North and South - Dust Bowl to Rainforest and Back Again
This road trip took place in early November 2009.Traveling north on Interstate I-5 from L.A., a
motorist must negotiate a series of mountain passes and steep grades.
Before reaching the final descent at Grapevine, each traveler can expect
to receive at least one wake-up call. It might be a call on a mobile
telephone, or a narrow escape in traffic. For me, it was the realization
that once again, I was on my way north, through the heartland of California.
My first road trip, at the age of three, was on
Old-99, precursor to the I-5 freeway that I now traveled. So that my
siblings and I could sleep during our transit, we departed L.A. at
night. My first recollection of the trip was when I awoke to the smell
of overheated brakes on our 1951 Ford. As lighted advertising signs flew
by my side window, my father gripped the wheel and told my mother to
hang on to the door handle.
Somehow, he maintained control and completed a fast
rollout into the San Joaquin Valley. Flattened, dead jackrabbits
littered the roadway. My father joked
that they were called "flying rabbits", because you could pick up one
of their flattened dry carcasses and toss it away like a Frisbee. A few
live rabbits scampered back and forth through our headlight beams. Soon,
I saw a backlit neon sign that read, "Bakersfield" arched over the
highway. Although I could not yet read, I assumed that a city with such a
grand entrance sign must be a wonderful place.
To this day, there is no direct highway link from
Southern California to Southern Oregon. After the inevitable trip north
on I-5, each traveler must decide which highway to take west towards the
Pacific Ocean and U.S. Highway 101.
Having stayed in Redding, CA the previous night, it seemed logical for
me to take California Highway 299 to the former lumber mill town of
Arcata, CA. Also known as the Trinity Scenic Byway, this one hundred
sixty mile route would connect me with U.S. Highway 101 North.
Having once pulled my travel trailer over the
Trinity Scenic Byway, I recalled a very long trip, with many steep
grades and tight turns. The trip to Arcata has mountain, valley and
river views, all stitched together like a movie. That stretch of highway
has only three intersecting highways, none of which connects quickly to
the coast. Once one commits to Highway 299, the only choices are to
make the full transit, turn back or make your new home in Whiskeytown,
Weaverville or Willow Creek.
When the local museum features an exhibit on the
legend of Big Foot, you know you are far from the beaten path. Our
friend, Bob Weaver, tells us that the town is named after one of his
ancestors, who won the entire town in a card game. Rather than take
possession of an unruly gold mining town, the earlier Mr. Weaver gave
the town back to its original owners. His only stipulation was that they
name the place after him, which they gratefully did.
After shaking loose from the energies of Highway
299, I drove north on U.S. Highway 101. Near sundown, I turned off the
highway near my mother’s house in Port Orford, Oregon. On a clear day, the sunset over the ocean along what locals call The South Coast is beautiful to behold. By the time darkness fell, I stood in the coastal forest that is my mother’s front yard.
Several days later, my return trip to L.A. was just
as beautiful. Although it had rained all night, a large storm cleared
Port Orford at dawn. With the highway drying before me, I followed the
clouds south along Highway 101. From the Gulf of Alaska to the beaches
of Oregon, there is no intervening landmass to buffer wind or waves.
Soon after the morning high tide, I traveled south past wave-swept
beaches. At the surf line, outgoing and incoming waves met, stacking
them up three-high. Standing perhaps thirty feet above the tide line,
the countervailing energies of wind, wave and tide held the breaking
waves, almost motionless in mid air. With a tumultuous release of
kinetic energy, each giant wave would collapse toward the shore. As I
saw it, no person or vessel could survive in that maelstrom.
As I drove south into Northern California,
the temperate rainforest of coastal redwoods lived up to its prior
billing. The mists swept in from the coast and rain fell wherever a
large grove stood. Where there were no trees growing on the land, no
rain fell. As the storm cleared before me, traffic was light all the way
to my next stop, in Berkeley, California. Glorious in their fall color,
vineyards lined both sides of the highway between Geyserville and Healdsburg, in Sonoma County.
Upon reaching the San Pablo Bay near sundown, I
departed U.S. Highway 101 for the first time since beginning my trip in
Port Orford, that morning. My route included a long causeway on Interstate I-580
leading to the Richmond – San Rafael Bridge. In order to offer one
hundred eighty-five feet clearance for two shipping lanes below, the
highway approach ramps are steep. Even with a top roadway height of two
hundred feet, the bridge fails to provide a good view of the bay. Only
from the eastbound causeway could we see the structure, first opened in
1956, shining in silver light.
After a night in Berkeley, I traveled east on
Interstate I-580, connecting then to I-5 South. Although known as one of
the windiest places in California, not one of the many Altamont Pass wind turbines
turned that morning. Perhaps it was calm between storms. Once I
rejoined I-5 South, I put my Nissan Titan on cruise control. From there,
until I again encountered the Ridge Route at Grapevine, it was time to set my mental cruise control and relax.
On both sides along I-5, there are small signs that
say “Congress Created Dust Bowl”. Although some of these signs stood
near fallow fields of blowing dust, others were at verdant locations,
thus diminishing the impact of the farmers' message. Although I disagree
that Congress created water shortages and fallow fields in California,
changing climate and water politics combine for an increased incidence of dust storms in California and throughout the West.
At one point, I saw what looked like flakes of gold
shimmering above the highway. Had a gust of wind raised a small part of
the Golden State into the sky? Although the scene was reminiscent of the
previous day’s rainforest showers, it was ominous to see the soil of
yet another western state drying up and blowing away in the wind. Which
event is representative of where our planet is going? Will it be healing
rain or choking dust that rules our world? Only through the questioning
of our collective consciousness shall we receive answers to those
questions.
By James McGillis at 06:43 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link
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