Our stay in Bridgeport was slightly strange, as the motorcycle wing of E Clampus Vitus (look it up, they beggar description) in town for whatever it was they were doing (other than annoying townspeople and visitors alike).
For me the town was redeemed by the Eastern Sierra Trading Post. I'm Rick and I'm powerless over (real) trading posts.
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| Powerlessness |
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| The post had many fine pots, but this one (below) spoke most clearly to me |
Shortly after leaving town Danny suggested a stop at an old mining claim owned by a friend of his. So we drove off 395, parked, and walked about a mile to the camp through the ominously named Rattlesnake Gulch. (We encountered none.)
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| The cabin had obviously seen quite a bit of use, both licit and illicit, over many years. Someone called "Dirty Kayla," figured in several bits of graffiti. We did not encounter DK, either. |
For most of the rest of the day we drove south, but near day's end we came to Manzanar, one of the World War II concentration camps we relocated citizens of Japanese-American descent between 1942 and 1945. The visitor's center was about to close, so we went through somewhat quickly, but it was a sobering experience.
This solitary guard tower in the desert speaks for itself |
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Unfortunately the model itself did not photograph well
That night we stayed in Lake Isabella, which was a whole other story.
That night we stayed in Lake Isabella, which was a whole other story.
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