Trip Date: March 28, 2019
Find this SpotThis was the 4th consecutive weekend, every weekend in March, I was gone somewhere. Kristen and I went to San Diego for the first one, Mike and I went to the property for the second one, we were in the Mojave last weekend, and this was Rhino and Kevin’s retirement gathering. Reinhard, Kevin, Tom, Mike, Steve, Ken, Bob, Vince, Bill, the whole works had worked together at one time or another, the main crew for some 20-25 years. We have celebrated weddings, births, graduations, losses, and now our retirements. At this point, only Ken and Vince remain gainfully employed. Good grief.
I had hoped to meet my brother Mike and his friend Gregg at Gregg’s property outside Patterson on the way down. Gregg had apparently entertained the thought of becoming a metal recycler so he collected all this material and piled it on his land. The obvious first step to starting that endeavor, no? Now knowing nothing about metals, markets, or recycling has led to tons of shit he can’t sell because there is no market, and a piece of land he can’t sell because of all the shit. No bueno. I had thought we might find a few morsels we could use on the property; wire, fence posts, a container, some shelving, that sort of stuff.
Since I was making my own plans to meet up with the boys, I didn’t pay too much attention to their plans, so when my plans fell apart, I just sort of struck out on my own figuring it would all work out. I had come out Little Panoche Road to I-5 a few times, so I figured I would just recognize it on my way. It was also numbered J1 and had Mercy Hot Springs on it; just about the only business, so I assumed it would also be signed, or have one sign of the 4 that could reasonably be expected. No such luck. Although I was intently listening to two NPR stories on the radio about a country singer that had dedicated his new record to his old friend and mentor and a show discussing the need for outdoor experiences among children, I would have preferred to have found the exit, rather than heading on down I-5 miles beyond where I needed to go.
Nonetheless, the extra mileage within radio signals allowed me to hear the end of the story and to see some new country. The unpaved Panoche Road brought me into some spectacular wildflower blooms, and a hill and dale I had never seen before. It cost me time, but it was worth the experience. By then, I had turned to my I-tunes and was listening to new music that I was also enjoying very much. The beverages helped, the grader operator that assured me I could get through, despite the BLM signs to the contrary was a positive, and the vibes were entirely supportive. I eventually picked up pavement, familiar landmarks, and the long end of Little Panoche Road. The temptation to stop at the bar for a beverage was strong, but I needed to connect with the boys.
I drove up the BLM access road to the information kiosk and shitter I had told folks I would be at, although it was a couple hours later than I had estimated. The last I had heard, they were leaving at 11:00 and I had left a half hour ahead of them. The big rig wreck near Mokelumne City on the way down cost me an hour, but I assumed it did them too. My long route down to Panoche Road instead of Little Panoche probably cost me another hour, so I figured I still could be the first one in. Besides, no note where I said I would be or on the way in, so I pulled over and had a beverage and listened to tunes. And had another and another, while I wondered around, not wanting to drive off for fear of having someone drive by and miss me.
I did figure out that standing right next to the entrance sign I could get connection, so I called 3 or 4 guys and sent a text or 2. Eventually I got a response that said, and I quote, “We are up on a hill probably North of where you camped last time”. Huh? The place is nothing but hills, and where we camped last time no one has any idea. Each road and spur is numbered; that might have been a clue. How far in from the pavement or from the informational kiosk you drove by on the way in. My tracking skills might have handled that one. But hill to the North was beyond my capabilities. However, I did have my binoculars and my intuition said South, so sure as shit, there they be, perched on a hill within my oculars. Now, how to get there?
I headed further down P1, up and down and up and down, until I had gone far enough. No sign of them or sign from them indicating a direction. I exhausted all my tracker skills and headed back to the parking lot by the shitter and the kiosk. Damn, there they were. Big as life, but now I could also clearly see Tommy’s blue rig, but no dots between thems and me. I was perplexing on the matter when I figured I just had to take another crack at it. Another beverage would clear the way and enlighten my destination. I could see them in the binoculars. So I was convinced they were there. I just had to get there.
I headed back up P1 with a reconstituted vigor. I had seen 2 silver Tacomas already, and had nearly approached one before realizing they were not mine, so I was again a bit apprehensive when I saw a silver Tacoma heading towards me. This one was driving poorly so my chances skyrocketed that they were someone I knew. Sure enough, Steve pulled over and Ken hopped out. One small step for man. After a brief greeting they headed on down the road to leave signs for Rhino who had yet to arrive. They still didn’t know or provide me with a road number, but they said it was by a big white sign. Good enough for my advanced tracker skills.
