Monday, May 27, 2024

~ Lockwood Creek Washout ~

 

“The greatest adventure is what lies ahead.”J.R.R. Tolkien

 

 


Lake Kaweah near Three Rivers, CA.



There is a beginning, middle, and ending to every story. Everyone knows that—this one, however, is different.



Lockwood Valley Road.




Recent rains washed out the road.




Decision time, cross or backtrack?


 

The Lockwood Creek reversed everything—ROAD CLOSED DUE TO FLOODING—the sign stopped us in our tracks. Disappointed, the road closure barriers were a powerful message on the last leg of our 1,100-mile ride. Then, a utility worker in a four-wheel vehicle approached us from the west, where we hoped to go. “The entire road is washed out, and passage is risky, especially on those motorcycles. There is heavy flooding. I don’t recommend it,” he said matter-of-factually.

 

Darn.

 

We stood there in silence not wanting to backtrack. We decided to ride towards the road damage to see for ourselves, then determine whether the crossing was possible. Officially, it’s called the Lockwood Valley Road and is a shortcut to Frazier Park and Interstate 5.

 

While our ride may have ended here, it began earlier when my brother, Gilbert traveled from Apple Valley to our Three Rivers home several days earlier. Our destination was a bike ride along Hwy 1 or the Pacific Coast Highway, something we’ve done many times before.

 

“Gilbert, here are advanced copies of the June ’24 RoadRUNNER Magazine for you and Melissa. It’s full of adventure.” He carefully tucked the magazines in his saddle bags, which were packed to the brim. His stay is long enough for a hearty breakfast — huevos rancheros, coffee, and watermelon. Denise takes a final picture as two bandits leave Three Rivers.

 

Leaving Three Rivers

 

Barely five miles down the road, we stopped by Kaweah Lake. “Gilbert, I call this my “zen spot. The views of the lake are amazing.” We parked our bikes overlooking Kaweah Lake. The incredible winter snowmelt has the lake filled. The ducks below are in heaven. However, an occasional osprey soaring above has them on high alert. The view towards Sequoia National Park, draped in snow-covered peaks, is a photo op. The view never gets old.



Gilbert enjoys the scenery.


The ride west along Hwy 198 is easygoing. Back at the lake, I noticed that Gilbert was approaching 100,000 miles on his H-D Street Glide. Many of those miles have been together on rides out to New Mexico. Arizona, Wyoming, and Montana. As we passed Hanford and saw him in my rear mirror, we easily traveled 25,000 miles together.




Native American carvings along Hwy 198.




Timeless - old gas station near Lemon Cove, CA.



My favorite trip was a ride out to New Mexico and documented “In Search of POP 25.” Gilbert was instrumental in finding an important part of our family history. Then, without warning, a crazy driver crosses the highway in front of me reminding me to stay alert. All bikers experience such close calls and safety is number one.

 

The calm wind returned along Hwy 198 as we approached Coalinga, and Gilbert assumed the lead as I followed. We regularly switch leading assuring that we both stay alert.

 


On To Pinnacles National Park



Resting along Hwy 198.

As we approached Hwy 25, we pulled over for a break to hydrate and make phone calls. Gilbert talked with his daughter, Melissa for important family news. All is well at his home and we continued to Pinnacles National Park. This ride is awesome, with curves and scenic landscapes. Cows in the rich tall green grass appear, happy and healthy. There are huge basins of water from the recent rains. Turkey Vultures circled above us, but we were unsure of the dead prey that they seemed focused upon.

 

Time to ride on as those vultures appeared too close.  Einstein once said, “Nothing happens unless it moves.”




We explore along Old Hernadez Rd. and Willow Creek Rd.



This Valley Oak was impressive, but we had to stop.




Pinnacles National Park

This is perhaps one of the best little national parks in America. I worked here early in my career with the National Park Service. At the time, it was Pinnacles National Monument. It became a National Park on January 10, 2013. I did a fun piece for RoadRUNNER Magzine called "In Pursuit of Wildness: Pinnacles National Park" on April 24, 2017.




Our favorite National Park.




Campsite #53 was perfect.





Our gourmet dinner.




As we settled into our campsite, another camper arrived at the site next to ours. He seemed a bit lonely so Gilbert introduced us and welcomed him. "My name is Carl with a K," he said. It took me 7 hours to get here as I took some back roads. I'm from Dana Point." Carl with a K as we called him was a big guy who recently retired and was determined to reconnect with camping, something that he missed. We liked him immediately and soon he joined us for dinner at our camp. As he was unloading his gear, a raccoon stole his tortillas right in front of us.

