Yesterday we took a drive out into the Anza Borrego Desert. We went by way of the Safari Park, the ranch town of Ramona and the kitschy s d storied alpine village of Julian. It is a ride we have taken many times before, but never get tired of. There seems always to be a blend of great stories of past visits and new experiences along the way to make for future stories. We usually take the trip when we have visitors as we do this week in the Massicci’s and Friend David. David had never been out that way and the Massicci’s hadn’t been for some time. There’s no right or wrong time for such a road trip since the variations in the topography of the area make one spot along the way quite different from the other on the exact same day. Yesterday was one such variable weather day and that did a great deal to shape out visit.
Being a Friday meant that there would not be weekend crowds, but also probably still enough things open to get a full experience. As we passed the Safari Park, it seemed like that balance was already in effect. The road was not crowded, but the Park looked anxious and ready to receive visitors with the yellow feathered hot air balloon aloft and the safari jeeps skittering hither and in on the replicated African veldt. San Passual Valley Road is always a busy route up into the ranch country of Ramona and yesterdays traffic fit that pattern. That road has plenty of interesting elements either the historic battlefield where meaningful California history was forged and the ostrich farms and citrus groves harken back to the agricultural backbone of this great state. Ramona itself is a typical western town with a Main Street wide enough to accommodate six lanes of pickup trucks.
I had decided to make this trip as a counterclockwise loop so that we would not end up doth of home on a Friday afternoon, battling local traffic north as it leaves San Diego. It is the leads preferred direction for some reason, but seemed prudent and either direction is equally pretty.
As we passed through the single intersection of Santa Ysabel, we started up the hills into the alpine area of Mesa Grande. This was the exact epicenter of the recent 5.2 earthquake, but you couldn’t tell from looking out over the bucolic plains, which looked perfectly normal. But what was a bit troubling was the fog and mist that was shrouding the hills that morning. I had read that Borrego Springs was to be sunny and warm, but I had failed to check the microclimate in Julian. Julian is an orchard town that grows apples and sell’s lots of apple pies. It was a mining town (gold in them thar hills) and has that look and feel. Yesterday it felt like January as we stepped out of the car into 42 degree mist and rolling fog. Poor Pete and Nancy were suited in shorts anticipating desert weather. That cut short our rest stop and even caused Kim to forget buying an apple pie. The fog also caused us to pass a lilac stand where Kim wanted to stop to buy flowers for Easter Sunday. So we drove on into the Anza Borrego wilderness and watched the thermometer climb 35 degrees in 20 miles.
The vast desert valley that stretches 20+ miles to the Thule and Aider Canyons laid before us and focused our attention on how well Kim’s favorite ocatillos grow by the wayside where they cannot seem to survive on our too lush hilltop. The sun was shining and the fog and mist were a mere memory in a matter of minutes. As we pulled into Borrego Springs, we noticed that there was a sellers fair on the common grounds of the big town roundabout that serves as the town park. It was almost noon and we were disappointed to see the vendors starting to pack up. This was less about time of day they said and more about the desert wi d that was noticeably kicking up and rattling the pop-up stalls. On a normal desert day those pop-ups provide essential shade, but on a day like that, they were just kites looking for a moment to take off.
We crossed to our favorite eatery that occupies the same building as the Borrego Art Institute Gsllery, where we are members for some odd reason determined on a prior visit. The eatery is under new management and the food was quite good as we sat out on the patio to catch the sun snd qualify Buddy for attendance to the party. That wind that had cut short the sellers fair was no less troubling to our lunch plans. We survived it by putting down the umbrella, but I spent the time watching my tall glass soda wobble in the desert breeze wondering if the wind would blow it over. Buddy had the best spot under the picnic table.
During lunch I proposed an alternative to our continuing our counterclockwise tour. I know the lay of the land well enough that I suggested that returning the way we came, at least back to Santa Ysabel would allow us to correct our shopping deficiency with regard to apple pie and lilacs at the expense of not seeing Ranchita and Warner Springs, which are just two mire ranch towns. I also thought it might allow everyone to see Julian in better weather if the gig had burned off. In fact, the weather had gotten worse and that desert breeze turned into a socked-in roadway that made me very happy not to be on my my motorcycle that day. We made our shops and headed home through Valley Center, debating at which Indian Reservation gas station to stop to fill the tank. San Diego County has 18 federally recognized Indian reservations, which is more than any other county in the United States. These reservations are governed by tribal bands including the Barona, Campo, ‘Ewiiaapaayp (Cuyapaipe), Inaja-Cosmit, Jamul Indian Village, La Jolla, La Posta, Los Coyotes, Manzanita, Mesa Grande, Pala, Pauma, Rincon, San Pasqual, Santa Ysabel, Sycuan and Viejas. The county is home to four distinct tribal nations – the Kumeyaay, Luiseño, Cupeño, and Cahuilla peoples. Despite having the largest number of tribal governments and reservations in the United States, only a small percentage of the 20,000-plus Native Americans from these tribal groups in San Diego County actually live on reservation land. The practical result of this, besides the abundance of available scattered casinos, is a big selection of gas stations that need not carry the state tax (a heavy $0.59/gal that may increase to $0.89/gal soon). The state rules governing this gas tax on native land is confusing, so there are always games making one station more or less costly. Naturally, I chose badly, but still saved $0.30/gal (could have saved $0.60 if my eyesight was better).
We concluded our grand tour of the inland empire and got home in time for both a walk in the hood and a dip in the hot tub. Our visitors got the full treatment, whisking across this lovely landscape like the desert breeze.