat than as a water source, as the former had made a tidy little nest in its apex.

I eventually came upon the first National Monument signs for Painted Rock (painted by Native American's, apparently) and the Visitor's Center. More importantly, there was a map, which i had neglected to print out before leaving home. I headed a half-mile up the dirt road to the Visitor's Center. There was clearly water here, as there was a drip system for the educational landscaping, but the water source was secure under a lockbox. Nevertheless, i took some literature and determined to get myself to the nearest campsite, Selby, which was supposed to have that non-potable water.

It was now only about 15 minutes until sunset, under already-overcast skies, so i was becoming quite anxious. On top of this, the official map of the National Monument didn't adequately communicate the perils of getting to Selby Campround: namely, a treacherous dirt road (it was the treachery that was left unsaid, not the dirt) and a steep 600-foot climb (that's net, the gross elevation gain was probably more like 750 feet). Needless to say, it was pitch black by the time i got there. The nearest campsite was littered with 22 shells and had only the skeleton of a shelter. I went further back in the campground, which was entirely empty, and found a spot that had more shelter in the event of rain. There was actually cell phone reception there (though not the perfect reception available down in the plain), so i called Adrienne to check in.

It got very cold very quickly, so i went straight into my sleeping bag without making any dinner, and left the search for water for the morning, considering i had plenty for the night. Once in my sleeping bag, i tried to get reception of a weather station but failed in that endeavor. The best i could find was an AM Fresno station, which was totally unspecific about actual precipitation. I decided to go without the bivy sack and count on the shelter to provide enough...well...shelter.