The Wind is Gone

We ended up leaving late again. This is primarily because I can’t seem to get my act together. It takes an impossibly long time to get my bag up and set on the sissy bar. Quite simply, it is too short. We think that we have finally gotten a system together that will ensure that it no takes an hour to secure. I also think that it is because we (namely me) are just plain burnt out.
Today we got to see more of the Mojave desert. We tried to go to a wildlife viewing area, but unfortunately it was covered with sand and not a good place to go with fully loaded bikes. So we turned around only to realize that we did not have a full tank of gas. So back we went to Barstow. When we finally got going, it was nice, because it was overcast and not boiling hot, but the winds were once again unmerciful and even worse than before. Both Jose and I were literally sitting on the sides of our bikes willing them straight. We did this for about three hours more. Then, we went over the mountain and froze. But, they were incredible. Not the rocky waking giants that we saw in New Mexico or the striped, multicolored banded mountains of Arizona, not even the scruffy, scratchy mountains of the desert. These were smooth and almost looked to be covered in a fine suede felt. The wind was still hard and as an testament to their strength, the windmills were there. Not the graceful dancing women we first saw in Texas, but funny, boxy, windmills that looked almost childlike compared to their elegant cousins in the East.
Finally, there was a gradual change in both temperature and scenery. Desert no more!!!! Even better, the wind was gone. The skies opened up and it warmed. We were in Bakersfield and we were in the valley. Off in the distance you could see the patchwork of farms most likely used to support vegetables and fruits. This is just a guess, but one based on the type of trucks passing us on the roads. Once, we got lost, we were headed toward the wrong town. Thank you Norm! TomTom actually came to the rescue…. We turned down a road and were instantly hit with the magical smell of orange blossoms. Ironic that we could even smell at that point given how dry our noses were. Then, we alternated between orange trees and vineyards all the way down until we reached a little crossroads of sorts. We stopped for gas and it was amazing. This was a town of migrant workers. It reminded me of times long past within our own world. People were waving and greeting each other like long, lost friends. We even managed to give away a few pencils. One little boy was showing off the fact of how well he could read the pencil. I regret now, not telling him how good his reading was, but we were tired and trying to get to the hotel.
We have settled into the town of Visalia which is about 35 miles from the Sequoia National forest (for those that had bet we would not make it to the ocean – you may think you have won, but we would have not experienced the beauty of this area. It is we that have won.) We are now taking roads that are much less congested and slower, and not as filled with the 18-wheelers we have come to dispise. The only thing is that in California there is not much respect for motorcyclists. They will take part of the road from you and pull out in front of you and just simply be dangerous. Part of this may be due to a practice called “white lining” where a motorcyclist will ride between the cars in traffic. It is legal here, but something that neither Jose nor I can quite understand.
Tomorrow we are off to see the great giants.