~ Lockwood Valley Washout ~

 

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

 

 

Lake Kaweah near Three Rivers, CA.

Lockwood Valley Road.

Recent rains washed out the road.

Decision time, cross or backtrack?

 

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

The Lockwood Creek reversed everything—A sign reading "ROAD CLOSED DUE TO FLOODING"—stopped us in our tracks. The disappointing road barriers were a powerful message on the last leg of our 1,100-mile ride.

Just then, a utility worker in a four-wheel vehicle approached us from the east, 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. Finally, we decided to ride towards the road damage to see for ourselves whether the crossing was possible. 

Officially, this road is called the Lockwood Valley Rd and it is a shortcut to Frazier Park and Interstate 5.

 

Our ride may have ended there, but it began several days earlier when my brother, Gilbert traveled from Apple Valley to our Three Rivers home. 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—my wife Denise took a final picture as these two bandits left 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,” I told my brother.

We parked our bikes overlooking Kaweah Lake. The incredible winter snowmelt had the lake filled, and the ducks below are in heaven. However, an occasional osprey soaring above had them on high alert.

The view toward Sequoia National Park, draped in snow-covered peaks, is an unmissable photo op. It never gets old.

Gilbert enjoys the scenery.

The ride west along Hwy 198 was easygoing. Back at the lake, I noticed that Gilbert was approaching 100,000 miles on his H-D Street Glide. We've racked up many of those miles—easily 25,000—together on rides out to New Mexico. Arizona, Wyoming, and Montana. He has since joined the elite 100,000-mile club.

Native American carvings along Hwy 198.

Timeless - old gas station near Lemon Cove, CA.

My favorite trip was our ride out to New Mexico and documented “In Search of POP 25.” Gilbert was instrumental in finding an important part of our family history. Riding with a like-minded brother warms the heart.

Suddenly, without warning, a crazy driver crossed 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 lead riders to ensure we both stay sharp.

 

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 about important family news. All was 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 appeared, 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

The Pinnacles National Park is perhaps one of the best little national parks in America. I worked here early in my career with the National Park Service at a time when the place was still called the Pinnacles National Monument. It became a national park on January 10, 2013. I did a fun piece for RoadRUNNER Magazine called "In Pursuit of Wildness: Pinnacles National Park" in 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 seven 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, which was something that he missed. We liked him immediately and he soon 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 had worked as an IT professional for Kawasaki Motorcycles, so topics were easy to come up with.

I encouraged him to hike the High Peaks trails as he hoped to see a California condor. A park ranger had told us earlier that four nesting California condors were in the park.

On to San Simeon, Morro Bay, and Pismo Beach

I've never been a fan of freeways or straight roads, so I looked over our options before leaving the Pinnacles National Park. Many years ago, I traveled the Bitterwater Rd from Hwy 25 west to King City. I was familiar with this route but had never ventured on the country roads that eventually led to the Pacific Ocean.

"Gilbert, if we go to King City, we can avoid Hwy 101 by taking Jolon Rd or G14 south toward Fort Hunter Liggett, but it's all new to me," I said, showing him the map. "It looks like a paved, two-lane country road all the way."

Without much fanfare, he replied, "Let's go."

The ride past Fort Hunter Liggett was peaceful, with scattered cattle ranches and rolling hills dotted with oak trees. Occasionally, we followed small streams with an abundance of California poppies hugging the cool hillsides.

Interlake Rd took us past Lake San Antonio, and we stopped to rest under a massive Valley Oak at an interesting intersection called Bee Rock before we continued to Lake Nacimiento. The temperature dropped several degrees as we rode west on Hwy 46 toward Cambria.

The ride was easy, scenic, and—although it added a few hours to our trip—it was perfect. In the morning after camping at the San Simeon Creek Campground (Washburn), a bald eagle soared majestically over our camp, an omen for the days to come.

Morro Bay is an iconic landmark and there were more people than normal as the town was preparing for the Iron Man Competition. We did some hiking and picture-taking like everyone else before heading to Pismo Beach—one of the premier laid-back California surf cities.

