The end of the rainbow is a mythical place that can never be reached, and yet exists in our minds as a kind of Holy Grail. Said to be where Leprechauns hide their pot of gold, or a bridge to the places of the gods, the rainbow has ever intrigued the human psyche. In days long gone, when perhaps man might travel 20 miles in a day by horse or foot, the rainbow must have seemed even more unattainable than today, yet ever man has quested after the rainbow's end. That perfect spot where in our imaginations a brilliance of light and color in the sky meets the land. Is the rainbow's end a metaphor for a kind of paradise, a place so perfect that it can never exist? I am struck too, that for most of man's history not only was the rainbow's end an unattainable place, but a mysterious one as well. Today the physics of rainbows are well understood, but no more than a few hundred years ago man knew little more than that rainbows were associated with life giving water: rain of course, but also the spray of a waterfall, the mist of a geyser, or in miniature in the dew.
What is at the rainbow's end? Rainbows are said to evoke feelings of awe, peace and tranquility. If the rainbow's end is a metaphor for paradise might we not then find this place anywhere, at any time. Is the rainbow's end then a feeling of perfect peace and comfort, rather than a place and time? If water is associated with fertility, so then too must the rainbow be a symbol of fertility. It is not so far a stretch to imagine the perfect maiden, or the perfect man, or the two together, lying at the rainbow's end.
It was halfway through my journey when I felt I had arrived in Shangri La, paradise, at the rainbow's end. As I travel, I like to make photographs. And yet in paradise the sense of awe was so great that I knew no photograph I could make would do it justice. No sooner than I resolved to leave paradise unphotographed then I was struck by temptation and insight: For where I could not capture the grandeur of the place, still in every detail was texture and form and soft shadow and light. These I could capture, but I stuck by my resolution, meaningless though it was.
It all started at home of course. I serviced my bike, "Flyer", changed the tires, and packed it heavy for two weeks on the road. Prepared for city slickin', campin', and hikin' in the heat of the deserts and the cold of the mountains, I had never loaded Flyer down so. The weather closed in and it was looking a bit grim, but Friday dawned clear, and the roads were dry, so I set out.
Heading west across the desert from Salt Lake City to Diamond Springs on I-80 is not a ride most motorcyclists live for. And yet, whenever I go this way I am struck by the beauty of the landscape. Remnants of the storm left cold conditions, mid-30's, yet morning held perfect clarity in the renewed air. Bundled and geared up as I was, running in and around the heavy trucks, and a goal of some 650 miles for the day, it was no time to make photos. Still, as I rode out through the flooded salt flats I found the desert island mountains reflected in the shallow plains of salinity. Here a perfect reflection, there a hillock breaks the scene. And so as I rode, at speed, buffeted by trucks, cold, and anxious for other matters on my mind, the landscape drew my eye again and again. Time after time I almost stopped to make a photo, for the photographer soon learns that there is no going back. Each moment is unique, and once lost, no photographic opportunity may ever be recaptured. And yet, one can not make every photo. For photos are everywhere, in everything. The photographer's challenge is to see what is there, and work with it. So it is that the photographer must also learn to let go, to leave some images, however fine, behind, unmade, and lost forever. Today I was riding, and the images must needs go by the wayside.
Arriving at my friend's place in Diamond Springs just in time for dinner, I received a warm welcome and hugs from my hosts and co-guests. Having been instructed to deliver a few more hugs for some others who could not be there, I discharged my duties with enthusiasm. Once the greetings were over, it was time for food and Scotch Whiskey, talk and laughter, and a bit of planning for the day ahead.
