The PENguin Blog

 So the final day of the trip took us through the Coastal Valley, into the western edge of California's Central Valley, and then home.  Again lots of driving, but it was punctuated by a couple of interesting stops. These images almost speak for themselves. Here is where the Pacific and North American plates converge, with predictable results Parkfield bills itself as the Earthquake capital of California, note the motto on the stack of the boiler Some views of Parkfield. No, this not the entirety of the lodge. It has about a dozen  rooms throughout the village Not a one street town No, this is not mass transit The historic school undergoing renovation. In truth, it is a pleasant crossroads. We are toying with returning on Mother's Day with our spouses for the bluegrass festival California's scenery is, for many folks, alien. We call it "green and golden."  Nowhere is it as clearly on display as in the central portion of the state. Rosa, who Sharon sent along to kee

 Not much here, really. We mostly drove, some of the time in circles (we're still perfecting our navigations of the backroads that we like). Our destination was Santa Maria and I was looking forward to some of the barbecue try-tip for which the area is famous, going back to rancho days. On the way we stopped at the Santa Paula airport and saw this small, experimental plane that Danny found intriguing. And as we came into town we were greeted by this: Still, dinner was good.

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. Powerlessness 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.) 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 concen

 In mid September my business partner, hiking buddy and all around friend, Danny Aarons and I took a three night, four day trip through the Sierras, this time on the less often visited (at least by me) Eastern Slope. In contrast to the western side this area is more deserty than alpine. We began from my house in Fremont, drove across the Central Valley to end up the first night in Bridgeport, with a stop in the Sierra foothills to check out the Sierra Railroad in Jamestown. Scenes from the west slope as we drove east  As you look at the scenery, bear in mind that the Sierras were blanketed in smoke from wildfires