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 Space Force Base, Lompoc, Gaviota, and the 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, heading for Lake Casitas and Ojai—places 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. Unbeknownst 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 photo of our motorcycles in front of the sign due to the construction project, but a helpful worker at the site 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 was time to head home as our adventure was ending.

"Gilbert, I know a shortcut to Interstate 5 that we can take. The road climbs high into the mountains and is scenic," I suggested.

As getting home was a first priority to Gilbert, he agreed and we followed the lines on the map—Oija to Wheeler Springs on Hwy 33 and, at the Lockwood Valley Road, we would head east towards Frazier Park and then Interstate 5.

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 rider'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. They were much heavier and loaded with camping gear, so we proceeded with caution.

About 90% 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.

We once crossed a flash flood in New Mexico, so I knew Gilbert was up to the challenge, but the warning sign was stark. We both paused.

The utility worker's 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.”

After walking across the flooded section, we agreed to go for it—it was a challenge, but we made it! 

We continued leisurely toward Frazier Park and came across numerous places where flooding had occurred but they were nothing like the Lockwood Creek Washout. Once we connected with Interstate 5, we descended the Gravevine towards Bakersfield.

The air was hot and the traffic frantic. At the bottom of the Grapevine, Gilbert peeled off to the east off Hwy 223 toward Arvin and Hwy 58. The shortcut saved him considerable time as he continued home to Apple Valley.

I wasn't in any hurry so I stopped by Bakersfield Harley-Davidson dealership on Merel Haggard Dr to rest. I come 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 listened intently. Refreshed, I continued on the final leg and arrived home after nearly 1,100 miles.

~ A Tribute to Johnny Cash ~

"You have to be what you are.  Whatever you are, you gotta be it."  Johnny Cash

James Garner begins his tribute to the late Johnny Cash.

Immediately, the rhythm of the Cash music caught my attention.

It was real, personal, and full of energy.

I snapped this picture of James Garner as he sang an opening Johnny Cash song.  I wanted to capture the moment, and this picture set the stage for me.  The Cash music was alive.

I had never heard of James Garner, yet he once lived in Hanford, just 48 miles away from me in Three Rivers. 

The Visalia Times-Delta, our local newspaper, ran the headlines: “Johnny Cash Tribute Show comes to the Visalia Fox.  The headlines read, “Back in Black.”  This was to be a tribute show featuring native James Garner a day before Cinco de Mayo.

Being a huge fan of Johnny Cash, I was curious what James Garner had to say in his interview.  James Ward of the Visalia Times-Delta asked, “What should people expect when they come out to the show?”

“Folks can expect to hear the songs they know and love by Johnny Cash – Folsom Prison Blues, and Ring of Fire as well as others that Cash recorded over a nearly 50-year career.  They will also hear the stories behind those songs and about the life of the 'Man in Black.'  That's what makes our show unique  –  Never once in 12 years have I said: ‘Hello, I’m Johnny Cash’ or presented the show from a first-person perspective.  The energy is in the music, and we work very hard and take very seriously, presenting his music the way he and The Tennessee Three performed it, especially during their live performances.  My hope is that people leave feeling love for Johnny Cash and his music.”

His answer impressed me. 

So when my wife asked if I wanted to go see James Garner's tribute to Johnny Cash, it was an easy decision.

In the distant corners of my mind, two iconic country-western stars have always resided – Marty Robbins and Johnny Cash. 

In fact, the first two albums that I ever bought in 1969 were Marty Robbin’s – El Paso and Johnny Cash’s – At San Quentin.   I was attending San Jose State and I did not even own a record player at the time.  I knew that I had to own these two albums by two of the greatest country-western music stars.

James Garner, in his opening remarks, said that the last time he saw Johnny Cash perform was in 1991 at the Tower Theater in Fresno.  After the performance, he ran around back just as Cash was boarding his bus and shook his hand, letting him know that he was a big fan.  Although I never met Johnny Cash, I did come close that same year.