Sure enough, Road P12 is marked by a huge white road sign; not that it says P12, but the big white sign was sign enough. Almost certain now that this was the road they were camped on, I proceeded over hill and dale, and arrived at the hilltop covered by rigs and scattered tents. Home at last. No sooner had the boys greeted me, Rhino and Steve rammed into camp; all accounted for. The weather called for consistent winds so I was concerned about being on the very top of this knoll, but the boys were already bedded down, so a more protected site was out of the question. Being little more than a grassy hilltop, I had plenty of options to set up on the outer limit and oriented my truck alongside the tent as best I could to block some portion of the breeze.
I was appalled to be told that some guys decided not to bring wood because I usually bring it, but my backside is wearing down like everyone else’s and it is getting harder and harder for me, taking a bigger toll each year to hunt for, gather, haul, cut, and stack wood. Then, to pull it out, load it in bins, hurl them up into the truck, and again in reverse at camp, then all over again each trip. I need to get a few more guys to pitch in to lighten my load a bit, but for now, Kevin brought a good load and we were certain we had plenty. Camp was spread out, but it worked. The fire pit was soon full of charcoal, steak, asparagus, and more chicken any man ever seen. A few of Tommy’s Manhattan’s to wash it all down, and I was short for my bed.
I again slept very well, continuing a nice trend from the last trip. There were not nearly as many guys as I had expected, and none of the guys I didn’t know, some of Rhino and Kevin’s recent co-workers, so I didn’t have to work as hard I had had imagined to not drink too much. I felt pretty good in fact and we had a great morning fire, coffee, and breakfast. Not being a big breakfast guy, I let the others mow, and came in to clean up the last of the bacon and English muff. Most delectable. Tom wanted to explore and that sounded good to me. It seemed like several others wanted to come too, but despite the fact we had a vehicle per person, they couldn’t figure out who else would drive.
So we head out with Mike and Rhino for a fantastic drive out P20. This road was out of a carnival ride. Up and down grades as steep as I have been on; a single vehicle track on top of extremely narrow ridge tops no wider than the road. It was exhilarating to say the least. The wildflowers were awesome, the air and breeze and sky and beverages and witty banter made for a fantastic road trip. We got to where Tom had wanted to go and wondered if the road went on down through to I-5. According to the map it did not, but we were satisfied with where we were and not giving up any more elevation or distance back to camp. Thankfully we did not pass another vehicle until we were back on the main P1.
We didn’t tie into any of the provisions we brought on our excursion, so I was hankering for grub when we got back. We got the fire going and soon the grill was again covered in meat; giant pork chops, more chicken, and Vinny made an outstanding skittle of pasta, onion, peppers, sausage, and chicken. I didn’t find it until well after the main course, so I may have been eating it by the handful, but I do remember it was very tasty. Vinny pulled his truck around to block some of the breeze and amplify tunes. The stars obliged, the fire provided, the boys partied on. It was a great night full of lore, laughter, larder, and libations…and sheep.
A large herd of sheep was grazing a few hills distant, but had slowly been making their way towards us. On my second pass by the older white sheep dog, I stopped and petted him. He was definitely past his prime, but ever vigilant and thankfully friendly to let me pet him a little. His charges were getting closer to us, so the baaing and mehing and general bleating were more notably audible to me. It was an interesting back beat to the flapping of tents and the laughter. Another excellent sleep ensued and I awoke to a beautiful sunrise illuminating a clear sky. I was ready to get home to see Kristen as it seemed like it had been a long time since we just hung together, and this only being Saturday, and only being 3 hours away, it seemed like a fairly early departure was in order.
I got a good start on packing up my bed and tent innards, then went out in search of coffee and fire. Tommy was the first out, headed all the way back to SLO. Fortunately, Kevin was kind enough to share some of his coffee brew with me as it barely got me to the first level. I had a great chat with Steve about riding the bike and tires and such, then got to clean-up of camp, and segregating and separating, and scouring. The younger white offspring sheepdog came into camp, shy and cute and submissive, he sort of cowered along the edges until he gained his confidence. Soon he was getting pork chops and chicken breast from my hand and being petted and squeezed regularly. It was great fun to have him visit us, especially since now his tribe was basically at the bottom of our hill, slowly grazing towards us.