We swapped stories as each of us cooked our steaks to perfection. Carl with a K had brought a steak as well and some much-needed firewood. It turned out that he retired as an IT professional for Kawasaki Motorcycles, so the conversation about motorcycles was easy.

I encouraged him to hike the High Peaks trails as he hoped to see a California Condor. The park ranger told us earlier there were four nesting California Condors in the park.


On to San Simeon, Morro Bay, and Pismo Beach



The ocean near San Simeon was soothing.



JBJ Round Up in Cambria served the best pizza.




We eat well on our trips.




Cambria Minosas served the best breakfast. 



Riding The Pacific Coast Highway


Morro Bay is seen in the distance.



Time seemed to slow down with each mile.




Morro Bay was a perfect spot for two bandits.




Seeing nesting Peregrine Falcons was a highlight.








Pismo Beach was peaceful.



We played tourists and had fun.



Chili Relleno and Enchilada dinner.









Welcome to Casitas Springs
Home of Johnny Cash


The ride continued south along Hwy 1 and passed Oceano, Guadalupe, Vandenberg Force Space Base, Lompoc, Gaviota, and Refugio and El Capitan State Beaches. The calmness soon disappeared as we approached Santa Barbara and our motel for the night in Carpenteria.

However, in the morning we were off towards the peaceful mountains on Hwy 150 toward Lake Casitas and Ojai, places where Gilbert had not been to. Years ago I had traveled on Hwy 33 from Ventura to Casitas Springs and discovered a billboard honoring the late, Johnny Cash. We both loved Johnny Cash and getting a picture in front of the sign would be priceless. Unbeknown to us, there was considerable road construction between Ojai and Casitas Springs, and getting to the site was a challenge. We couldn't get a picture of our motorcycles in front of the sign due to the construction, but a helpful worker offered to take our picture if we hurried. As I looked at the billboard, another fun article came to mind, "Exploring the Badlands of New Mexico, Johnny Cash style."



This picture is priceless.





On To The Lockwood Valley Road

Seeing the Johnny Cash sign was a highlight for us but it's time to head home.

"Gilbert, I know a shortcut to Interstate 5 that we can take. The road climbs high into the mountains and is scenic." He agreed and we followed the lines on the mapOija to Wheeler Springs on Hwy 33 and at the Lockwood Valley Road, we will head east towards Frazier Park and then Interstate 5. He agreed as getting home soon was a priority for him.



Umpteen curves danced along the road.




The fog lifted offering panoramic views.





This couple passed us off and on up the mountain.






"The greatest adventure is what lies ahead."  J.R.R. Tolkien.


The Lockwood Creek Washout


The entire trip had been a biker's dream ride. The country roads to Pinnacles National Park were easy going while the riding along Hwy 1 from San Simeon to Santa Barbara was full of curves and sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean. It seemed fitting the most memorable moment of the entire trip was the ending. Perhaps, to those motorcycle enthusiasts on adventure bikes, the Lockwood Creek Washout would be a piece of cake. On our heavy cruisers, it was different. Our bikes are much heavier and loaded with camping gear so we proceeded with caution.


Ninety percent of the road was gone and only a small dirt shoulder offered passage. We decided to walk across the flooded road and then make a decision.


His words of warning rang in my ear: “The entire road is washed out, and passage is risky, especially on those motorcycles. There is heavy flooding. I don’t recommend it.”


We walked across the flooded section and we agreed to go for it—we made it! 


We continued leisurely towards Frazier Park and came across numerous places where flooding had occurred but nothing like the Lockwood Creek Washout. Once we connected with Interstate 5, we descended the Gravevine towards Bakersfield. The air is hot and the traffic is frantic. At the bottom of the Grapevine, Gilbert peels off to the east off Hwy 223 towards Arvin and Hwy 58. The shortcut saved considerable time as he continued home to Apple Valley. I’m not in any hurry so I stop by Bakersfield Harley-Davidson Dearlership on Merel Haggard Drive to rest. I stop by here frequently on my road trips out east before returning to Three Rivers. 


Inside the dealership, I talk with the sales manager and share bits of this story beginning with the Lockwood Creek Washout. He listens intently. Refreshed, I continued the final leg of this trip and arrived home after nearly 1,100 miles.









Sunday, March 31, 2024

~ The Wind, the Open Road, and My Motorcycle ~


"Look deep into Nature, then you will understand everything better." 
Albert Einstein




Robert Griego on his 1964 Yamaha 80cc YG-1.



