Cholame Valley

January 29, 2022

We got spoiled quickly in toasty Borrego Springs. It’s surprisingly chilly here in Paso Robles this morning, about like one of those colder mornings back in Tucson. We kill a few hours enjoying our coffee and hanging around in our expansive room, luxuriating in all of the space we have and especially enjoying the first effective heating system we’ve had for over six weeks.

Finally at 10:30 it’s warm enough to meet our standards. We load the bikes into the car and start driving east on Highway 46, reversing the route we drove into town on last night. There are several rides we’ll take right from our motel door, but we want to save them. It’s the weekend, and the close-in roads are apt to be busier with weekend winery seekers so for today and tomorrow we’ll head east for the empty ranch country on the opposite side of the hillls.

As we drive I tell Rachael the story of the tragic death of James Dean, who died in a horrifying car crash on this highway on his way to a dinner party in Paso Robles 65 years ago. It’s fresh in my mind because I read up on it this morning because there’s a roadside memorial near the crash site that we’ll pass, just a short distance from the start of today’s ride.

Dean died in September 1955 when a car pulled out in front of him from Highway 41, too late for him to take evasive action. His first film, East of Eden, had been released just months before the accident, the only one of his three films to be released in his short lifetime. It’s one of the earliest films I remember seeing as a child, and images from it are still clear in my mind. So of course we pull off when we come to the memorial.

One of these rainy evenings we’ll need to watch East of Eden again. Some of it was shot here in the Salinas Valley so we could be reminded of what this country looked like half a century ago.

Highway 46 feels like a pretty scary place to drive with this in mind, but I think we’ll be safe enough today on Cholame Valley Road. There’s not a vehicle in sight as we look down this long, empty road to nowhere after we park the car on its shoulder and unload the bikes. Our goal is the end of the pavement 21 miles north of here, a goal we both know only one of us will obtain today. It’s not long before I find a reason to stop with the camera and Rocky continues on, not to be seen again for another two hours.

It’s still chilly at first, but within about ten miles it warms up enough so the coat comes off. My progress is quite slow as I find one thing after another to catch my attention - hawks perched patiently on utility poles, ranches tucked into the base of the hills, evocative landscapes, white faced cattle. Ground squirrels frequently race across the road and dive down a burrow on the opposite side - we’ll see hundreds of them out here today. Just my kind of road.

It’s unfortunate that for some reason my phone and the Garmin haven’t connected for some reason and I can’t locate Rachael, but I know she must be pulling miles ahead of me. Which is fine - she’ll come back, and we can hardly miss each other in this emptiness when she does.

We have Cholame Valley Road pretty much to ourselves this morning. It’s almost silent once we bike a couple of miles and get out of earshot of the highway behind us.

Cholame Creek is just a muddy trickle at this end of the ride.

Here’s part of the reason I quickly lose sight of Rachael. It’s a good road for hawks, and three or four of them are patient enough to give me a good look. Another rough-leg, I think.

It’s quietly beautiful country, the valley rimmed on both sides by low, rolling hills. It’s an outstanding time to be out here with the hills still green.

It’s quietly breathtaking country. The trees line the long driveway to a ranch.

The foothills and margins of the valley are dotted with trees like this - valley oaks (robles), I assume. I’ll have to get a closer look at one on our next trip out this way.

Yes, I’m sure this would be a great road to explore that way too.

A few of a herd of about fifty that stampeded along ahead of me for a few hundred yards and then pulled up abruptly to stop and stare.

About ten miles into the ride the valley narrows and we gain a bit of elevation.

Eventually the valley narrows and the road gets a bit of contour. I’ve really been dawdling so far but now I pick up the pace. I want to make it at least as far as Parkfield, the small village out here that’s the only marked feature on the road. I’m always curious about tiny places like this, wondering if there will be anything of interest waiting to be discovered. Parkfield, a place that brands itself the Earthquake Capitol of the World because it sits along the the San Andreas Fault, sounds especially promising.

Looking down the San Andreas faultline. Fortunately we’re here on a quiet day.

Parkfield, population 18, proves to be well worth the journey. There’s plenty to see here and there’s even food and lodging available. It would make a colorful place to stay over for a night. The folks are friendly too. I chat for awhile with a couple sitting on the porch of the beautiful old water tower, now converted into a couple of rooms for lodgers. They say there’s food opposite, though not until afternoon because the power is out this morning; but I’m welcome to stop for ice water and cookies.

Parkfield Cafe - be here when it happens!

Doesn’t this look like it would be a wonderful spot to spend the night?

The pride of the Parkfield Water Company.

Sipping at the fountain of the Parkfield Water Company.

The Parkfield post office, established in 1905.

Rachael and I finally meet up not far past Parkfield. I mention the ice water and cookies back in town, thinking she’ll be tempted. But she’s not really. She’s been a bit anxious about how I’m doing since she hasn’t been able to track me and I’ve gotten so far behind; and she’s getting tired of the road surface and the wind that has started picking up.

