I woke up to a lot of fog this morning
(11-29). I think it’s pretty normal for
this part of California. Visibility was about
a mile for most of the day until I climbed a mountain pass and got out of the San Joaquin
Valley.
I didn’t care much for the San
Joaquin Valley. The fruit groves and farms
are beautiful, but the towns are poor and run-down. It
looks to me like there are probably a few wealthy landowners and lots of poor farm
workers. Also, most of the people who live
along side the highway have big dogs. Most
are chained, and just bark their fool heads off as I ride by, but many are loose and like
to chase bicyclists. Usually, I have enough
of a lead that they don’t get close, but sometimes they get right beside the bike. One such event occurred today – a big
Rottweiler came up right behind me. I just
stopped the bike, got off, and sternly told him to “GO HOME.” He did, although the hair was still bristled on
his back, and he kept glancing at me and muttering something under his breath. I really think I spoiled his day.
My trip over the pass today was the
seventh time on this journey that I have crossed some portion of the Pacific Coast
Mountain Range. This was not the most
difficult passage over the Coast Range (Oregon Pass in Northern California retains that
honor), but I believe I saw a record number (seven or eight) of “burn-ups” on
the way up the hill. It may have been
RV’s, or trucks, or even just cars, but a number of vehicles have bitten the dust on
that hill. Blackened and eroded pavement and
a pile of blackened metal parts that have been swept off to the side of the highway mark
their demise. I hope most of them were
megalithic motor homes.
My pen died today. It happened in the usual way for cheap pens –
it simply ran out of ink. It’s a pretty
special pen, however, so I think I’ll keep it. Bernice
Heiser of Heiser Standard Service in Grassy Butte, North Dakota gave it to me back in
June, and I’ve been using it ever since to make my daily notes that turn into these
journal entries. I think about Ralph and
Bernice once in awhile and how so little seems to have changed for them since 1956 when
they first opened their service station. I
got a kick out of observing them when I stopped on my way to and from the North Unit of
Theodore Roosevelt National Park. Every once
in a while a car would pull in and Bernice would call out to Ralph “you have a gas
customer”. I don’t think Bernice
pumped gas, and I don’t think Ralph waited on customers in the store. I suspect they divided the duties in 1956, and
they remain the same today. They work long
hours (six eleven hour days each week), but don’t have a lot of business to show for
it. I wanted to tell them to put in a
“24 hour pay at the pump system” and knock a few hours off the workday, but I
didn’t. I wanted to tell them that they
should add something to their sign down by the highway to say that there was no gas
available in the park, but I didn’t. I
wanted to tell them to be creative in catering to park visitors (i.e. camping supplies,
firewood, propane, etc.), but I didn’t. That
wouldn’t be Ralph and Bernice, and I believe that Ralph and Bernice Heiser like
things just the way they are. They may not be
making the world turn, but they are probably enjoying the ride.
(Great
Adventures to Scenic Places)