On Saturday my hosts were teaching a motorcycle first aid class at a local dealership, and on Sunday they had organized a TechDaze there as well. We ride with a on-line on-road community, BMWSportTouring.com. TechDaze are a tradition that in so far as I can tell started with this community. Building on the tradition of motorcyclists helping each other out on the road, TechDaze are a time for motorcyclists to join together to share tools, knowledge and strength in the care of our steeds. Usually some food and laughter manage to work their way into the deal as well. In so far as I know however, it is unheard of for a dealership to join in and open their shop and lifts, and provide technicians for advice (you do all your own work). Yet this was case at A&S Motorcycles. More, A&S has a sales floor filled with vintage bikes, a vintage pinball machine, and other niceties. My hosts set up and managed both events, and it is a lot of work. Phil, a fireman paramedic, teaches the first aid class, while his wife Jamie takes care of the logistics. On Sunday Phil is everywhere with technical guruship and tools, while Jamie (Hot Jamie) makes lunch for about 100 people. They are a team.
It is a joy to see a dealership that has a become a focal point for the local riding community like A&S has, that invests in community (they took a donation for meals on wheels while we were there) like A&S has, and where the owner puts his desk right inside the front door, as Randy at A&S has. It is a joy to spend time with Phil and Jamie whose commitment to service is unflagging, whose laughter and love of life, and each other is infectious.
Monday morning came all too soon, and I headed out the door. After a morning drifting through the snowy passes of the Sierra's, I opted for a taste of coast. In between was a record setting heat wave. Arriving around 4:00 pm at Richard and Jacqueline's place in Benicia, I was ready to be off the bike, and looking for cold water. Richard took care of me, and we talked until Jacqueline got home. Then we went down to historic Benicia for some awesome Chinese food and a stroll around the bayshore. Jacqueline found some dogs to pet. I was watching for birds and wildlife in the rushes.
In the morning Tuesday we rode to San Jose, Richard on his GT, Jacqueline astride her storied F 650 GS. There we met some folks from down under who we had all been (unknown to each other) helping out planning their trip. The Aussies were expecting Richard and Jacqueline, but were thrilled to have me show up for a surprise. They were picking up their bikes from a rental outfit, a pair of GTs. Mick had brought too much stuff. In fairness, the man had a two part vacation and had already been stateside for three weeks. He knew the golf balls and seven pairs of basketball player sized shoes were not all going to fit on that bike. Never-the-less, this was too good to be true and Richard seized the moment immediately. Here was Mick, in Charlie Boorman fashion saying "This is a nightmare" over and over again, and Richard cutting up, with Jacqueline and Paul (the other Aussie) providing backup whenever needed. Slowly about four pairs of those great shoes found their way onto that bike. We had a fine morning.
Soon we were riding up to Alice's Restaurant in the coastal mountains, Richard leading the way. After lunch Richard's bike died, and so we parted ways as Richard and Jacqueline, who were on their home turf, called for a tow, and I followed Mick and Paul out through Pescadero to the coast. The ride was spectacular, and a lot of fun, through the cool coastal redwood forests to the sea. We stopped here for the view, and I broke out my camera for the first time.
After a few miles of coastal wanderings, we made for Hollister, through the record heat. It was fascinating to see a 30º F temperature change over only a few miles as we left the sea. Traveling through stop and go traffic in 103º F was not so fascinating. It was California, so lane splitting was in order. Once clear of the city, we had a very enjoyable ride along the edge of a valley formed by the San Andreas fault. We followed the fault trace past the Pinnacles, and here I stopped and told Mick and Paul how the had formed and been split by the movement of the plates. We crisscrossed our way south, meandering back and forth across the Pacific and North American Plates through rolling hills of green grass and oak, chaparral and ranches. We had the road to ourselves, and the bikes played on the twisty asphalt. This was a glimpse of California as it was, as it should be, as yet untouched by crowds and sprawl. Temperatures cooled a bit, as the sun began to set.
Just as it grew dark, we said our goodbyes in Coalinga. Mick and Paul headed south to Mojave, while I continued east. It had been a day of laughter and riding, mountains and sea, crowded city and quiet countryside, new friends and old.
Wednesday morning I continued east, back into the Sierras. At the Sequoia National Park Visitor Center, the compulsion to start making photos struck, even before I was off of Flyer, for across the lane Acorn Woodpeckers were at work.
