>Today I went on a mini road trip up to the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. It’s beautiful country. The cool crisp air had a slight spice of wood smoke in it. The streams and creeks roll over the hills and into the green valleys ultimately racing towards the ocean a hundred miles away. It replenishes my soul just breathing in the fresh air and drinking in the scenery.
I also enjoy the names of the roads and places in the foothills and mountains. They just sound like the Old West. There are places called Frenchman’s Camp, Missouri Flat, Yankee Jims, Indian Jack Road, Bucks Bar Road (which my Dad kept calling Buckbeak’s Road).
I love just looking at the rugged country in the foothills and mountains and wondering what it was like for people to travel around in horse drawn carts over the rocky terrain. Driving a car on some of those roads is a harrowing experience. I guess a covered wagon can’t really get up to 30 miles an hour when taking some of those hairpin turns.