She backtracks and rides with me for another mile before we finally stop and sit on a patch beneath the grass to enjoy a quiet lunch and then start the long bike back to the car, scattering ground squirrels all along the way.

Finally we meet again. Not bad - she only put in about ten more miles than me today.

Again, she’s gotten ahead of me - I stopped to look at a Coulter Pine and then one last hawk, and she didn’t. She’s about a mile off again down there in the mirage zone, as I can tell by counting the poles. They’re spaced at almost exactly a tenth of a mile apart, and I can almost tell where the car is now by counting them down to the horizon.

Video sound track: Adrift, by Yasmin Williams

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Ride stats today: Rachael: 46 miles, 1,200’; Scott: 36 miles. 1,000’

Today's ride: 42 miles (68 km)
Total: 2,098 miles (3,376 km)

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Bill ShaneyfeltWas kinda hoping for a shot of the ground squirrels. They are a threatened species, being located only in the S. J. Valley. Not that I could distinguish it from the previous species you posted.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/San_Joaquin_antelope_squirrel
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2 years ago

Bruce LellmanThis is a pure example of a Scott bike journal post: informative and beautiful. He recalls a sad moment in history but optimistically shows us the beauty that is now; an oak tree that has shed some large limbs - beautiful as they lay where they fell, undisturbed. Because of a slight electronics failure he doesn't know where Rachael is but does not get overly concerned. It maybe gives him even more time and freedom to get in close with birds. His photos are beautiful in their peacefulness: a row of dark trunked trees, a line of black cows, a road winding its way up a gorgeous hill and disappearing. The line of tall, dark power poles is visually striking in the minimalist landscape. Scott's curiosity and art of composition provide us with beautiful observations. Most of us would not see anything there but thanks to Scott we are given quite a lot. He also informs us of a nice place to stay should we ever visit (and want to risk death). It looks like the perfect place to die in an earthquake.

"Our goal is the end of the pavement....a goal we both know only one of us will obtain today." I'd say you both attained your goals, Team Anderson. What a team! Thank you.
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2 years ago

Scott AndersonTo Bill ShaneyfeltSorry to let you down again, but I never got close to one. Tomorrow though.
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2 years ago

Scott AndersonTo Scott AndersonWell gosh, Bruce. You’re bviously lobbying (successfully) for a free cup of coffee next week, but thanks nonetheless.

And I agree with you, btw: Parkfield looks like it would be a fine place to weather the big one, especially if there be cookies.
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2 years ago

Rich FrasierWow. I’ve spent a bit of time in Paso Robles and I didn’t even know that Parkfield existed. Thanks for opening my eyes to another unexplored corner of my native state. And you don’t have to buy me a coffee. :)
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2 years ago

Emily SharpWow - how different that place would look in summer! I would always enjoy a ride along a strike-slip fault though :-) It would be hard to keep my eyes on the road looking at all the evidence of the earth moving.

James Dean was from a town called Fairmount about 30 min north of my hometown. They have a big James Dean Memorial Rod Run every year and my hot-rodding dad always took his car to that event. I did a pencil rubbing of James Dean's grave on a large sheet of paper when I was in college for one of my friends who was a big fan. As far as I know that grave rubbing is still hanging on the wall of the quirky cabin he lived in at the time at CSU's mountain campus :-)
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2 years ago

Bill ShaneyfeltTo Scott AndersonNo problem... I know they are almost exactly like their brothers on the east side of the Sierras... which we often unsuccessfully tried to catch when I was growing up. (The only one we ever got was the one my sister saved from a dog and raised from when it was still a blind baby with eyes still closed.) And they are really twitchy, especially this time of year.
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2 years ago

Scott AndersonTo Rich FrasierReally? Then you probably haven’t been out the Bitterwater Valley either. Another nice one, but no churches or chateaus. Stay tuned.
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2 years ago

Scott AndersonTo Scott AndersonI was thinking of you Emily while biking through here, imagining how much more you’d pick up and wishing I remembered more from my single Geology 101 course from 50 years ago. On a good day I can remember the difference between anticlines and synclines, but that’s about it.

That’s such a good story about James Dean. I’d forgotten he was from Indiana, and when I looked it up I was struck by what a simple headstone he lies beneath.
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2 years ago

Emily SharpTo Scott AndersonJames Dean may have had a more elaborate headstone at one time, but it had been stolen several times, so maybe they'd settled on something simple after the first one or two. The grave definitely didn't have a prominent position within the cemetery though - just another one along a row near an aisle.
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2 years ago

Bruce LellmanTo Scott AndersonWell, I think you are the most dedicated journaling person on CycleBlaze. I don't know how you have so much discipline to make an entry everyday but I for one find it quite enjoyable to read every single day. Just wanted to thank you and I'm sure I speak for many others.

I think you bought coffee last time.
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2 years ago