The staff at the visitor center were pleased to give me a nice orientation to the park, the upper elevations of which were still snowed in. One young lady staffer was excited to see my motorcycle gear, and when I inquired about ways to loop back south after exiting at King's Canyon, advised CA-245 to Dry Creek Road, through the foothills below the park. Another, more mature, staffer interceded to advise, sternly, that these roads had lots of curves on them. The young lady and I grinned at each other, she explaining, “But, he's on a motorcycle.”. Me saying that it would be just fine, as it was allowed that the wildflowers were still in bloom there. All thusly satisfied, I set out.
I proceeded up into the park. Once started, picture making became my mode of travel.
That is until I encountered the end of the rainbow. On entering the Giant Forest my breath was stilled. Traveling slowly through the deep moist shade, deeply furrowed barks illuminated with beams of sunlight glowed impossibly red, as the still air created a sense of perfect peace. Where fire had touched these barks, the glowing red was mottled with abstracts in perfect brilliant black, deeper than the blackness of a cave. In places the bark undulated smoothly, not as waves, but like a rumpled blanket. Here the bark billowed out into burls, there, at the bases of the Giant Sequoia, fins reminiscent of mangroves emerged. The sodden forest floor lay beneath mounds of relic snow, it's surface not gleaming bright, but muted, fitting in with the serenity of the place, covered with the accumulated forest litter of the winter. These fat columns of glowing red, black mottled, furrowed bark extended up farther than I could see. So wide where they meet the ground as to have, most famously, had a single lane road cut through one, these giants taper smoothly towards the sky, until finally, hundreds of feet up the crown begins, and standing amongst them, one can see no farther.
I wonder that man, so destructive, so anxious to take and to use that which may be of value, somehow has had the wisdom and restraint to leave this place untouched, unconsumed, to remain as it is for so long as nature takes the course of nurturing this grove of giants. I can only presume that at some level something akin to an instinct is at play. The road winds curving gracefully among the giants, ever higher, and the snow grows deeper. I enjoy the ride, reflecting on my decision not to photograph within the perfect peace of the grove.
At it's core a meaningless resolution, for these giants have been photographed time and again, and are being photographed even as I pass them by. Yet, the decision reflects a personal commitment of respect for something that is so beyond comprehension that it is larger than life, larger than the moment, and ultimately serene.
All too soon I have left the giants behind and come to the Lodgepole Visitor Center, where I have been told a market is open. Here the park is just opening for the season, and where the lanes and lots have not been cleared, seven to ten feet of snow pack remain on the ground. But, we are in a heat wave and the sun is shining, so it is pleasantly warm, and tracks of meltwater flow everywhere. The parking lot is empty, and inside I find a scene of yawning wakening. Still sleepy with winter, the store is in disarray, boxes of merchandise piled here and there. Clerks unpacking, pricing, and displaying goods in an unhurried manner. I am greeted by Fish. Excited to see a rider, this staff member eagerly starts telling me about his KLR 650 and his upcoming adventure ride to Nicaragua this winter. I soon learn that he is FNG on the adventure rider board, and sometimes looks at the pictures on BMWSportTouring. He has likely seen some of mine. We are now friends. So it goes in the motorcycling community. Eating on a bench, I am visited by Stellars Jays, and begin making photographs again.
I ride on, chatting with the folk at the pullouts, a German couple in an RV on a one year North American tour. Another couple in a pickup with a home made camper rig in the bed, from Australia, and 5 months into a six month tour. An elderly local couple, she using a walker, but still enjoying a day out in the mountains. I ride down into the foothills to find that the heatwave remains unabated here. The road is wonderfully curvy, and I pass a few folks, as I ride through the foothill ranches. A guy in an old white van doesn't care to be passed. Seeing me in his mirrors he speeds up, using both sides of the roadway, squealing his tires in every turn. I drop back a bit, I don't want to be involved if he wrecks, nor appear to be racing him. He leads me on this way for about 10 miles, before he pulls off into a driveway. I can't imagine what was in his mind.
I ride onto Dry Creek Road, narrow, un-striped, in places only one lane wide, this road is technical with many turns marked 10 and 5 mph. Beautiful countryside beckons and I make some photographs.