In March of 1991, I was the acting superintendent at Joshua Tree National Monument when I heard the news that Johnny Cash had been in the monument.  I could not believe the Foreman explaining that he just pulled Johnny Cash's Cadillac out of the soft sand.

So, I’m fully engaged.  Every word, every cord carries me back to my own memories of Johnny Cash.  You can read about my own tribute to Johnny Cash in my article: In Pursuit of Wildness: Joshua Tree National Park and Johnny Cash a Fading Sunset.

James Garner is remarkable.  He not only sang Cash's songs, but he also told the stories behind his songs.  I learned a great deal.  James Garner and his band are well worth seeing in person.  Their music is real, and I left the performance with a continual love for the Man in Black.

Johnny Cash was there singing his songs personally for me, if only in the far corners of my mind.

~ Exploring the Badlands of New Mexico, Johnny Cash style ~

“Love is a burning thing.” - Johnny Cash.

Two weeks earlier, I was returning from Mount Rainier National Park in Washington on my motorcycle after 8 days and 2,300 miles.  I did not expect so quickly to travel out to the badlands of New Mexico but the La Joya fiestas start in a few days.  

I was born in the adobe house built by my dad.  La Joya, like a magnet, is always pulling me home.  My bike does not complain; I feel it senses another adventure is before us.  It is such a dependable mount.

My alarm rings wildly at 5 a.m.  This is way too early for me, but I move toward the shower to wake up.  Denise is sound asleep, so I am quiet.  My bike is ready to go, and everything is in the best spot possible.  It looks good, but deep inside, I know that the gear packed so well in the garage will go stubbornly into new places in the days ahead.  

My bike fires up nicely and I’m off by 5:45 a.m.

Life on two wheels is exhilarating.

McDonald’s serves me breakfast in Lindsay on Highway 65.  My order arrives quickly and the coffee smells good.  This seems to be a gathering place for many men laughing and telling stories.  The three over there are older guys, and all have baseball caps.  

Another older gentleman is sitting next to me who asks quietly, “Is that your motorcycle?”  I nod.  He speaks quietly and says that he owns a motorcycle too but doesn’t ride much anymore.  “I mostly take it to motorcycle shows these days,” and adds proudly, “I’ve won several first and second-place finishes.”  He looks surprised to hear that I’m heading off for New Mexico.  “How many miles?  Wow.  Ride safe,” he adds as he hears the miles and that I’m traveling alone.

Breakfast is good ~ sausage patties on biscuits, hash browns, orange juice, and coffee.  The three older gentlemen are leaving, and they are walking around my bike.  They are seriously looking it over, shaking their heads with big smiles.  One slaps the other on his back.  I can’t hear what they are saying but it is obvious that they like it.  One looks over my American flag and again shakes his head.  They all walk slowly and each gets into separate pickup trucks with farm equipment and bales of hay in the back.  There must be some tough ranchers.  

I suspect that they all rode horses in their younger days.  My iron horse sparked some vivid memories.

The first day will be a good 552 miles.  

I know what lies ahead and camp number one is just south of Ash Fork, Arizona.  But up ahead and halfway to Ash Fork is Barstow, California.  This is a place where I grew up and my brother Leo is likely at his office at the Barstow Police Department.  I call him 50 miles from Barstow, “Leo, do you want to have lunch today with Ronan, maybe at Plata’s Restaurant?”  “I can’t, I have two prisoners in custody, good luck on your trip he adds quickly.” 

What do you do when 6 CHP patrol cars pull up behind you? Lunch.

I met Ronan, another detective, a few years ago on one of my trips out east.  He rides a cool Indian motorcycle and will meet me at Plata’s for lunch.  As I pull up to Plata’s, there is a CHP patrol car directly behind me.  Then, four more patrol cars pull up within seconds.  It seemed that they were there for a lunch celebration and I thought the worst.

Ronan's Indian Vintage.

Ronan buys me lunch and we talk about motorcycle trips.  I like him.  He is French and we have a good time over some great Mexican food.  “If you want, stop by my house and take the Indian out for a ride,” he says casually.  

