Wednesday, February 23, 2022
My first fascination with pedaling the dirt began in 1973 while I was living in Bodfish, California (Kern River drainage). My road bike was of department store vintage, made in Japan and was equipped with unusually wide 27 inch tires. The paved road around Lake Isabella was the obvious first choice for an ambitious bicycle ride. Traffic was light unless you were on the southside of the lake. Like most road rides you held your breath on the busy stretches, hoping that the motorist' heart was full of love for cyclists and that they were paying close attention to the job at hand, driving between the lines. Luck was too big of a factor for my liking so, I started to explore the quiet roads radiating out of the immediate Lake Isabella bowl. Roads that lost their paved surfaces within the first few miles of climbing. I climbed to Saddle Springs, Kelso Valley, Sherman Pass and Breckenridge Lookout. This incredibly inexpensive roadbike was so capable and never intimidated by the various shapes and sizes of rocks and gravel. Well, Chester, California on Lake Almanor, is the entire length of the Sierra Nevada north of Lake Isabella, some 300 miles. We are at twice the elevation and at a more northerly latitude so this really is a different kind of mountain living. Here, fifty years later, the paved roads are busier and the amount of Californians (and Nevadans) that can afford "second" or 'third homes" in the mountains has increased exponentially. So, do you really want to stay on the paved roads?
Wednesday, February 9, 2022
I'm realizing that we northern Plumas County residents are suffering from "Large Incident Aftermath Shock". White service trucks, tarped dump trucks and log trucks piled high with charred remnants of the life-giving forest that surrounded us, make up 90% of the traffic rumbling down our roads...dirt and macadam....pavement that is potholing and breaking up under the extra weight daily. Reminders are constant and loud. We are no longer being provided oxygen from a million acres of evergreen trees. It's getting harder and harder to breathe with lungs scarred from the 'Summer of 500+ AQI'. We worry about the water. We were always so proud of our pure and plentiful water. Proud of our trees, proud of our pure water, proud of our community, enriched by the availability of outdoor adventure close-by in all directions from our home. Hikes and bicycle rides to remote lakes and meadows less than 30 minutes from home. Now, we get in our motor vehicles and drive for an hour and a half to get beyond the destruction. When we return to our homes we have to receive another kick-to-the-stomach because we have to re-orient through the devastated zone, to our little island of familiarity. We are resiliant, to a degree, but this will be our reality for the rest of our short lives.