Border Ride Report. (Free 7.2 Earthquake In Box!)

 

Rolled out the driveway at 9:30 this morning determined to explore the
route of the old San Diego & Arizona Eastern Railroad that once
connected El Centro (and the Southern Pacific) to San Diego CA. (The
tracks are still there, but due to collapsing tunnels, shoddy roadbed,
and shaky trestles, trains no longer ply the rails over the
mountains.)

First interesting sight of the day was a huge silo at the sugar
refinery in Imperial CA which features a heavy blue line painted on it
100' or so off of the ground, and lettering that says "Sea Level".
They aren't kidding: the entire Imperial Vally is well below sea
level. But picturing the ocean lapping halfway up that silo really
brings that fact home to you.

Rolled into lovely El Centro at almost exactly 11:30 PM. 150 miles in
two hours. (Not bad.) Interesting stats: It was 56 degrees, cloudy,
and drizzling when I rolled out of my driveway in Redlands. Upon
alighting in El Centro I discovered it was 87 degrees! I pulled the
liner out of my jacket, took off my sweatshirt, and unzipped all the
vents in the jacket.

I soon discovered that Google Earth had not lied to me, and that both
the old original SD&AE depot and the much larger SP depot right next
door to it are still standing, although not in use.

Photographed both depots, and then spent the next 1/2 hour trying to
find a gas station that had a functional public restroom. Eventually I
met with success, filled the tank, emptied the bladder, slugged down a
Coke, and took off out of town to the west following the rails, which
parallel I-8 for some 20 miles before diverging to climb the Carrizo
Gorge; which the builders of I-8 had the good sense to avoid......

http://www.sdrm.org/gallery/sda/goatcanyon-3.jpg

http://www.anzaborrego.net/Travel/AnzaBorrego/image.axd?picture=BoxCarAnzaBoreggo.jpg

This area is incredibly rough, and the mountains look as if God simply
took armloads of building-sized rocks and piled them up on each other
like a kid builds a sandcastle. (I don't mean mountains *covered* with
building-sized rocks: I mean mountains made of nothing *but* building-
sized rocks.)

I headed south off of I-8 about 50 miles west of El Centro to rejoin
the rails at Jacumba and then followed them west to the Railroad
Museum at Campo, where I took a few more pictures. Just west of Campo
the tracks cross into Mexico (where they serve the huge Tacate beer
brewery) and they do not cross into the US again until they reach
Tijuana, just south of San Diego.

I'd been planning to follow this part of the right-of-way as well, but
on advise of the very well-armed and rather nervous US Border Patrol
team I met in Campo I decided to go back and follow I-8 west instead.
Seems there's a turf war going on between the various Mexican drug
cartels, and people have been getting shot at on both sides of the
border east of San Diego on a regular basis for several months now.

The Honda not being bullet-proof, I declined to play target and
returned to I-8.

As I approached Sandy Eggo (local spelling) the air cooled down quite
a bit and I found myself zipping back up all the vents I'd opened back
in El Centro.
From San Diego I took the I-15 and then the I-215 north to Riverside,
and then turned east to Redlands and home.

Arrived back in my garage at exactly 3:30 PM and covered a distance of
precisely 364.7 miles. Light traffic all the way, only saw two cops -
both otherwise occupied- and perhaps 15 other bikers out on the roads.
(Easter Sunday seems to be a good time to ride, as everyone else is
apparently busy eating at grandma's house.)

Note: Ten minutes after I got home, a 7.2 quake hit just south of the
border in the Imperial Valley: right where I'd been three hours
earlier!
Our home rocked and rolled with glee for about a minute, but we
suffered no real damage since we're about 150 miles as the crow flies
from the quake's epicenter.

Altogether, an interesting day and a good long ride.

 

Sounds like a nice ride.

I felt that earthquake all the way up here in the San Fernando Valley.
Wasn't sure it was a quake, as I was getting over my mild but persistant
hangover, until I looked at the pool and saw the water doing a dance.  That
earthquake was damn long!  They say it was about a minute, but the hanging
candleholders in the living room were swinging for at least 8 minutes.  When
I pushed them, they quit swinging after a few seconds.

That was by far the creepiest earthquake I've felt.

CS

 


It was an odd one here: rocked like a boat in a heavy sea for about a
minute, and then slowly subsided. No sudden jolts at all, but you
could still fell the floor gently pulsing for quite a while after the
main shock passed. You can usually hear a rumble from one this big,
but I heard absolutely nothing this time.

Only damage we suffered was a furnace register that popped out of it's
duct and flew across the bathroom. It would have hurt if it had landed
on someone's head, but as it was all we heard was a loud "THUMP" as it
hit the floor.


Truth to tell, I sort of enjoy them. I tend to think of 'em as free -
and compulsory- E-Ticket rides.

 


I had to look up Jacumba to see if I'd ever been through there while
exploring California.

Turns out that I did roll through there once, on my way home from a
mission to smuggle freon R12 out of Tecate when it was declared
illegal and I didn't want to go through the bother and expense of
upgrading my T-Bird's AC system.

Actually, the area between Interstate 8 and the Mexican border is
*very* forgettable.

It's all dry desert hills and rocks.

If you get bored with rocks, don't despair, there will always be
*more* rocks to see.

If you travel from California to Texas, you'll see enough rocks to
last you for all eternity.

One time I was in the military and my motorcycle broke down so I had
to hitch hike to Florida to get to my next duty station.

Some old timer gave me a ride from Barstow to Ruidoso, New Mexico.

He told me that the signs along mountain roads that said "Watch for
Rocks" referred to a lost Indian boy named "Rocks."

Rocks had disappeared many years before and hadn't been seen since, so
the Indians put up all those "Watch for Rocks" signs.

Somewhere along Interstate 10, close to the New Mexico/Texas border
there's a
state park called "City of Rocks."

By the time California motorists get that far east, they aren't much
interested in looking at rocks.

If I was going to take a motorcycle tour through the southern
California desert in April, I would head down to Joshua Tree National
Park, or Anza Borrego State Park.

Sure, there are a bazillion *rocks* to be seen in both parks.

But the cacti and wild flowers are in bloom, and that's a pretty
sight.

 

<snip>

Great report, sounds like a fun day.

I did about 150 miles today up north of Seattle, following the local roads
through the cascade foothills.
The Speed Triple had fun today.
Note:  It is hard to follow the GPS and ride too...I do much better just
riding and using the GPS for a speedo.
No more planned routes for me.


--
Andrew
00 Daytona
00 Speed Triple
05 Squiddo