My moto journey began in 1964 when I bought my first motorcycle. It was a bright red Yamaha 80cc. At 15, I only thought about how cool I would look on this bike. I had never ridden a motorcycle before and honestly, I was afraid. Larry, the Yamaha owner said, "Thank you, it's yours now." He must have sensed my apprehension. "Would you like me to trailer it to your house?" He loaded my new bike onto his trailer without much fanfare along with me in the passenger seat, and drove to 1005 E. Elizabeth Street in Barstow, CA. 

It sat in my dad's garage for several hours before I turned the key. Nervously, I shifted gears as the bike rolled effortlessly down Elizabeth Street. I remember how the wind felt on my face. The wind would continue to be my companion for years to come pursuing what I love.

I've ridden nearly 300,000 miles since that first Yamaha on several other motorcycles including—two Yamaha 125cc's (one in California and one in Botswana, Africa), a Yamaha 305cc, Yamaha 350cc, and Yamaha 1700cc. Today, I'm riding an Indian Springfield in Pursuit of Wildness. What began as a collection of images, experiences, and travels over the years soon became the foundation for My Motorcycletales which recently turned over 200,000 views. 




The top 10 posts according to Google readers are: 






Top 10 posts at mymotorcycletales




As a result, my blog is in the top 100 Best Motorcycle Blogs at FeedSpot.



Honored to make FeedSpot's top 100 Best Motorcycle Blogs.




Thank you to my readers who have followed my stories over the years. My mantra remains intact: 

~ The Wind, the Open Road, and My Motorcycle ~









Thursday, July 6, 2023

~ Ride of Honor ~

 "In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors."    William Blake


Walking back through this door in time.


_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


July 3, 2013

 

This is an Open Letter to the families of the elite, Granite Mountain Hotshots—all twenty members.

 

I’m a biker and on June 3, 2013, I was camping on USFS land near Happy Jack, Arizona. I had forgotten my Therm-a-Rest in La Joya, New Mexico, so my camp was especially hard. The pine needles gathered helped to soften the ground, but only by the smallest margin. I didn't mind too much as I love camping under the stars. However, I did move slowly the next morning. There is a small cafe nearby and I'm looking forward to a hardy breakfast. I think it’s called the Long Valley Cafe, but I've always called it Happy Jacks.

The fire trucks parked out front do not register in my mind—I'm only thinking of coffee and hot food.  As I walk into the small cafe, I see a whole bunch of firefighters. "This is a big mistake; I whisper to myself."  I see one waitress moving quickly and I can only imagine how long it will take for my breakfast.  The waitress is very fast and coffee and water are on my table rather quickly.  

 

Time is on my side, so I relax. I look at the young men next to me. They appear to be very well-fit, happy, and so enjoying their breakfast with enthusiasm. Secretly, I hope there are a few eggs left over for me. They all look like they could be movie actors in this period of time. They remind me of my son.

 

The waitress jots down my order—eggs over easy, hash browns, corn beef hash, and pours more coffee. The young firefighter next to me says, "That's what I ordered; it was very good." I see this as an opportunity to make small talk, so I ask: "What fires are you coming from?"  Many quickly begin to talk at once describing what, where, and how they left the last fire. I’m impressed. "Where are you going now?"  "We are going to fires in New Mexico," they say almost at the same time. I tell them that I just came from New Mexico and that there was severe lighting and rain two days ago. I tell them that I like their shirts, and the words, something like Granite Mountain Fire, stick in my mind. I wished them well and say lastly, "Be safe."

 

The fighter fighters move towards their trucks and are quickly gone, or so I thought. A young man comes back into the cafe and simply says, "Thank you, sir."  At the time, I thought he must be a bit homesick but I appreciate his comment immensely. 

 

On July 1, 2013, the headlines immediately caught my attention—nineteen firefighters die in Yarnell, Arizona. They are the elite hotshot crew from Prescott, Arizona. I read slowly knowing that the guys I met earlier were part of the Granite Mountain crew. Maybe this tragedy involved another crew. The words became harder to read but I continued until the end "....the elite firefighters are known as the Granite Mountain Hotshots..."  

 

They are the same guys I had breakfast with at the cafe; tears fill my eyes—my wife comforts me but does not really know why I am upset. I begin to explain the news and my connection to these young men.

 

Even now,  days later, I cannot stop seeing those young firefighters in my mind having breakfast at that small cafe. To their families, my tears do not stop and I send you my most heartfelt condolences.

 

To the survivor of the twenty-man Granite Mountain Hotshots, "Thank you, I am so proud of you and your service."