Camp was so decentralized, it took an extraordinary amount of time to get all packed and loaded. However, despite burning all my wood and drinking all my beers, I was overjoyed at bringing home so much of my food and acquiring a bag plus of briquettes. That is a good days work by any measure. I pulled out of camp after Rhino and Kevin and passed a dozen or two rigs scattered all over the place; camping, hiking, maybe photogs taking in the big bloom. On the way down, we passed another two dozen rigs easily, screaming in to shoot their guns or ram each other by whatever means they have. It was definitely time to escape.
At the entrance to the Hills, Rhino and Kevin pulled over and we said our last goodbye’s. Kevin offered a hit, which I passed on, but as I pulled away, he blew a huge cloud into the rig. It smelled great and provided a nice aroma for miles. The pavement was great and I had to chuckle as I saw the exit of I-5; no sign, no indication, nothing to indicate this was the exit. Just 379/W. Shields Ave. I didn’t feel so bad about missing it; I just needed to have done more research and not assumed I would just recognize it. Oh well.
It had only been about an hour since I left camp so I called Kristen to let her know I was only about 2 hours away. That was, until I saw the massive plume of black smoke. Traffic came to a crawl and then full stop. I called Kristen back and she found a report about a big rig on fire, closing Northbound 5. This was the 5th consecutive big rig accident I had seen on these trips. I cannot imagine it was coincidence or an oddity. I wonder how many big rig accidents there are on our roads. Doesn’t putting way more containers on trains make more sense? In any event, the old Chinese dude from the car behind me came up to me just as I was arranging the doors to take a leak. With so many people out of their vehicles, it was obvious the mess would take a while. He and I chatted a bit and I was convinced to follow the lead of a few folks and cross the median to head South and find an alternative route.
Of course I hadn’t been paying attention to other roads or where the closest off ramp was. I suppose a quick map reference would have answered many questions and eliminated some unknowns, but it was time for action, not thought. I bid my little yellow friend Zàijiàn, and turned sharply to the left, across the tall grass, and South along the shoulder in the center divider of I-5. The Southbound traffic was not affected by the malfunction, so they were coming along at top speed, and although they had passed the Northbound lanes at full stoppage, they were providing no quarter to those of us trying to make an escape. I also realized that my packing job had obstructed much of my rear view mirror abilities so I was reliant on my side mirror.
I picked my spot, got up to some speed on the dirt and made my merger the best I could. It was not good enough for the asshole that honked at me, passed me, then proceeded at about 60 MPH. I caught up to him shortly and thanked him for making things easier for his fellow humans. I was grateful to find an exit within a couple miles, took it, followed the dozens of other vehicles East, and breathed a huge sigh of relief having escaped the fiasco and was on the move again. I followed W. Stuhr for a couple miles with folks turning left at several options to get headed back North. As I didn’t know exactly where the malfunction occurred, I didn’t want to take the chance of not going far enough to pass the accident, and I really just wanted to stay moving, not so much minding exactly where I was going.
Within a couple miles, I hit Highway 33 at Newman and headed North through Timba and Stomar, up to Crow’s Landing. There I headed further East to cross over to 99, just wanting to leave I-5 behind me altogether. It was a very cool road, crossing the heart of the San Joaquin valley, San Joaquin River, and tons of farms, communities, and crossroads stores. I came through Bret Harte, Shackelford, Bystrom, and finally Modesto as I came up on Highway 99. I just about shit my pants as I crossed over the overpass to see four lanes of traffic at a complete stop and a CHP cruiser heading along the shoulder with lights and sirens. I almost didn’t take it, instead willing to flail through the backwaters of Modesto rather than leaving one traffic shitfest for another. Fortunately, the cruiser was just responding to a minor fender bender at the end of the onramp, and the congestion evaporated right quick like. Thank the traffic gods.
I called Kristen again to let her know I had survived the crossing and hoped for a smooth ride home. It had cost me an hour and a half, but I was moving most of the time and saw some new, if not somewhat interesting country. It certainly was more of the nitty gritty central valley than I needed, but I was intact and enroute again. I was starving and finally had to stop for gas in Elk Grove. OMG. This is one of the stops that just wrecks you with the traffic, congestion, honking, rudeness, crammed morons in a fucked up place. Let me off. By now, Kristen had to go to her moms, so I came home to an empty house. It was fine to get a shower and empty the ice chest and look at mail, and pet the kitties, and slow to roll a bit. This was the end of a huge run and I was happy to have an empty calendar for April to save some money and gear up for the removal of the concrete in the backyard and the road construction on the property in May. Life is good.
Find this Spot
Panoche Hills Photo Gallery
