We were famished when we came off the trail so it wasn’t a hard sell to talk me into going to Schat’s Roadhouse for lunch/dinner. Sally talks me into eating dead animal flesh a couple of times a year and this, she insisted, was the place to toss my scruples aside and have a burger. The youngster who took our order misunderstood our request for coleslaw INSTEAD of fries, so we got both. As you know, I can resist everything but temptation, so I ate them too. A certain amount of misery ensued as our overburdened digestive tract struggled to cope with the heavy food.
But, walking back to the room, we passed a gorgeous, nay opulent, hotel that had several outdoor seating areas strategically arranged along a clear stream, freshly descended from the Sierras. Since there were several unoccupied chairs, I suggested that we sit a spell and soak up the ambience and digest. We assumed that rooms here would be well beyond our means, but just out of curiosity, Sally looked it up on her phone. The web site claimed we could get a room for only a few dollars more than we had paid for the room with the bowl shaped mattress and the green pool. Disbelieving, we went to the office to confirm. The lovely desk clerk said, yes, there was a vacancy and yes, the room was just $159 as advertised. AND, yes, there was a secure storage room for our bikes. Without further discussion, we decided to spend another night in Bishop and reserved a room for the following night.
Having slept very little in the over-heated room in Lone Pine and then spending five hours on the trail, I had no trouble sleeping with Sally sharing my bed in the vintage motel room. Compared with Mike, she’s a huge improvement in the bed partner department. She barely moves, she doesn’t snore, and maybe more importantly, she doesn’t complain about my snoring. And she farts a lot less.
In the morning, we were in no hurry to hit the trail since it was still quite cool…so cool in fact that I was compelled to buy another jacket and a down vest at the used gear store. I’ve lost count of how many jackets and vests I own, at last count I think it was between 20 – 30. But when the rare day comes that a jacket is required here in Southern California, I always have the exact right one for any casual occasion.
We made our way to Eastside Sports to take Mr. Easy on the Eyes (EotE) up on his offer of sharing bike trail secrets. I stole the following picture of him from his web site.(https://eastsidesports.com/blogs/stories/liv-in-the-dream) He directed us to a trail we never would have found on our own that proved to be a lot of fun…until it wasn’t. It also proved that he was NOT a bike rider.
The trail was hidden behind the electric plant and was accessed via a narrow bridge that we pushed our bikes across. The stream was running fast and deep and we assumed cold but were not tempted to test the waters.
After a short ride on a dirt road, we stumbled upon a singletrack that resembled a cow path. It grew increasingly interesting with rock gardens that, had we been familiar, we would have ridden through. But, the unfamiliarity robbed us of the confidence necessary to thread between, and in some cases over, the rocks and we ended up walking in several places. Eventually, the singletrack dumped us back onto the sandy road.
We doggedly continued uphill until we reached a place where the sand was simply too deep to climb. We turned downhill and rode as fast as we could, trying to stay on top of the sand until we came to a slightly better trail. After only a few miles, we gave up hope of finding any trails that were suitable for our 2 1/2″ wide tires and old lady legs and began to make our way home. Closer to the stream we found a nicely hard-packed dirt road that took us back to our starting point. Now it was time to go back to town to enjoy our new digs.
In the morning, we made one last trip to Schat’s Bakery to stock up on olliebolen for the trip home. For you non-Dutch folks, I think the English translation would be something like oil balls. They’re lumps of dough, stuffed with apples and raisins, deep fried, then rolled in cinnamon sugar.
The drive home was punctuated by this photo stop. Having learned from previous travels down this highway, we did not stop at the Manzanar Interment Camp.
judyrutrider 
The hotel is Disney quality fairy-tale-esque. As for the sign, it seems Los Angeles goes on forever…
Jackson sat in the stolen Ringold’s Commercial Restroom Service van staring at some early Halloween decorations someone’s children had taped to an apartment window when Magnum Man appeared at the driver’s side window.
“This time you’re the dude drops those stinky blue biscuits in the pissers? Fuckin’ truck stinks, man”
“It does. And this was a drive.”
“Not much different than the last two, just more out of the way. Ex-urban, they call it. Like uptown. You know, man, where the fuck is uptown? Between the ‘burbs and downtown? And like which way? North, huh? And south is undertown?”
“I thought south of the Harbor Freeway was Mexico.”
“Ha! Good man. Nothin’ west except the ocean, so what’s east town?”
“Arizona?”
“That’s why I’ll miss you, compadre. You got a sense a humor.”
“Miss me?”
“Yep,” Magnum man hit the black and gold cigarette, blew a smoke ring, “This is your last run.”
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That brings me to a question: Why do they make urinal cakes that smell like food? The ones I order for the church are mango scented and are so strong that I can smell them in my office which is separated from the restroom by a large patio.
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That’s a new one on me – the riff in my reply was based around early 80s and the blue biscuits. However a quick Google brings up a scent change in urinal/restroom technology. The old blue guys are still available but now the cigarette butt and splash screens have built in scents including orange lemon, “sea breeze”, cherry, lavender, tangerine and “Hawaiian breeze”. I didn’t see a mango and surprisingly no pine variations but that doesn;t mean they aren’t out there. All we need now is new car scent, watermelon and pizza joint lobby🤣
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I can’t believe you actually Googled urinal cakes! I guess inquiring minds want to know.
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Why do your day-to-day adventures sound like my vacations to the Oregon High Desert? All I do there is sleep, read, eat, ride my bike…and drink, but I swear that’s just to keep my blood thin so I don’t get breathless at that altitude. Portland is like 50 feet above sea level, so I consider the High Desert’s ~4000 foot elevation significant. Hell, I consider bridges significant.
But back to my point: I’m jealous! September can’t come soon enough!
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You sound like a good travel companion too. I do all of those thing but not in that order. I like to drink, then ride my bike. Just kidding! I crash frequently enough without adding alcohol to the mix. I’d like to visit the Bend area; I’ve heard there are some great bike trails there.
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Oh, yeah. Sunriver has great *paved* trails and virtually no car traffic. Bend is…bike friendly. As a city. Get outside of either and it’s a single-track dream!
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Some great photos, JRR! And a chic comfy room for the same price as a crappy one? I don’t blame you for staying another night. As for the un-bikeable trail, every new place is an adventure, and they don’t all turn out amazing. You probably worked off those extra fries and then some.
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I can always eat more than I burn but you’re right, staying active reduces the time one has to eat…unless you’re like my riding companion who carries the most tempting snacks.
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Priority qualifications for good bed partners sure change as people age.
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LOL For some of us women anyway. You guys seem a bit more consistent.
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I’m just now getting to comment – though I did read these posts as they went live… I’m always impressed with your willingness to taunt death. I love the tile work – that is my kind of ceramics!!!
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There was a concrete bench directly across from the mural? mosaic? where one could sit and contemplate each tile, which we did for some time. When we got up to leave, we realized that we were sitting on a time capsule which is to be opened in 2065. Of course, that got my mind to imagining what this idyllic town will look like by then.
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