The next morning, Peter and I were up early, packed and ready for the ride back into Kernville. My usual morning ritual includes checking the room, securing the gear, cleaning the windshield and setting the navigation. What you do in the morning pays dividends in the afternoon.
At five minutes to seven, I knocked on Dale and Jeremy's door. I was waking them up. In all our years of traveling together, I think that was a first. There was no point making a fuss. Peter and I would go ahead and meet them at the diner. We could wait over coffee instead of standing beside the motorcycles.
In daylight, I could see just how unforgiving the road had been the night before. I also knew I wasn’t spending another day trying to see through that windshield. By the time we reached the diner, I’d made up my mind. Come hell or high water, it was coming off.
Once we had coffee, I asked the waitress whether anyone had a Torx bit set so I could remove the windshield. She checked with the cook, but they didn’t have one. Another customer offered to go home and get one after breakfast. Meanwhile, whenever a promising vehicle pulled in, I went outside to ask. A group of men in an SUV had exactly what I needed.
Removing the windshield was easy. The entertainment was the crew that assembled around me. One man held the fasteners, another took the windshield, and several supervised. I had my own NASCAR pit crew.
I asked if they were on a golfing vacation. They told me it was a drinking vacation. Then I noticed the adult beverage in one man's hand. It was about eight in the morning. Whatever had brought them together, they clearly enjoyed traveling together, and I could appreciate that.
The windshield fit almost perfectly on the luggage rack above the tour pack. A couple of strips of duct tape secured it.
Dale looked good at breakfast and said he felt strong. That was reassuring after the day he’d had. I’ve experienced that odd improvement myself, when the second or third day on the road feels better than the first.
With breakfast finished and all four of us together, we were ready to head north. The motorcycle looked dorky without a windshield, but within minutes of riding I was delighted it was gone. I could do this now.
Heading back past the lodge meant riding that stretch of the Kern River road for the third time: once in darkness, once with the damaged windshield in morning light, and now without a windshield at all. The pavement was still rough, but the endless curves had become enjoyable. It was cool, I could see, and I felt uplifted.
Beyond the lodge, the turns kept coming as we climbed away from the river into the Western Divide forest. We passed through the Trail of 100 Giants area, taking in the trees from the road. These are riding trips for us, and we had plenty of riding ahead.
Farther along, at Pierpoint near Camp Nelson, we bought snacks and Gatorade and took a break. The owner was engaging, and when we talked about the road, he assured us it was just as twisty ahead as it had been behind us. He wasn’t kidding.
From Pierpoint, we continued down Highway 190 toward Springville. The pavement improved partway down. The curves kept coming, but by then I was finding my stride. As we lost elevation, though, the heat switched on. Arriving in Springville felt like stepping back into a furnace.
Springville had its own simple charm, although the palms and tall, thin cypress trees felt oddly out of context after the forest. Farther on, the agricultural country around Porterville brought back memories of Florida’s vast citrus groves in the sixties and seventies.
We turned north through the valley, then east toward Three Rivers and our next climb into the mountains. I was still trying to make sense of how dismal Lemon Cove had looked to me when Lake Kaweah caught my attention. The lake was beautiful, and the contrast was stark. Then Three Rivers seemed to be thriving, a different impression again. I always find myself wondering what keeps one town going while another seems to fade.
Before entering Sequoia, we stopped for lunch at the Gateway Restaurant and Lodge, where we chose an indoor table over seating beside the river. We wanted out of the heat. Lunch ran long. Nobody said much about it, but I felt an unspoken lack of enthusiasm for putting our jackets back on and going outside.
The morning's late start was beginning to collect interest, and we were doing ourselves no favors by lingering. We talked about hoping the climb into Sequoia would bring cooler air.
Back on the bikes, we began the climb into Sequoia. The air cooled to a degree, but the heat had already taken something out of us. The park entrance and the modest visitor facilities felt less grand than those at some of the better-known parks. Clean but dated bathrooms and a small entrance sign gave me an initial sense of being somewhere less polished and a little off the beaten path.
I knew Sequoia was going to be demanding, but once we were into it, I realized I’d underestimated just how much. The curves kept coming, and the pavement added to the workload. I said as much to Jeremy. I’d reviewed this part of the route beforehand, but it was asking more of us than I’d expected.
There were broken sections, patches and pullouts that looked much more inviting from a car than they did from a loaded touring bike. Slopes, gravel and awkward angles became a calculation every time we considered stopping. Eventually the friction of stopping began weighing on our willingness to stop.
Between the demands of the road, there were the trees we’d come to ride among. I appreciated being in the company of ancient giants, trees capable of living more than three thousand years. Some years earlier, I’d walked through Muir Woods, and that experience had stayed with me. I think I’d expected more of that sense of being surrounded by enormous trees here. From the roadway, they weren’t the constant presence I’d pictured.
By the time we reached the General Sherman parking area, it was clear we had more planned riding than daylight. We didn’t walk to the tree. We still intended to continue into Kings Canyon, but we needed to shorten that part of the day. Kanawyers, farther down the canyon, was off the list. Grizzly Falls became our nearer target.
Continuing toward Kings Canyon brought another change in scale. Beyond the forest, the canyon seemed vast and endless, arid and unforgiving. Looking across it, I found myself wondering whether people had lived down there, and how they’d managed. I couldn’t imagine trying to cross it. From where I sat, it seemed insurmountable.
I was running two navigation routes, one to Grizzly Falls and the other to the hotel. With sunset in mind, the calculation was simple enough. Every minute farther into the canyon added roughly two minutes to our eventual arrival because we had to ride back out. Whenever practical, I want to be off the road before the last usable light is gone.
Even the shorter goal proved too much for the time we had left. We turned around before reaching Grizzly Falls.
On the way out, we took Hume Lake Road, an alternate route that led us past cabins, a camp store and a picturesque lake. After looking into that arid, unforgiving canyon, this felt like somewhere I’d want to spend time. Places so different from each other kept turning up just a short ride apart. But we were burning daylight, so we kept moving.
The road was narrow and the forest thick enough to make the loss of daylight feel immediate. The late start was catching up with us.
Once we were back on Generals Highway, the navigation gave us a more comfortable arrival time. We could reach the hotel with usable light left. We turned west on Highway 180 and rode into the setting sun. I avoid that when I can, but this time it was simply the geography.
When the road straightened, the riding part of the day felt finished. We still had traffic and the approach to Clovis to deal with, so we stayed together and ground out the last stretch.
Our hotel in Clovis was clean and welcome. After showers, we walked to a pizza place because none of us wanted to get back on a motorcycle. Before returning to our rooms, we made a short detour to Walmart for drinks, snacks and fruit. Dale also picked up a small Torx bit set.