 

  /s/ Robert Griego

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


ONTO PRESCOTT, AZ

It's early morning in Three Rivers, CA and I've got a long ride ahead despite the cobwebs in my eyes. When I fire up my bike, the sound triggers a familiar, yet primitive sound. The initial coyote howls come from the souththe Dinley River pack. Immediately to the north, the La Cienega pack responds in kind. It's 5:15a.m. and my motorcycle awoke sleeping coyotes who misinterpreted my motorcycle noise for some kind of rally cry. That's my send-off as I depart home for Prescott, AZ some 587 miles away.

My mission is to ride in a motorcycle procession to honor 19 firefighters, known as the Granite Mountain Hotshots. Perhaps the coyote howling was simply nature's words of encouragement.



June 30, 2023, Daily Courier headlines define the importance of todayNever forget.




The USFS came to honor the fallen 19 Granite Mountain Hotshots.




THE MOTORCYCLE HONOR PROCESSION BEGINS

Hundreds of motorcycle riders participate in the Honor Procession as it begins.



The Fire Hogs M/C came in force from California. I'll follow this red H-D some 50 miles to the Granite Mountain Hotshot Memorial State Park near Yarnell, AZ.




FIRST STOPYARNELL HILL FIRE MEMORIAL PARK


Our first stop along a journey in time.




Brothers and sisters ride proudly.





The IAFF-MG sponsored the Granite Mountain Hotshots Ride of Honor.





We pause to honor and remember the 19 fallen firefighters.




I love how these heroes are depicted in their prime.




I remember you, Kevin Woyjeck from Happy Jacks.




Riders from Arizona, Florida, Colorado, Utah, and California honor the 19 fallen Granite Mountain Hotshots.





D.I. Johnson with my memorial shirt and his cool-looking Can-Am.
The IAFF-MG, Arizona chapter sponsored the Granite Mountain Hotshots Ride of Honor.




GRANITE MOUNTAIN HOTSHOTS MEMORIAL STATE PARK


Motorcycles dot the landscape at the Granite Mountain Hotshots Memorial State Park.





Robert Griego came to honor the Granite Mountain Hotshots.



~ Andrew Ashcraft, Robert Caldwell, Travis Carter, Dustin DeFord, 
Christopher MacKenzie, Eric Marsh, Grant McKee, Sean Misner, 
Scott Norris, Wade Parker, John Percin Jr., Anthony Rose, 
Jesse Steed, Joe Thurston, Travis Turbyfill, William Warneke, 
Clayton Whitted, Kevin Woyjeck, Garret Zuppiger ~





Bikers could be seen for miles along Hwy 89 riding to the Granite Mountain Hotshots Memorial State Park.





Tom Overstreet, Fire Hogs M/C rode from California to honor the Granite Mountain Hotshots.


The Hotshots Trail climbs through the Weaver Mountains to the observation deck and is about 3 miles one-way from the trailhead. In May 2018 on a return trip from Big Bend National Park in Texas, I hiked the entire route in my cowboy boots. With a 1,200 ft. elevation gain and a 5-8 percent grade, it was a hump. I remember seeing the 19 granite plaques set into rocks with a photo and a story of each fallen Hotshot. It was an impressive tribute. Today, five years later and a tad older, I walk a portion of the trail while still wearing my cowboy boots.


The Hotshots Trail is a strenuous hike, wear a hat and carry water.





Resting often along Hotshots Trail is important.





The first interpretive plaque is for Eric Shane Marsh.





This tribute is for Kevin Woyjeck.



Granite Mountain HotshotsWe will never forget.



ONTO POTATO PATCH CAMPGROUND & JEROME, AZ


A moment lost in time.




The ride to Jerome is laced with curves.




Jerome State Historic Park provides a glimpse into the past.





At an altitude of 7,000 feet, the temperature noticeably drops.


Adrian and his dog, Pow-Pow from Georgia are having fun exploring nature.
We talked for a good hour but Pow-Pow never spoke a word.




It's a busy July 4th weekend and I gratefully grab the last available campsite.




Home-sweet-home for the next two days.




The Potato Patch Campground is cool and quiet.





HEADING HOME TO THREE RIVERS, CA


Leaving Prescott there is a tribute to Chief Joseph, Nez Perce.




Prescott is one of the most beautiful cities in Arizona.





This patch of shade was a relief as the temperature soared.





The temperature hits 121 degrees between Laughlin, NV, and Needles, CA.





My mission was fulfilled after 5 days and 1,336 miles.
Never forget.