I have been seriously looking at the Indian motorcycle and this opportunity is too good to pass up.  We go to his house and hands me his key, “Take it out on the freeway, open it up, and get a good feel for the bike.”  I did just that.  It accelerated to 80 mph easily and a 6^th gear was a treat.  “Thanks, Ronan, that was a smooth ride on the freeway.  You have an awesome machine.”

Those memories would last a long time as I crossed the Colorado River from California into Arizona.  This first day is a long one.  I drink several Gatorades as I fill up my gas tank.  This is a hot spot; the thermometer reads 110 degrees.

Middle Satellite camp ~ south of Ash Fork, AZ.

Now that I’m past Kingman the temperature begins to drop, slowly, then quickly.  At Ash Fork, I’ll travel 9 miles south on Highway 89 to US Forest Service lands where I’ll camp tonight.  The Harvest Moon is bright and I quickly collect firewood and call this home.  

It is quiet here; I call this camp, middle satellite.  There are no others around.  The coyote in the distance is my companion. The fire is easy with an abundance of wood.  Dinner is easy too and my bed is just nearby.  The full moon provides all the light necessary for the night.  

My small transistor radio picks up Window Rock and the Navajo chants, and on occasion country-western music carries me somewhere next to heaven.  I listen to the chants intently as I stir the fire.  I can see the Navajo dancers doing the same, if only at another time.

Normally, I heat up water for coffee and have my traditional cowboy breakfast.  Today will be different, as the Road House Cafe is just ten miles away.  

“Two eggs over easy, corn beef hash, hash browns, sourdough toast, and coffee,” rolls off automatically.  Actually, I’ve thought about this order for the last 10 miles.  The waitress records my order and the coffee is perfect.

Years ago, there was a local customer, who talked constantly.  We called him Gabby Hayes.  You did not want to sit next to him as he could easily talk the paint off a wall.  There are hunters having breakfast too and they are discussing plans.  They are hunting elk.  I like Ash Fork and breakfast is delicious.  My plan today is to camp at El Morro National Monument in New Mexico.

El Morro National Monument.

Juan Oñate ~ Pasó por Aqui.

El Morro National Monument is unique.  This campground has 9 sites and this will be home for tonight.  The fee is zero.  Just register and claim your spot.  It is quiet and peaceful.  The moon is still full and it brightly lights up the sandstone cliffs beckoning me to climb which I’ll do in the morning.  

History tells us that Juan Oñate traveled by here and inscribed his name on the sandstone walls.  In 1598, Oñate searched for gold but found little.  The precious water here at El Morro kept his expedition alive.  He had many members on his expedition, charted by Queen Isabella of Spain.  

Juan Griego and his wife Pascuala Bernal were among them.  So for me, this is a special place.  As I look over the immense landscape, I think they may have seen the very same views.  The Griegos were early Spanish pioneers to America.

My third leg of this trip is an easy one.  Belen is just ahead where I’ll visit my 1^st cousin Tudie Romeo. There is a surprise.  Another cousin, James Garcia, is visiting as well and this is a special moment. Tudie’s wife Erlinda fixes us a nice New Mexico lunch, with freshly peeled hot green chili.  They hear about my adventures and know that I’m off for the La Joya fiestas.  James rides a Harley and has taken several trips to Sturgis.  He is a former resident of Barstow, a Vietnam Veteran, a biker, and my cousin.

The curve in the road descending down into La Joya has always been magical.  As a kid, the anticipation of this curve meant soon seeing our La Joya families.  The cemetery is on my left at the bottom of the hill, and with a quick glance, I say I will visit tomorrow.

Camp is simple.  Although I do not sleep inside the adobe house, I know full well that this is where I was born 67 years ago.  My fire is warm and bright.  The fiestas start in a few hours as I wash off as much as possible 1,200 miles of dust.  The lively music, old friends, green chili, beans, and sopapillas await.  I know that my mom and dad and all my uncles and aunts who did the very same thing long ago are happy that I’m here in La Joya.

Family friend, Stanley Esquibel in the adobe house where I was born.