Now the heat is getting to me, and I have exhausted my water, so I am pleased to arrive back in civilization for a cold drink. I resolve to head into Giant Sequoia National Monument on what looks on my map to be a wonderfully twisty road. The map does not show winter closures for this road, and the locals I chat with believe it to be open. But, I am told there are no, or limited, services up there. It is running late, and I am tired, but I have my camping gear, and have stocked up with fluids, a few bananas, and a bag of nuts. I will survive. I run out into the valley 30 miles, south 30 miles, and then back east 30 miles only to encounter a sign indicating that the road is closed ahead. It is a small sign, hardly even official looking, and easily missed. Maybe it's wrong. Maybe I will go as far as I can anyway, get out of this stifling heat, and see something fine. I continue east. Soon I have climbed a twisty grade that would have been fun if not for heavy sand laying in all the curves. The temperature is down to 80º F. Ahhh. I pull over at a turnout above a stream. A rider on a VTX 1800 greets me. Ray is his name. We talk. He is a local and can't believe the road is closed. But it is. He has ridden it to the end. Sand, sand, sand. No fun. No lodging. Don't go. Ray leads me around to his home town of Kernville and leaves me at a fine hotel on the town square at nightfall. We had a great ride in the mountains, enjoying the cooler temperatures.
My room is paneled in old redwood planks, over a foot wide, and has french door style windows that can be thrown open to the breeze. A brand new top of the line bed is fully dressed in stylish linens. But before settling in I must eat, as the restaurants on the square are closing down for the night. Italian sounds good. Back in my room I relax and plot the next days ride.
Thursday see's me heading east to Inyokern, and then south to Agua Caliente Springs. The morning's ride to Inyokern is fine, but thereafter there is little of interest until I near Agua Caliente. At the springs I meet a fellow rider, John. We have reserved a campsite to share. John is ensconced in his Kermit camp chair and hidden from view under a shady mesquite tree, but I see his bike. We soak in the hot springs, eat cold cuts, hike a little bit, and have a Tecate. Friday will be a great riding day, and I am looking forward to it. Above Agua Caliente Springs:
Packed and on the road by 7:00 am, we encounter chill as we rise through spectacular country from the desert floor to Julian, where we stop in a BMWSportTouring fave for breakfast.
I tell John that everyone just gets the pie, but we opt for traditional breakfast food instead. We eat a tremendous meal, and then ride “The Glass Elevator”, a 3000' cliffside descent into Borrego Springs. We fuel up, turn around, and ride back up, then head north to Palm Desert. Here we encounter another thrilling descent. In Palm Desert John and I part ways, as he makes a stop for lunch with his sister. I proceed on to the Black Rock Campground at Joshua Tree National Park where John will rejoin me, as we meet up with a group of riders. Enduring severe winds, I arrive at Black Rock to find only one other rider has arrived. I set up camp, and run into town for lunch. When I return it is still quiet. Soon however John rolls in, followed in fits and starts by everyone else. News goes around that Leslie and Jamie (Cool Jamie) won't be making it as Les has wrist surgery for a recent injury. Les is the owner of BMWSportTouring, and they are missed. Soon we are all arrived but the wind is howling and we decide to eat in town. When we return Jim and Donna have made a fire in the lee of their RV and we gather for Scotch and wine, fire and talk.
Joe and Juanita's tent blows down in the night, and we wake to find them asleep in their car, then laughter. Jamie makes pancakes, then we try the geology road in the park, then a hike to a reservoir. I drive Phil and Jamie's big red diesel 4wd truck and they ride their dual sports.
After all that Phil and Jamie grill up some chicken, and the campfire burns amidst Scotch, wine, and laughter. Here too, in the clear desert eve, with stars emblazoned in the sky, amidst friends, lay the perfect peace of the rainbows end, which afterall exists only in our minds and so can be found anywhere, at anytime.
Sunday morning we pack up and go for a short hike.
Then an uneventful ride home.
