I OPT FOR LEESVILLE. The road here east was once paved. Its patchwork repair prompts me to drive on for the cattle trail paralleling the shoulder rather than to rattle and bang over a surface that reminds me of a large-scale replica of Manuel Noriega’s sad complexion. No taut-sprung hot-rod sport bikes here, thank you very much.
Once to the valley floor, I race between almond (rhymes with “salmon”) orchards in fresh blossom and find my way to State Route 20, Williams, and I-5. Had I been on that horse, my ninety-minute adventure would have taken three days and I’da needed to carry some water and a bedroll.
Church of the Open Road Press