As the music begins, I cross the pasture near the dance hall with my flashlight.  Two horses are grazing nearby.  I sure hope they leave my gear alone continuing towards the church, laughter, and the bright lights. 

“I have a special request,” as the lead musician leans over to hear what I say.  “Please dedicate the next song to Ernie Griego.  He is recovering from knee surgery in Barstow and could not come here this year.”  He shakes his head, and the announcement is made.  

The dancers go onto the dance floor and the beat of the Mexican song is lively.  Ernie would be out there dancing now if he could.  This song is for you!

The La Joya fiestas.

The cemetery is there.  I see that Marcello has been busy planting flowers with a water drip system to keep them growing.  My respects are paid quietly to all our families as I hum the words of Roberto Griego’s, Arriba Nuevo Mexico ~ “…los Griegos, Romeros, y los Moyas…”

Sofia’s Kitchen in Socorro is perhaps the best Mexican restaurant in the state.  The food is exceptional and they sometimes have live music.  Decision time.  “Sir, red or green on your huevos rancheros?”  The pause tells her that my decision is difficult. “Today it will be red.  Please add some sopapillas too.” 

"Huevos rancheros with red chili please!"

Three musicians enter the restaurant with their guitars.  They wear cowboy hats and I remember the lead cowboy from a few years ago. 

Doug Figgs sings ~ A Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash.

His name is Doug Figgs.  

I pass him a note letting him know how much I love his cowboy lyrics and music.  His wife comes to my table and asks if there is a song I’d like to hear.  Honored, I reply “Anything by Johnny Cash.”  “The next song will be by Johnny Cash,” she says as she walks back to the stage where she whispers in his ear.  There are two additional musicians and with the next song, they strum the cords to Johnny Cash’s song ~ A Ring of Fire.  I loved it! 

My route home is along the slower scenic highway 60.  At Springerville, Arizona I’ll go north on 180 and 91 to Chinle.  The campground run by the Navajo Nation Parks and Recreation is perfect for the night.  I normally lay down my camping tarp and sleep on the ground.  Not tonight.  

There are millions of small red ants everywhere.  Most of the other campers around are in RV trailers.  There are several cottonwood trees and I rig up my hammock and think about tomorrow.

Canyon De Chelly National Monument campground.

I have seen Canyon De Chelly National Monument before from the high canyon walls and hiked down into the canyon.  Tomorrow, I’ll hire a Navajo guide and travel horseback into the canyon.  This is such an inspiring and sacred place.  I've ridden extensively in Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks and I'm looking forward to this particular horse ride.

Canyon De Chelly National Monument.

Stanley, of the Tso’s Horse Tours, greets me warmly at 9:30 a.m. as promised.  “It looks like it will be only the two of us,” he says finishing up his breakfast.  Then he gets a call that a second person will join us.  John is from Alabama and the three of us trot off into the canyon's quiet and the past.  

Stanley, our Navajo guide ~ Canyon De Chelly National Monument.

Having a Navajo guide adds so much history to the ride and Stanley seems to love what he does.  In a quiet moment, Stanley’s horse bolts left, then right.  After controlling his steed, Stanley leads him back to where it got spooked.  “Look,” Stanley says to his horse in Navajo.  “It is just a stick.”  Laughing, he says that they ride up here thousands of times and his horse still thinks that the stick is a snake. 

The Navajo reservation is huge and I am on small roads.  Approaching Leupp, I spot a van selling tamales. "They are freshly made and hot," the Navajo man tells me.  "We have green and red chili tamales," he adds.  I find a little shade and enjoy three delicious tamales ~ 1 red and 2 green.

A welcomed sight in Leupp, AZ.

In Barstow, Leo is getting off work and we head off to his house for some tamales, green chili, and beans.  I’m impressed.  Irma is not home and Leo prepares dinner by himself.  Something unheard of by many of us.  It will be dark traveling home but the cool air feels good. 

It has been a great 7-day trip out to the fiestas of La Joya and having a Johnny Cash song played for me was special.  

I arrive home in Three Rivers near midnight after 2,171 incredible miles.