November 10, 2013

Morning:
           Day 18.
           I'm making great headway but the tradeoff is I'm on the freeways instead of the good routes. The first thing I'll tell you is if you plan to see America driving an RV or a fifth wheel, it isn't there any more. Every square inch of the roadside where you could fit one of those beasts is private property and the prices are outrageous. I'll have more to say about the sub-industries that have sprung up on the major Interstates, to the detriment of small-town--and small business--America. These places cater to the truckers and have become so showy and glittery, nothing within miles on other side can hope to survive.

           I stayed on Kingston Road, the truck stop south of Redding, and left early. It is a rough area. I parked directly in front of the 24 hour booth. The staff regularly finds vagrants in the back parking lot. This is a view as I enter the northern California central valley, the bottom of an old lake. It is beautiful country between hills on either horizon.
           Country travel and freeway travel are different even in context. States vary in their policy about staying in rest areas. While I prefer the ones with an 8-hour maximum, I can't figure the ones that do not permit overnight stays. It is beyond me how bureaucrats think people should sleep by day and travel at night, but that's why they are called bureaucrats. The rule does prevent the riff-raff from setting up shop. The problem is, the signs posted rarely address whether or not you can stay, and it is useless to ask anybody. The question is, "Is it legal to stay overnight at rest stops in this state?"
           The first sign of an idiot is his refusal to say he plain doesn't know. The following are not suitable answers:
           "I've done it".
           "Trucks are allowed."
           "There should be a sign."
           "They've never bothered me."

Daytime:
           Nor have drivers improved. You'll get twenty minutes of easy going when suddenly 16 to 20 vehicles arrive in a cluster, all speeding any jockeying for position in the same quarter-mile of roadway. Strange, such people are.

           The slower batbike lets me see the California I missed before. Here is a view of one huge field where I estimated there were 35,000 orange trees. If each tree was only worth $500, think of the investment.
           Another aspect I notice was the lack of single travelers this trip. With the exception of destitute-looking single men loitering at truckstops, I mean. It is mostly families and couples. No big deal, I just notice it. The occasional motorcycle I pass are single, but they carry only a bedroll or backpack. They can't be going very far with that.

Evening:
           I finally walked the streets of Bakersfield. Since I went directly to the club shown below, technically I walked the alleys. The bars in the old part of town had doorways that led to the back
alley.

           This photo is carefully posed with the assistance of a couple I met walking past. This is the famous Guthrie's Alley in Bakersfield. This is where I chatted up a 21 year old lady who had just broken up with her 43 year old boyfriend. She was a beautician who had a aura of fingernail polish remover.
           Again, the photo is posed. If you look, you'll see the usual, the gal was a natural, the guy had no photogenic qualities at all. I'd originally wanted them to snap me, but could he could not grasp how the camera worked. This photo was hand-picked from around 15 I had to take to get this one.
           Guthrie's Alley was a blast. The barkeep looked like Johnny Rocket, in case I never said. I put a bunch of cash in the juke box and let other people pick the tunes. Then, I walked across the alley to the place with the soundman. That made up my mind to call Billie-Bill when I get back. A nothing bar in a nothing place can afford to put on a better show than anything I've ever seen in Florida in the past five years.